Page 12 of Duke of Moonstone
Lady Frances Pembroke.
She had been in his gardens, dressed in his sister’s costume, at his ball. She had spent the whole evening there; now, with the uncomfortable clarity of hindsight, he revisited those events.
He pressed two fingers briefly to his temple.
Lady Montfort’s parting words on the terrace steps had been as clear as a legal document.I trust you understand what the proper course of action is.
She had spoken openly in front of witnesses, intentionally, with the calmness of someone establishing a foundation. She did not need to be more explicit than that. Neither did he.
He understood what was expected of him. He had always understood what was expected of him; that was, in many respects, the defining feature of his entire adult life. A manof honor in his position, having been seen in a compromising situation with an unmarried young woman of gentle birth, had one course of action available to him.
She will refuse,said some part of his mind.She is not the sort of woman who is easily directed toward anything.
He was aware of that.
He was also aware that her choices were much more limited than his and that Lady Montfort, regardless of what else she might be, was not a woman who would let a niece forgo her only promising future over personal objections.
He stood at the window until the last carriage had gone and the street was empty then he climbed the stairs toward his bedchamber.
This was not how he imagined a night like this would go. Not only had his sister run away with a man he knew nothing about, but the course of his life had just changed in the most significant way.
He felt trepidation, and that was the strangest thing of all.
The Duke of Whitestone, renowned in society for his formidable reputation and impeccable conduct, was observed last evening in circumstances that can only be described as most irregular, in the company of a young lady whose identity, though masked, was subsequently revealed to the assembled company...
Alexander set the sheet down with the page face down.
He finished his coffee, declined the eggs offered, and spent twenty minutes at his desk going through correspondence that required attention, finding it rather more difficult than usual to give it any.
His thoughts kept sliding elsewhere—to Eleanor’s letter in the drawer, to the gossip sheets stacked at the corner of the desk, to the look on Lady Frances’ face when the mask had come away, and she had understood that there was nothing left to do but face the consequences of the evening.
She had not wept. He noticed that in retrospect. She had been frightened, he had felt her trembling when he caught her, but she had not wept or pleaded. When Lady Montfort took her arm, she walked up those steps with her chin held high and her gaze fixed forward. Whatever she was feeling remained hidden behind her face, unseen by others.
Irrelevant, he told himself, and he turned back to the correspondence.
At half past ten, he set down his quill and went upstairs to his mother’s room.
She was awake, which was a better sign than yesterday, sitting up against her pillows with a letter of her own in her lap from her sister in Bath—he thought based on the handwriting he could see. She looked up when he entered, and her expression wentthrough its usual sequence of pleasure, assessment, and quiet understanding in about two seconds.
“You did not sleep,” she observed.
“We had a ball. I slept adequately.” He drew the chair to her bedside and sat. “How are you this morning?”
“I am the same as I was yesterday which is considerably better than last week.” She folded her hands over the letter in her lap and looked at him with the patience of a woman who had been waiting for something and was prepared to wait a little longer. “Tell me.”
He told her about Eleanor first. He had been turning over how to do it for most of the morning—how to deliver the news in a way that would not alarm her more than necessary, how to frame it so that the worst of it was softened without being dishonest. When he finished, she was quiet for a moment, looking at the window.
“I never imagined she would truly do that despite her jests,” she said.
Alexander’s brows furrowed. “What do you mean?”
His mother sighed. “Well, Eleanor often jested that if you did not allow her to follow her heart, she might elope.”
That explained why his mother was neither shocked nor surprised. He squeezed the bridge of his nose.
“She is safe?” Margaret asked.
“As far as I can determine. She should be halfway across England by now.”
