Page 102 of Duke of Moonstone
Lavinia moved across the room and took a seat beside her on the settee. She sat close, reminiscent of when Frances was nine and had fallen from a horse, choosing not to cry because their father was watching. It also recalled the moment after their father’sdeath when creditors arrived, marking the end of their familiar world.
“Frances.” Lavinia’s hand covered hers. “Why are you here? Truly.”
The question was straightforward, but the answer was complicated. Frances glanced at her sister’s hand and sensed the thing she had kept steady for days starting to break apart.
“I cannot...” Her voice broke. She pressed her lips together. Tried again. “I thought I could manage it. I thought if I was careful enough, if I did not hope too much?—”
“Hope for what?”
“For him.” The word came out ragged. “For Alexander. For any of it to be real.”
Lavinia remained silent, waiting. She gently rubbed her thumb in circles on Frances’s hand while Frances focused on the carpet, allowing her words to surface.
“The proposal was... You know how it was. Practical. Sensible. A solution to a problem.” She swallowed. “Not a declaration. I told myself I understood that. I told myself I would not expect more.”
“But you did.”
“Not at first.” Frances pulled her hand free. Pressed both palms against her knees. “At first, it was exactly what he promised. Polite breakfasts. Separate lives under one roof. He was courteous. Correct. And I thought this was fine.”
“What changed?”
“Emily.” The name came with an ache so deep it startled her. “His ward. She is eight years old, and she lost both her parents. She was so quiet. So careful. And he did not know how to reach her, and I did, and suddenly we were reading together every evening, and she was laughing again, and Alexander watched us with this expression…”
She stopped. The memory pressed against her chest.
“He looked at me as though I had done something miraculous. As though I had given him something he did not know how to ask for.”
Lavinia was very still beside her.
“And then there was the library.” Frances’s voice dropped. “He caught me when I stumbled, and he… he kissed me, Lavinia. He kissed me as though the world were ending, and then he said goodnight and left.”
“He left?”
“He left. And the next morning, he was gone before breakfast. And I thought…” Her throat tightened. “I thought perhaps he needed time. I thought perhaps he was frightened of what he felt because he is frightened of feeling anything at all, and I could wait. I could be patient.”
“Frances—”
“He asked me to stay in Scotland.” The words tumbled now, faster, less controlled. “After Eleanor’s wedding. He asked if we might travel together. A week in the Highlands. Just the two of us. And I said yes because I am a fool, Lavinia. I am an utter fool who said yes because I wanted it so badly I could not...”
Her voice cracked. She pressed a hand to her mouth.
“What happened?” Lavinia asked.
“I heard him.” Frances dropped her hand. Her eyes burned. “The next morning. I came downstairs, and he was talking to Eleanor in the kitchen, and she asked if he was happy. She asked what we were to each other.” She drew a breath that shook. “And he said we would return to London and resume our separate lives as planned. That the arrangement was clear from the beginning.”
The tears came. She did not fight them. They spilled down her cheeks, and she pressed her palms against her face and wept the way she had not allowed herself to weep in Scotland. Not in the carriage. Not at the inns. Not through four days of silence and separate rooms and the careful, excruciating performance of a woman who was not falling apart.
Lavinia wrapped her arms around her, pulling her close. Frances buried her face in her sister’s shoulder, crying with the raw, intense pain of a heart silently shattered by a man unaware of the damage he caused.
“I am his obligation,” Frances said, muffled against Lavinia’s sleeve. “That is all I have ever been. A problem he solved. A duty he fulfilled.”
“You do not know that.”
“I heard him say it.”
“You heard him say the arrangement was clear.” Lavinia’s hand moved through Frances’ hair. “That is not the same as hearing him say he does not love you.”
Frances pulled back. Her face was wet. “He does not.”
