Chapter Fourteen

S eth wanted Frances!

There was no question as to his desire.

But, what about permanently?

He never thought he would marry. In fact, it was a decision he’d made at the age of fifteen because he could not bear the idea of enduring the pain of losing a loved one again because he had barely recovered after Amelia’s death. She had been his twin, and closer to him than any other sibling. She knew his thoughts before they were spoken, and anticipated how he would behave in any situation. He knew her just as well. She kept his secrets and he kept hers.

When Amelia had died, a part of him had too and at fifteen, he surmised that if it hurt so badly to lose a sibling, it must be doubly so if one lost a wife. Of course, he assumed that he would only marry if he was deeply in love. Thus, he knew that it would be impossible to go on if something were to happen and decided that he would never fall in love with anyone.

Seth snorted and took a sip of his brandy. He had been so young and foolish when he had made that declaration and believed that he had such control.

He had fallen in love with Frances and it had scared him. Seth had tried to lie to himself that it was simply love for his dearest friend and the fact that he also had desired her was because she was beautiful and he was male with a natural inclination to be intimate with desirable women. He had also believed the words he spoke when they parted—that he would always be able to think of her as happy, beautiful and alive .

He ached recalling that last day together at the cottage, when he had rejected her because he had been afraid.

In retrospect, he now realized that building the reputation that he had may have been intentional without him even realizing he was doing so. Not that he set out to become that, but he certainly hadn’t tried to change the minds of anyone when the gossip reached his ears even when he knew that if Frances ever learned that she would be disappointed in him and likely reject him.

Had he been sabotaging what could be without realizing it because he was a bloody coward and too afraid to really love?

When Frances had told him to leave that last day, Seth knew he had hurt her, but she didn’t understand what he feared…Except she had. She had called him a coward, which had been the truth.

He also hadn’t gone straight home. Instead, he found a place where he could be alone and cried for the second time beyond infancy.

There was no shame in tears, Frances had taught him that.

Even now, sitting alone in his library, glass of brandy in his hand, his eyes misted when he recalled the first time he had cried after he lost Amelia.

The day before he had discovered Frances and the cottage and had not been able to resist the urge to return. She was in the back adding more plants to the flowerbed when she asked him to get the rest from the crumbling terrace. The first one he picked up was a small rosebush with pink buds. Pink roses had been Amelia’s favorite flower and without warning, the tears had formed as Seth willed them away.

“It is okay to cry, you know.”

He never learned how Frances had known that he was having difficulties. His back had been to her. Seth quickly wiped the tears so she did not see the evidence that she had been right and cleared his throat. “Men do not cry.”

“You are not yet a man. You are only five and ten.”

Seth pulled back as if slapped and turned to gape at her.

“What does make a man?” she asked. “Or when does a boy become a man?”

Seth frowned at her because he did not have that answer. He’d argue that he was now a man given his voice had gotten deeper and other changes in his body made him such. But was it more?

“And why are men not allowed to cry?”

“It just is not proper,” Seth answered.

“Is that a rule?”

“Quit asking silly questions.” He had not wanted to have the discussion.

“It is not a silly question. I truly wish to know. Why can men not cry?”

“They just do not.”

“So, by some arbitrary rule of which you do not know the reason you are going to prevent yourself from crying because you are not supposed to.”

“Yes.”

“That is stupid!” Frances declared. “I have cried many times since I lost my parents and brother.”

“Because you are a girl.”

“Does that mean I am allowed to feel that loss and express it whereas you are not? Does Society assume that I feel my losses deeper than you do the loss of your twin and stepmother?”

Seth gasped at her audacity and turned away and stared down at the rosebush he still held. “It does not matter. I should go.”

“You mean you need to run away from what you are experiencing.”

He hated that she was correct and even though he wished to escape her, this conversation, and the pain inside, he could not make his feet move.

Frances walked to him and placed a hand on his arm, which was nearly his undoing.

“She was your twin. You have every right to mourn. The loss must burn deeply in your soul.”

It filled his entire being and as much as he tried to fight the emotion his eyes once again began to fill with tears.

“I think a man is someone who can acknowledge the emotions he possesses without embarrassment. To fully embrace love and loss without pushing it aside because it may not be deemed acceptable.”

He pulled his arm away from her hand because her words and touch were destroying his resolve to remain strong as a man should be.

“You have the right to mourn the loss of your sister even if you can only do so in privacy.”

Except, this wasn’t private because Frances, a thirteen-year-old girl, would not leave him alone.

And as much as he fought the emotions, the tears rushed to the surface and no matter how hard he tried to shove the pain back inside, it was impossible.

The pressure had been building for so long that it could no longer be contained and erupted. Seth dropped to his knees on the crumbling terrace and sobbed like an inconsolable child and could not make himself stop. Worse, Frances was beside him, kneeling, her arm around his shoulders. Seth gave up the fight and leaned into her, and she held him as the tears that he’d likely been holding in since he first came under the belief that men do not cry. The entire time all she did was rub her hands up and down his back, soothing and comforting, much like a mother does with a distraught child.

When his tears had finally stopped, Seth was also spent and unable to move. The pressure from within was gone, but the loss remained and the pain somewhat lessened. Further, he was exhausted.

He sniffed and pulled away from Frances and searched for his handkerchief, but it was in his suitcoat, which had been discarded so that he could begin helping Frances.

As if sensing what he needed she retrieved it for him. “I will return in a moment.”

Seth had wiped his face, thankful that he’d cried, had been given permission, except, he was beginning to experience the first waves of embarrassment.

“I have brought you some lemonade. Sit and rest.”

“Thank you,” he mumbled and rose to go sit on a bench in the shade while Frances went back to planting flowers as if nothing out of the ordinary had occurred.

He stared at her for the longest time, then finally said. “You must think very little of me now.”

She looked over, tilted her head, and gave him a slight smile. “Quite the opposite Lord Seth. Quite the opposite.”

He had said nothing more. Simply drank the lemonade, then rose and left the cottage without saying goodbye.

That had been rude, but he had still not come to terms with what he had done.

He also did not think he could ever face Frances again, but the next day, as soon as he had finished breaking his fast, he had gone to the cottage where he found Frances struggling with a pail of water. “There are more buckets near the well. Could you bring them please?” And just like that, the day before was forgotten and he helped her water the newly planted flowers and then began repairing the terrace.

They had healed the best that they could that summer. A fifteen-year-old boy and a thirteen-year-old girl, becoming friends when they never would have been except for that sad set of circumstances they shared.

Without Frances, he may have gone on burying all emotions. Her reward for being there for him whenever he visited and loving him was his rejection of her because he was too much of a coward.

He hurt her before she could hurt him.

Seth didn’t deserve to have Frances back, but that was not going to stop him from pursuing her.

Marriage had unexpectedly occurred to him earlier tonight. It had been a surprise when it shouldn’t have been. If he had been braver five years ago, he and Frances would already be wed. Instead, he did what she had predicted—earned his fortune and lived a cold miserable life while he kept everyone at a distance. Financial security had been all he wanted, but Seth hadn’t realized how cold a mistress she would be.

No matter what, he had to win Frances back.

At least she had returned his kisses this evening, and they had shared more passion, but that did not mean that he had won her yet.

In fact, he suspected that she was proceeding with caution and not about to open her heart to him again, not that he could blame her. But, one day, Frances would be his, even if he had to grovel while he begged for forgiveness for being such a bloody fool five years ago. He would win her heart again.

He must!

Frances woke in bright spirits. Last night had been beyond lovely and she now had a revised purpose. Yes, she would let Seth court her as much as he wished. She would welcome kisses and caresses, and return to how they had once been, all the while guarding her heart. So long as she kept her purpose and goal in mind, she could have a marvelous time and walk away unscathed.

At the announcement that Seth had come to call, butterflies took flight in her belly. She welcomed and acknowledged them. To try and deny her response to Seth would only leave her vulnerable. Therefore, she would acknowledge her heart and the voices in her head, enjoy while being constantly aware of her vulnerability.

Seth came to his feet as she entered the parlor.

“Shall I ring for tea?” she asked.

“I would much rather walk, or ride.”

“A walk would be lovely,” Frances admitted. “I will return after I have collected my pelisse.”

It did not take her long before she once again joined Seth, very much looking forward to their walk. She used to take strolls daily when she lived in her brother’s home in Mayfair, but since she’d moved in with Bethany, there was not a park near. At least, she was not aware of one and the area was still somewhat unfamiliar.

“I have given consideration to traveling to Doncaster for the St. Leger Stakes,” Seth offered.

“Why?” He had never discussed horse racing with her before. Then again, there were a good many interests that he had kept from her when he visited her in the cottage.

“It is thrilling, for one,” he answered, then stopped and turned toward her. “Go with me.”

Frances merely blinked at him.

“It would be a grand time. I promise.”

“Go with you,” she repeated. “Ride with you in a carriage from London to South Yorkshire. Do you know how long that would take? Do you wish to see me ruined?”

He frowned. “I shall bring Blythe along to act as chaperone.”

“I have no desire to return to South Yorkshire even if it is near my brother’s estate.”

“I still wish you would attend with me.”

“To what purpose? To watch horses race around a track and fools lose their money?”

“I assume you do not approve of wagering on the horses,” he said.

“Do you intend to do so?” she countered.

“Why, yes.”

“Then you, too, are a fool.”

Seth frowned at her. “Why do you say so?”

“Are you familiar with each horse racing? Are you associated with the training each horse received? What of the jockeys? Do you know them all? The same for the owners, and trainers.”

“Statistics are kept on each horse at The Jockey Club. I have made myself familiar,” he argued.

“Yet, anything could happen,” Frances insisted. “Betting on the outcome of a horse race is as risky as wagering on the role of dice.”

“With dice, it is all luck.”

“And unless you have the skill to predict the outcome of a horse race—control as one does over the cards being held in a hand—then winning is pure luck.”

“Ah, but there is no determining how a die will fall, but statistics, and times, and bloodlines of a horse allows a gentleman to make a reasonable prediction of who will likely win.”

“Perhaps,” she admitted. There was far more risk with the role of dice. However, without the proper knowledge or training, she would never wager on a horse race, yet it was a favorite pastime for gentlemen.

“I hope you enjoy the St. Leger Stakes and do not return with empty pockets,” she finally said.

“It would be far more fun if you would join me.”

“I cannot be away from Athena’s Salon,” Frances reminded him. “I have only just begun working there and do not wish to be sacked before the year is out.”

“Neither my cousin nor Lady Bethany would do so,” Seth promised.

“That is only because I suspect them of still attempting to play at matchmaker,” Frances begrudgingly admitted. No doubt they would happily send her on her way. Instead, she would likely lose her position when she finally exacted her revenge on Seth and no doubt her leaving Athena’s Salon would not be so pleasant.

When they turned the corner and were once again nearing her home, Seth paused. “What shall we do tomorrow afternoon?”

She cocked her head and looked up at him. “You are assuming that I have no other plans and that I will be at home to you.”

He placed a hand over his heart. “I truly hope that you are free and will welcome me into your parlor.”

She ducked her chin and smiled. “Perhaps. We shall see what tomorrow brings.”

“Minx,” he muttered under his breath, then leaned closer. “We could attempt playing billiards again.”

Her face heated at the very idea. “I believe I understand the rules and am no longer in need of lessons.”

“You claimed not to understand them last evening.”

“I will borrow a book from the lending library,” Frances dismissed because she did not want Seth to know how vulnerable she was around him.

“Are you certain you would not like another lesson?”

Very certain for it was a very dangerous game. “I will let you know if I change my mind.”

When they reached her home, Frances did invite Seth up for tea. Though it would have been wise to send him on his way, she was not finished visiting. However, she had also expected Bethany to be at home; instead, she learned that Bethany had gone out.

“Please bring a tea service,” Frances asked the footman, then took a seat in a comfortable chair instead of on the settee for fear that Seth would join her.

She was drawn to him and wanted his touch and his lips on hers, but she could not succumb to desire whenever she was in his presence or she would never win in the end.

While Frances had decided that one day they would be lovers, she would not rush ahead but be careful in her wooing of him until she was certain of his intentions, which she assumed would one day be marriage, or at least he would once again admit his love.