Chapter 9

CHAPTER 9

A fter the incident at the lake, Lady Frances retired to her bedchamber and did not emerge for the rest of the evening. Evan spent the evening feeling as though there were a sword hanging over his head, one that threatened him in every moment that Frances remained absent.

He didn't know why, but he did not like it.

The evening was made all the worse by the fact that Lady Reed did not remain resting after her ordeal, instead coming down to dinner to describe, loudly and ad nauseum, her perception of the unfortunate accident.

"I was certain I was going to drown!" she exclaimed melodramatically to anyone who would listen. "I have never been much of a swimmer, alas—it is such an unladylike preoccupation, I have always found—but I daresay I regretted it as the waters closed over my head, as I knew that my demise would put the most unfortunate damper on the party."

Here she paused until her most recently unfortunate listener insisted that she was simply too good to worry about the rest of the partygoers when she'd suffered such a dreadful scare.

"Oh, thank you, you're too kind," Lady Reed simpered, batting her eyelashes. "But fortunately, such a fear never came to pass, for I was rescued in the most heroic fashion."

This was Evan's least favorite part, because this was the part where she seized his arm in a vicelike grip and gazed up at him in adoration as he fought the urge to physically shake her off.

"You saved me , my lord," she murmured in awe. "I cannot ever repay you, but I should be honored to try."

Evan was fairly certain that this was just general dramatic nonsense, but he feared that they were one eyelash bat away from crossing over into outright flirtatiousness, whereupon he would sadly be forced to throw himself from the window of this second-floor drawing room, likely injuries be damned.

What was a broken leg or two compared to amorous attentions from a woman twice his age, let alone a woman who was the mother of the woman he wanted to?—

He cut that thought off very quickly.

He didn't want anything from Lady Frances. Not one single thing.

So, if he looked to the door more frequently than was normal, wondering if she'd join the party? If he went to bed earlier than was his habit, once he realized she was all but guaranteed to be abed for the night?

Coincidence. Nothing more.

His power to convince himself of this waned when Frances did not appear for breakfast, not even when he sat there for an unreasonably long time.

"She can't stay up there forever," he muttered, pacing the front hall like an absolute lunatic. "She'll starve."

Yes, that was a good reason he was so tied up in knots over this. He was worried about her health, as any decent person would be. He chose to ignore the existence of maids who might bring a breakfast tray upon a lady's request. No doubt Frances was wasting away up there out of some foolish, stubborn?—

He whirled on his heel to pace back in the direction he'd come, only to nearly crash into Lady Mary.

"Hello," she said, a mild lilt of amusement to his voice. "We do have to stop meeting like this, my lord."

"I beg your pardon, Lady Mary," he muttered, deftly stepping aside to make space.

If he had made such space the day prior with Frances, she'd have gone into the water, too. And then he'd not only have to worry about her starving, he'd have to worry about her catching her death from chill, or some other sort of horrible lake disease?—

"I thought you might like to know," Lady Mary said pleasantly, "that Lady Frances is set to join us for our trip into the village this afternoon."

He looked at her, trying to seem very stern and very casual all at the same time.

"I cannot imagine why you'd think I wanted to know something like that," he said.

She didn't even try to hide her smile.

"My mistake," she said. "Since not all the gentlemen have decided to go, I thought it perhaps might affect your decision." She looked at the button on her glove as if it were the most interesting thing in the world. "By the by, it seems as though I shall be taking the carriage with my brother and Lord and Lady Southgate; Lord and Lady Reed shall travel with Mr. and Mrs. Westford in their carriage—" This was a kind local couple who had joined the party out of proximity rather than close personal relationship to the Winchesters. "—and Lady Frances shall accompany Lord Hounton in his carriage."

"Alone?" Evan demanded when Lady Mary did not add another name to the list. "Who approved that? It's utterly inappropriate!"

Slowly, Lady Mary looked up from her button, her eyebrows raised.

"My understanding is that Lady Reed maneuvered things thusly," she said, tone dry. "And by understanding, I mean I overheard the whole thing. There are such benefits to being a spinster. One becomes practically invisible."

She sounded frankly delighted by the idea.

Evan, however, did not have time to fret over Lady Mary's aspirations to espionage.

"Well," he demanded, feeling utterly cross, "who shall serve as chaperone? The journey must he nearly a half an hour long. She'll be ruined!"

Lady Mary tilted her head. "Yes, I suppose she will."

Evan wanted to break something. Did he have to manage everything ?

"I won't allow it," he declared. "This is unconscionable."

Again, a sly smile crossed Lady Mary's face. "In that case, I would suggest that you hurry," she said. "I believe we are leaving in just a few moments."

Evan's pride put up a token protest—he was a marquess, not some schoolboy to be prodded into action by little more than teasing words—before he gave in to the impulse to head for the front of the house, ignoring Lady Mary's muffled laughter as he went.

It was fortunate that the devious Lady Mary Norton was determined to remain a spinster, or else Evan would have to say a nightly prayer for whatever poor soul married her.

But he had no time to worry over Lady Mary and her devilish machinations, not when he had his own lady to protect from destruction.

Or, no. A lady. Lady Frances. Over whom he had no ownership save for the goodwill that any proper gentleman offered to a well-bred lady.

God above, he was tired of arguing with himself. He didn't have time for any of this.

A footman was already closing the door to the Hounton carriage when Evan strode down the front steps of Winchester Manor.

"Hold," he called, causing the servant to pause just long enough that Evan could cross the drive and swing himself up into the well-sprung vehicle.

Lady Frances and Hounton both blinked at him in surprise—Hounton's expression pleased, Frances' thunderous.

"Oh hullo, Oackley," Hounton said pleasantly. "I don't know you were joining us. Apologies if we rushed you with our departure; I'd have told them to wait for you had I known."

Evan found it beyond him to disparage hapless, earnest Hounton for getting himself caught up in what was the perfect recipe for scandal, so he instead turned to Frances.

She, he knew perfectly well, was in no way blind to the scheming going on around her. He'd already been quite clear on that matter—and even if he hadn't been, her glower would have confirmed it.

"I only decided at the very last moment," Evan reassured Hounton. "Hello, Lady Frances."

" I have actually decided at the very last moment to stay home," she said, reaching for the door. "If you would excuse?—"

But she was too late. The horses lurched into motion.

Evan practically saw the fleeting calculation in her eyes as she decided, yes, it was a bit too extreme to fling herself from a moving carriage, even if it was still moving rather slowly.

He felt a disproportionate glow of satisfaction as she dropped back into her seat with the tiniest irritated hmph .

It was a strange, specific relief to see her combative. Her frown soothed something within him that had chafed against the genuine upset in her expression the day prior, that had bit and snarled when he'd heard her willingly submit to her mother's casual cruelty.

So, naturally, he decided to annoy her some more. It was only reasonable.

"I must say, Lady Frances," he said, leaning back against the plush carriage seat and adopting his most self-satisfied, aristocratic drawl, "I am pleased to see you feeling better."

She gave him the most thin-lipped smile imaginable.

"How courteous of you," she said tightly.

"I worried you might require more time to convalesce," Evan returned, his smile much broader. "After all, you did take such a shock yesterday and I know how young ladies can have such delicate sensibilities."

She looked like she was reconsidering the whole ‘jumping from the carriage' bit.

"Well, now," Hounton put in reasonably. "I've known some young ladies with quite the backbone, I must say. Nor could I fault someone for being alarmed at seeing her mother take an unexpected dip."

The smile Frances shot Hounton was genuine. Suddenly, Evan found he was enjoying this carriage ride considerably less.

"Thank you, my lord," she said to the viscount, briefly reaching out her gloved fingers to touch the back of Hounton's hand, filling Evan with a raging certainty that Hounton didn't really need to keep that hand attached to his body. "That's very gentlemanly of you."

Fortunately—for Evan's sanity and Hounton's number of appendages—she returned her hand to her own lap quickly. She was, however, still looking at Hounton, which did not suit Evan at all.

"So that's what you consider gentlemanly, is it, Lady Frances?" he asked, a hint of snideness sliding into his mild query. "Coddling? I merely ask as a philosophical question, of course. It can never hurt a bachelor like myself to keep up on the tactics of young ladies, and so I find myself quite curious to know if you are tending towards honesty or flirtatiousness this fine afternoon."

"Come, now—" Hounton again tried to diffuse the mounting tension, but Frances spoke too quickly, acid in her voice.

"If you cannot tell, my lord, I can only assume that it is because no lady has ever cared enough to tend towards honesty." She fluttered her eyelashes too innocently. "One cannot blame them, of course. It is easy to be inspired to flirt when faced with a title and a dash of charm, but there must be something deeper to inspire honesty."

This time, her fluttering was distinctly pitying. He might have admired her facility with eyelash-based communication if he wasn't so bloody irked.

"I thought you preferred to eschew charm, Lady Frances. Or, at least, one does not see you plying such skills at Society events."

She bared her teeth at him. Evan decided he was having fun again.

Hounton, however, was not having the least bit of fun. His gaze was dancing nervously between Evan and Frances, clearly not ignorant of the tension between them but just as clearly unsure how to diffuse it.

"I, ah," he said timidly. "I think I prefer honesty to charm." He gave a self-deprecating chuckle. "Though perhaps that is a matter of defense; I have never been accused of an excess of charm, alas."

Frances' mouth dropped into a little O as she turned to the viscount. This time, when she put her hand on his sleeve, she left it there for four entire seconds.

Poof. Evan's enjoyment vanished again.

"If that is true," she said kindly to Hounton—she never talked to him in that tone, Evan noted sourly, "then you have been met with an unfortunate series of unkind souls. You are both honest and charming, and that is the best of both."

Hounton was kind but not stupid and therefore did not look askance at this obvious improvement to the conversation.

"I must then insist that I am now fortunately faced with a very kind soul instead, Lady Frances. You flatter me."

"Ah." She held up a gently censorious hand. "I thought we already agreed that we were choosing honesty over flattery, did we not?"

"Just so, my lady. And thus, if I may indulge myself in curiosity: tell me something about yourself. Honestly, of course."

Evan was practically seething, not that either of the others noticed, the way their eyes were locked on one another. He wanted to interject, wanted to warn Hounton that Frances was a scheming little liar who had been given an ultimatum, who had been ordered to find herself a husband by means fair or foul, and who had chosen the soft-hearted viscount as her target.

He could not think of a way to do so without seeing helplessly rude. And, a tiny voice chimed in, he wanted to hear what she was going to say.

Even if it was, his louder, more sensible voice retorted, likely to be a lie, anyway.

Frances tapped her chin thoughtfully. Hounton was enraptured.

"All right," she said after a moment with a tinkling laugh that matched her dainty looks. "Well, this is perhaps not the most exciting confession, but I will say that I absolutely adore sweets."

Evan felt a pinprick of disappointment that she'd not shared something more personal.

Hounton evidently agreed. "Come now, Lady Frances," he chided. "You can do better than that."

She laughed again. "No, I'm afraid it's worse than I'm making it sound. I am positively incorrigible about them. My friends have long teased me that if anyone else tries to take the last lemon cake while I'm there that they're liable to?—"

"—lose a hand." The words slipped from Evan before he could stop himself, as if pulled from him by some external force.

By a ghost, perhaps.

"Yes," Frances agreed. She looked puzzled for only a moment before understanding clicked into place.

"Grace," she said quietly. "It was Grace who said it first. I…I'd forgotten."

Evan had all but forgotten, too. He'd been young, then, home from university perhaps. He'd gone searching for treats only to find that Grace had filched every sweet in the house for her gathering of friends. He'd barged in, eager to snag a few for himself before they were gobbled by the cabal of girls that seemed to be perpetually underfoot.

He'd made himself a plate of jam tarts and scones, then he'd reached for a lemon cake and?—

"Oh, I wouldn't," his sister's teasing voice interjected. "Those are especially for Frances. Take the last and you're liable to lose a hand."

"Grace!" He glanced toward the source of the mortified squeak to see little Lady Frances with her hands covering her face, one blue green eye peeking out from between her fingers. He had no doubt that her cheeks presently matched her corona of blazing hair.

Grace grinned unapologetically. Evan retreated, holding up his hand in a gesture of surrender.

"Far be it from me to steal your favorites from under you, Lady Frances," he said with a gracious smile.

She dropped her hands, looking plainly terrified and, yes, as red as he'd expected.

"No, it's all right," she said, not meeting his eye. "I've had enough, truly."

"You can never have enough of your favorite," Grace said grandly. "Now, go away, Evan. We've ladies' matters to discuss."

The four girls had scarcely been out of the schoolroom. It struck Evan as preposterous to think of them as ‘ladies' rather than ‘girls'—Frances, diminutive and shy, even more so than the others.

Still, Evan had never wished to dampen his sister's high spirits, not that he felt he could manage it if he tried. Diana was like Grace in that way. For Emily, forced to responsibility too early, and Frances, who practically trembled whenever he came near… Well, it didn't seem sporting to tease those two, either.

So he merely ruffled his sister's hair, ignoring her squawk of protest, and departed.

"Very well, ladies," he said, offering a courteous bow as he departed. "I bid you adieu."

He left then, his plate piled with everything except lemon cake. When he glanced over his shoulder before turning the corner, he saw Frances, smiling in pleasure as she held the last, tiny lemon cake in her hand.

"She always begged the cook to make extras when you were coming," he said, a faint smile crossing his face. It was still so rare for memories of his sister not to hurt , but this one… This one was all sunshine and light.

Frances had a similar look on her face, as if she'd expected a slap and gotten a kiss, instead.

"She spoiled me dreadfully," she said fondly. "All of us, really. She was very protective, our Grace."

Our Grace . That was sunshine and light, too, for all that Frances had likely meant their circle of friends with that "our."

He didn't trust Frances. He was almost certain that he didn't like her, either.

But she remembered Grace with love. And that mattered to him very much, even if it did not erase the other things.

For a moment their gazes met, and he thought that maybe, just maybe, she was thinking the same thing.

"My goodness," said Hounton, choosing this bloody moment, of all moments, to not mark the atmosphere. "I'd not realized the two of you knew one another so well."

Frances looked away; the spell broke. She smiled at Hounton and Evan was reminded why no rapport between them could ever last for more than a fleeting moment.

"Oh, we don't," she told the viscount. "We don't really know one another at all."