Page 81 of Duke of Moonstone
Silence. The air between them was charged with everything: the argument, the kiss, the distance he had put between them, and the distance she had closed by walking into this room and refusing to leave.
“I will not go,” he said again.
Frances looked at him. Her blue eyes held his, and in them he saw something that was not surprise. She had expected this. She had come prepared for it.
“Then I will go alone,” she said.
“Frances—”
“Eleanor is my friend. She is getting married, and she wants the people she loves to be there. I intend to be one of them.” She picked up her letter from his desk. “It is a happy day. I want to be there for it.”
“Frances.”
She did not stop. She crossed to the door, opened it, and walked through without looking back. Her footsteps moved down the corridor, and then they were gone.
Alexander stood behind his desk. Eleanor’s letter lay beneath his fingertips. The study was very quiet.
She will go alone.
He stared at the closed door.
She will go alone, and I will remain here, and that will be the end of it.
His hand curled against the desk. The paper crumpled beneath his fingers.
It did not feel like the end of anything.
Frances went directly to her rooms and rang for Miss Ripley.
The maid appeared within minutes, her cap slightly askew, her expression the careful blankness of a servant who had heard raised voices through the floor.
“I require packing for a journey to Scotland,” Frances said. “We leave in two days.”
Miss Ripley’s eyebrows rose a fraction. “Scotland, Your Grace?”
“We are attending a wedding. I shall need traveling clothes for many days on the road, as well as something suitable for a ceremony. Nothing elaborate.”
“Yes, Your Grace. Shall I begin at once?”
“Please.”
Miss Ripley bobbed and disappeared into the dressing room. Frances listened to the sounds of wardrobe doors opening, of fabric being lifted and considered, and she sat at her desk and did not think about the study. Did not think about Alexander’s face when she walked out. Did not think about his mouth on hers in the library or the way he had avoided her at breakfast.
Focus. There are things to be done.
She found Mrs. Wells in the housekeeper’s parlor.
“I shall be away for several days,” Frances said. “A personal matter. I trust the household will manage perfectly well in my absence.”
“Of course, Your Grace.” Mrs. Wells set down her ledger. “Shall I make any particular arrangements?”
“Emily’s routine should continue as normal. Lessons with Miss Bennet in the mornings. Please ensure Emily visits the Dowager Duchess each afternoon—they have an arrangement, and I should not like it disrupted.”
“Very good, Your Grace. And meals?”
“As usual. His Grace will manage.” The words came out flat. Frances did not elaborate.
Mrs. Wells nodded. If she noticed anything amiss, she gave no sign.
