Page 80 of Duke of Moonstone
“Alexander.”
Frances stood in the hallway. She wore a morning dress of pale blue—simple, unadorned, the kind of thing she chose for days without engagements—and her hair was pinned up in a style that had already begun to loosen at the temples. She held a letter in her hand.
She lifted it. “I received a wedding invitation,” she said, “from Eleanor.”
The words landed between them. Alexander looked at the letter in her hand then at her face. This was the first time they had stood in the same room since last night. Since the library. Since...
He shut the thought down.
“Will you join me in my study?” he asked. “We should discuss this privately.”
Frances nodded. She followed him down the corridor, and neither of them spoke until he opened the study door and stood aside to let her pass.
She entered. He followed and closed the door.
“I will not go,” he said.
Frances turned to face him. She still held Eleanor’s letter. “You have not even?—”
“I will not attend my sister’s wedding.” He moved to the desk, put Eleanor’s letter down on the surface, and pressed his fingertips against it as though pinning it in place. “She disobeyed me. She ignored every convention of decent society. She caused this family considerable difficulty, and I will not now stand in some Scottish church and pretend to sanction it.”
“She is your sister.”
“She was my sister when she fled in the night without a word. She was my sister when the scandal sheets printed her name. She was my sister when I spent three weeks answering questions I should never have been asked.”
“And she is your sister still.”
“That does not entitle her to my approval.”
Frances set her own letter on the edge of his desk. “Eleanor is my friend.”
“I am aware.”
“Friends attend each other’s weddings.”
“Not when those weddings are the result of scandal and defiance.”
“Not every wedding needs your permission, Alexander.”
“She chose this,” he argueed. “She chose to leave. She chose a man with no title, no fortune, no ability to provide for her as she deserves. And I am to simply—what? Applaud?”
“You are to love her.” Frances’ chin lifted. “That is all she has ever asked of you.”
“Love does not require capitulation.”
“No. But it does require showing up.”
He straightened. “I have spent ten years showing up. For this family. For the estate. For Eleanor herself. I have sacrificed?—”
“Yes. You have sacrificed a great deal.” Frances took a step closer. “And Eleanor watched you do it, year after year, until she was so terrified of becoming another one of your sacrifices that she ran.”
The words struck something inside him. He did not move. “That is not what happened.”
“That is exactly what happened. She told me so herself, months before she left. She said she could not bear to be another duty on your ledger.”
“She had no right?—”
“She had every right. She is a woman, not an entry in your accounts.”
