Chapter Eight
“Miss Francine,” Pauline sang. She tossed back the canopy of the four-poster bed. Light streamed in from the window she’d already uncovered.
I whimpered and pulled the blankets over my head. I’d tossed and turned to visions of yesterday’s fiasco. Julian’s refusal to kiss me. His confession about his impending marriage. A part of me wanted it to be a bad dream, but I wouldn’t be so lucky.
“Miss, you cannot stay abed all day.”
Oh, but how I wished I could.
I muttered something incoherent about sleep. My words were muffled by the sheets.
She pried them from my grasp and stripped them off. At the sudden loss of warmth, I shivered and curled into a ball despite the hot sunlight streaming in through the window. I groped blindly for the sheets she’d stripped away from the bed. No luck.
“Her Ladyship is awake,” Pauline chirped. She was altogether too cheerful, considering the debacle I’d confessed to her last night upon returning. She’d waited up for me, and even consoled me, marginally. “She wishes to speak with you.”
I groaned like the dead. Nothing good ever came of Mother wishing to speak to me.
Pauline’s tone turned stern. “If you don’t get out of bed, she’ll come address you here.”
That chased me out of bed in a hurry. Pauline helped me don a cherry-pink Sunday dress, the neckline tickling my chin. She combed my hair with care and fashioned it into a single braid. She tied off my tresses with a ribbon.
“You might as well face the dragon,” she said.
“Easy for you to say. You aren’t her daughter.” My hushed tone weakened the bite of my words. If Mother heard me liken her to a lizard, she’d snip my head off. She’d much rather be compared to snapdragons, Antirrhinum.
Reluctantly, I vacated the sanctuary of my room, shutting the door behind me. My ankle provided me with some measure of pain as I used the wall to limp down the hall. However, it wasn’t an alarming amount. Despite the exercise of the previous day, I judged the appendage to be well on the mend. I gained confidence and momentum as I reached the stairs. I descended to midway before realizing that both my mother and father lingered silently outside the dining room door.
I turned tail and hobbled up the stairs. Hopefully they hadn’t noticed me.
“Young lady.”
I winced at Papa’s booming voice. Drat.
“Come down here this instant.”
He didn’t aid my unstable descent of the stairs, but instead watched stonily from the dining room. My stomach shriveled to the size of a raisin. I doubted I could eat now even if today’s breakfast hadn’t been cleared away yet.
The moment my feet touched the carpet, he pointed down the hall. “Into my study, young lady.”
I shuffled forward with no offered support. His and Mother’s stares threatened to turn me to stone. Upon reaching his door, I gratefully slipped inside, if only to have some place to rest. Someone had opened the heavy drapes to let in the light, as opposed to lighting a candle. Papa couldn’t be happy about that. He must have been out.
Papa barred me from sitting. “You will listen to what I have to say.”
He nearly reduced me to tears then and there. My dismay must have shown on my face, because Mother brushed her hand over his sleeve to draw his attention.
“Have a care for her ankle. She may as well sit down.”
With a grunt, he stepped aside.
I staggered to the narrow uncomfortable chair in front of his desk and sat. The throb in my ankle cropped in half, though it did not abate altogether. A forbidding pair, my mother and father crossed in front of the desk to loom down at me.
Perhaps sitting hadn’t been the wisest choice.
“I opened the morning rag earlier. Imagine what I saw,” Papa said. He clipped off each word.
I examined my hands rather than look him in the eye. When consumed by anger, he posed a frightening figure. I didn’t want to inadvertently rile him further.
He slapped the newspaper in question onto the table in front of me. “Have a look, would you, dear?” His voice was falsely sweet. So sweet it stung my ears.
Swallowing heavily, I reached for the page and uncurled it. The edges were marred with dents from a severe grasp. Papa’s, no doubt. I smoothed the page to the Society pages. A caricature leered back at me.
“Oh no.” I struggled to breathe evenly. Not the Infamy Illustrator.
“I had a bit of a different reaction.”
I couldn’t peel my gaze off the page. There I was, in all my freckled glory, rendered as a short, curvy woman lifting her skirts for a suitor who puckered to kiss me. Beneath the skirts were men’s breeches and boots.
I shoved the paper—and the caricature inked upon it—out of sight. The image seared itself on my retinas.
Papa replaced it with his snarling face. I jumped. With his beard, he resembled a feral bear.
“It’s not—” what you think.
His gaze snapped with fury. “You’ve disgraced our family, regardless of whether or not it’s true.”
I lowered my face into my hands. Moisture stung my eyes. I pressed my palms into them to keep the tears at bay. “I only wanted to attend a lecture on botany,” I said in a small voice. “I didn’t think anyone would recognize me.”
“You were wrong, and you’ve gotten out of hand.”
Before now I’d never stepped out of line. I’d only done the same things that Mother did—studied plants. At his insistence, I attended events I didn’t care about, smiled at people who thought me invisible, never raised my voice, or started a scandal like my friends were wont to do. Yet nothing I ever did was good enough for Papa. Why? Because I hadn’t lured the eye of a wealthy lord? He wanted that, not me.
I couldn’t say so, not with him so angry.
Rips rent the air as Papa tore the scandal rag to shreds. I flinched at the sound. I peeked through my fingers, hoping to see signs that his anger would dull, or Mother would step in and save me.
She stood stiffly to the side of the desk, watching. I’d get no help from her.
Papa shoved the shredded paper onto the unlit hearth, his movements jerky. “And…”
I cringed at the word. What else could there be?
“I made the mistake of attending White’s this morning.” He turned. His glare punctured me, pinning me to the chair. “Lord Cheswick’s nephew is bandying it about that he spotted you on Rotten Row yesterday afternoon.”
I hadn’t known I needed permission to go for a ride.
“Lord Cheswick’s nephew is a fool.” I winced as the words left my mouth.
The thunderhead dawning on Papa’s face warned me not to say another word. He raised his voice. “He saw you sneaking into the bushes with a man.”
Damn and blast, I thought, borrowing Julian’s expression. At that moment, I hadn’t been thinking. I should have waited for Pauline. Pressing my lips together, I refused to say a word.
“Is it true?” Mother asked. I never thought I’d see the day when the hawkish expression on her face matched Papa’s. I swallowed with difficulty around the lump in my throat.
“Pauline was with me.” Not the entire time, but they didn’t have to know that. I’d only been alone with Julian, my closest friend. He wouldn’t hurt me.
Papa stared at me. No words. Only a glare. He didn’t believe me.
I squared my shoulders. “You can ask her if you don’t believe me.”
Mother patted his forearm with grubby fingertips. They left the slightest smudge on his pristine white shirt. Mother had shut herself in with her plants again. Could I use that to my advantage?
Brightening, I asked, “Did you add a new specimen to your collection, Mother?” Although it may be a means of distracting Papa, my interest was genuine. She often received specimens from exotic locales. A compromise concocted by Papa to sponsor other botanists’ journeys abroad rather than venture on one herself. Papa would never allow her to leave the country, let alone venture to less civilized parts of the world.
As Mother opened her mouth to regale me on the merits of her newest plant, Papa made a chopping motion with his hand. “Do not change the subject. The next time you’re on Rotten Row, you should stay in the carriage. Or in plain view of everyone else.”
I decided to apologize and hope for the best. “I’m sorry. I will next time, I promise.” In that, I was most sincere. I’d only snuck off because I hadn’t wanted to spend time with Julian at all, after the way he’d refused to tell me why he hadn’t written to me.
I had my answer now. Though I didn’t necessarily know whether it made me feel better. I didn’t want an arranged marriage for myself. Somehow, knowing that Julian had to suffer through one as well made my future seem even bleaker.
Papa harrumphed. He didn’t sound convinced.
I met his gaze. His ire had abated somewhat, but I didn’t like the thorny look in his eye. Cautiously, I asked, “Out of curiosity, what would you have done if the rumors were true?”
The black cloud of outrage obscured his features once more. “Something you would not have liked, young lady.”
Hardly a specific answer. I leaned forward in my seat. “Which is…what, exactly? Would you send me to the country?”
“I would force him to the altar.” His heavy eyebrows knitted together in a scowl.
I gave a halfhearted shrug. I hid my agitation behind a blasé mien. “If the gentleman in question met your standards, I have no doubt of that. But what if I kissed a second son or landed gentry?”
I risked earning more of Papa’s enmity, but I had to know the answer. Would I attain some measure of freedom by ruining my reputation? If so, I would do it without a second thought.
He made a low rumble in his throat that sounded suspiciously like a growl. I speedily sat back in my chair, putting what distance between us I could, as if I could separate myself from the question as well. Not that it made much difference at all.
Mother crouched before me, taking both my hands with hers. I resisted the instinct to pull away. She never touched me like this.
Her eyes glimmered with an emotion I didn’t want to consider. “Are you in love, Francine?” Although Papa stood mere inches away, she added, “If you are, I can talk to your father. Bring him around.”
I almost laughed at the idea. “I’m not.” Julian was engaged, and I didn’t love him, anyway. Though if I had to marry anyone, why not my best friend? I should have thought of it years ago. Now it was too late. “I was just curious.”
Papa gave a short, terse snort of derision. “Stifle that curiosity, young lady. Men are not like the flowers you stick your nose into all the time.”
I scowled. I didn’t only study flowers. Botany encompassed so much more. Was that how he saw my scientific pursuits?
“You’ll marry a man worthy of this family. None of these silly notions women get about love.” He wagged his finger beneath my nose. “When you attend the Wentworth luncheon this afternoon, your mother and I will be by your side the entire time.”
Wonderful. Something to look forward to.
…
Papa’s fearsome expression still hadn’t eased by the time our carriage pulled up in St. Paul’s churchyard. He resembled the devil himself. Even the statue of Queen Anne seemed to shrink back in fear.
I cultivated a somber mien, like a mesquite tree. Nothing could uproot me. I was hardy. I could weather the storm of Papa’s displeasure.
I trailed in his wake as he cut a swathe through the grand doors into the church itself. The pews below clamored with workaday men and women greedy to claim a seat. Even the whispering floor above was mostly full. I’d lain abed too late, and the lecture from Papa had stretched on for too long for us to arrive at our usual time.
I climbed the stairs to the floor where we usually sat. It afforded a good view of the modest organ set on the screen. The strains of the choir in the far corner drifted to my ears as they exercised their voices.
The hostility in the air on the second floor was palpable, and far from Christianly. Our peers glared at me and nattered to each other. Given the tone, I doubted their words were charitable. My hardpan expression slipped for only a second.
If Rose had taught me nothing else during my come out, it was never to let the opposition know they affected you. She would make a good politician if they ever let women run for office. Which, if Mary had her way, they most certainly would. I’m sure it was on her list of things to lobby for when she didn’t have someone in her immediate view to take down a notch or two.
I spotted Rose with her husband and Mary with her father, but they sat far away from where Papa, Mother, and I were forced to sit. As we were the latest arrivals, we chose from the most impious spots left, at the back of the pews. I lowered myself onto the hard wooden bench.
If God really listened to those praying in churches, I hoped he would turn me invisible. I hadn’t meant to bring any of this scandal on myself. From my vantage, I couldn’t see over the heads of those sitting in front of me to glimpse the bishop as he began the sermon. I clasped my hands on my lap, trying my best to embed a look of innocence and piousness. But how could I, when those around me punctuated the sermon with heated glares, as if I sullied the church by joining them?
I lifted my voice with the choir, but it came out scratchy and hoarse. When we sat once more, I leaned closer to Mother nestled between me and Papa.
“I can’t breathe properly. It’s beastly hot.” In that, I wasn’t lying. Even so early in the morning, the temperature mounted to near unbearable, especially considering the high collar of my dress. It seemed to tighten around my throat with every new grimace aimed in my direction, as though abiding by their wishes to choke the life out of me.
“Do you have a fan?” Mother asked.
Of course I didn’t. This was church. I couldn’t carry around a dance card like at the balls. I shook my head.
“I just need a breath of fresh air. I’ll be back within minutes, I promise.” A prolonged absence would draw more nasty comments. I begged for a short respite. At least in the rear of the pews, I should be able to slip away without drawing attention.
“Don’t tarry,” Mother said, her voice clipped. She was angry at me, too, for the disgrace I’d brought to our family.
I nodded, but my impassive mien wobbled. I thought she, of all people, would be on my side. She must know I hadn’t done this on purpose.
I slipped off the hard bench and retreated to the stairwell. The stairs sometimes creaked, but I descended them slowly, one by one. Once down among the working class, I found a corridor branching to another part of the church. With everyone’s attention on the sermon, I snuck into it unnoticed.
The high ceiling and cold stone walls lifted some of the terrible heat. Sunlight didn’t penetrate this far into the corridor, and I grappled to find my path. I groped along the wall, pausing when my fingers brushed a closed door. The doorknob turned easily, unlocked.
The passage led to another set of stairs. Light drifted ahead, a beacon to a room with windows. I followed the steps, though the stuffy heat mounted the higher I went. A musty smell lingered in the room.
I blinked the sun from my eyes as I climbed over the last step. Rows upon rows of bookshelves, in two tiers, lined the walls. A library. I relaxed. A small unlit stove occupied the opposite end of the room. An ornate rug covered the floorboards. A few sturdy chairs crowded around the stove. No one else lingered here.
At last. I was alone with my thoughts. I browsed the shelves. Did they have any books on plants? Unlikely in a building dedicated to religion, but I inspected the shelves anyway. Anything to take my mind off the incising judgment directed my way this morning. Raking my fingertips over the spines, I searched for any I might be interested in reading. Some were so old the pages had yellowed, and I feared they would turn to dust if I opened them. Other volumes sported untouched spines, the pages white and pristine. I found several books on the discourse of religion in England and elsewhere. No books on plants.
At the end of the row, I heaved a sigh. I’d been gone long enough. I turned toward the door I’d entered, across the room.
A man separated from the shadows of the stairwell, where he surely had lingered, watching. Julian. My mouth dropped open in surprise.
“What are you doing here? You should be attending the sermon.”
He gave a one-shouldered shrug as he stepped forward. “I could say the same to you.”
I swallowed. Shivers prickled over my skin at the thought of returning, though I knew I must. What would happen when the sermon ended and we were expected to mingle before returning home? If someone gave me the cut direct, my careful poise would decompose.
A far from innocent response in the eyes of the ton.
“They weren’t ostracizing you,” I shot back.
He frowned. “What do you mean?”
I lifted my eyebrows. “Surely you’ve seen the scandal rag this morning?”
He shook his head. “I don’t subscribe. Should I purchase one on the way home?”
“I doubt you’d be happy with it. The Infamy Illustrator has targeted me as his next victim.”
Julian reached my elbow. He raised his hand as though he wanted to touch me, to put my hand on his arm and escort me out of here, but he dropped it once more.
“I don’t understand. Who is this illustrator?”
“No one knows for sure. Everyone has their suspicions.” I rubbed my forehead. “I wouldn’t much care, except he’s torn apart the reputation of more than one young lady, and I seem to be next.”
Julian scowled. “He sounds like a cad. Someone should take him to task.”
“I’m sure someone would if they knew his identity.” Mary most certainly would give him a tongue lashing. His victims were rarely men.
A sound in the stairwell hailed the arrival of a third party. My heartbeat quickened. I clutched Julian’s arm. “We have to hide. We shouldn’t be in here.”
He followed me without question as I moved away from the stairwell. A narrow door was ensconced between two bookcases. I tried the knob. It was unlocked. I pulled it open, hauling Julian behind me as I descended into the pitch black stairwell. I shut the door quietly behind me.
This staircase was much narrower than the one I’d climbed to enter the library. Julian pressed against me from chest to hip. My back caressed the wall. I strained my ears, listening for any sound that we would be discovered.
“What can they do to us if they find us here?”
I shrugged. His muscles bunched as he accommodated the movement. “I don’t know,” I answered, “but since I don’t have a chaperone at the moment, I doubt it’s anything good.” Especially not with the amount of scandal heaped upon my person to begin with.
Julian made a disbelieving sound.
“Hush,” I whispered. I sidled closer to the door, pressing my ear against the wood as I strained to hear signs of life beyond. A rustle hailed movement. My hammering heart grew louder as the sound neared our position.
It continued on.
I let out a long, slow breath, trying not to make any noise. The danger lingered. We couldn’t return to the library while it was still occupied. And where did this staircase lead? My head spun. I was hopelessly lost already. I’d never before ventured out of the common areas of St. Paul’s.
“Relax,” Julian whispered into the dark. His breath toyed with the stray strands of my hair falling across my forehead. “We won’t be found out.”
The silence between us grew heavy and strained. I became aware of every breath he took, every miniscule shift in position. Was it my imagination, or had he leaned closer? His breath felt more tangible against my forehead. I tilted my chin up.
He raised his hand, raking his fingers over my shoulder and neck before reaching my cheek. He firmed his hold there, cupping my face. His breath teased across my nose to linger at my mouth.
“I haven’t been able to stop thinking about our kiss,” he murmured. His voice was low. It rumbled over my lips. He snaked his thumb out to trace my bottom lip.
I gasped at the flood of sensation. His touch was ten times more potent in the dark. The rough pad of his thumb dipped into my mouth, rubbing the sensitive underside of my lip.
I turned my face away from his touch. “Your fiancée…”
The silence lengthened as he dropped his hand, though he didn’t move away. His heat branded me as much as the two words I had forced out. A reminder to him and to me. Even if he thought about our kiss—and I did, too—he couldn’t act on it. He was as good as married.
A hot, damp feeling hedged around my lungs.
His voice sounded defeated. “I don’t know what you want me to say.”
I didn’t know what I wanted him to say, either. We were friends. Never had I entertained the thought of something more—not until I’d encountered him again in London. Softly, I asked, “Do you love her?”
I couldn’t fathom how he could contemplate kissing me if he did.
“No.” His answer was quick and a bit sharp.
He raised his hand again to stroke my cheek. The rough pads of his fingers left a trail of tingles in their wake. This time, I didn’t flinch away.
“Does she know how you feel?” Or didn’t feel, in this case.
“She knows,” he answered softly. “I told you, it’s a matter of convenience, nothing more.”
If he was engaged for convenience alone, couldn’t he break it should that arrangement become inconvenient? I didn’t know if I could ask that of him. We were friends. What if this confusing pull I felt toward him was only temporary?
Kiss me. I wouldn’t know for certain until he kissed me properly. If he had no emotional ties to this woman and the union had been made as some kind of financial transaction… Most of the ton married for money or power, not for love. It was the same thing Papa demanded of me. I wanted neither. In fact, I didn’t even want love.
At that moment, the only thing I wanted was Julian. Could he betray his fiancée by kissing me? Was it a betrayal if they had no emotional attachment to each other?
“I don’t know what you want me to say, either,” I whispered.
He tucked his face into the crook of my neck as he pressed closer to me. “Tell me you’ve been thinking of me, too.”
“I have.” I hadn’t been able to sleep last night because of it. Some of my insomnia stemmed from worry, but I’d entertained several potent daydreams involving that kiss. Softly, I confessed, “I want you to kiss me again.”
Without waiting for any further invitation, he melded his mouth to mine. I gasped, lips parting to welcome his intrusion. His body moved in a succinct rhythm against mine as he pressed me closer against the wall. I couldn’t pull away. In fact, I didn’t want to.
I arched my body into his. His hand tangled in my braid. He tugged on it, tilting my head back. It stung a bit, but he rewarded me with a deep, thorough kiss. My toes curled in my slippers.
When he broke away, I gasped for breath.
He pressed his hands against the wall to either side of my body. “You’re driving me insane, Francine,” he said with a moan.
“Why? What did I do?”
He must have heard the alarm in my voice, because his gentled. “Nothing.” He dropped his hand from the wall to the side of my face, tracing my jaw until he came to my lips once more. He kissed me, light and sweet. “You’re an angel,” he whispered.
Panic struck me like a spike of lightning. This was indecent. How could we engage in such lewd, sinful behavior in a church?
I pushed him away. “We have to get back. We’ve been away for too long already.”
He hedged away from my body. The doorknob jiggled as he eased the door open. He peeked into the library. His shoulder pressed uncomfortably against my chest. I bit my tongue to stifle a complaint.
“I don’t see anyone,” he said. He thrust the door wider and gestured for me to precede him.
But when I slipped out into the library, he started to shut the door once more.
“Wait,” I whispered. “What are you doing?”
“I’ll wait five minutes then follow you.”
Why hadn’t I thought of that? If we arrived back at the same time, everyone would suspect the worst. That was if the sin wasn’t branded on my cheeks like my blush.
I cautiously slipped along the bookcases. No one confronted me on the lower landing of the library. When I reached the edge of the balcony’s shadows, I craned my neck. Whoever had entered had since dispersed. I didn’t trust them not to return. I crossed to the staircase with quick steps, despite the pain in my ankle. By the time I reached the common area of the church, the knots in my shoulders had eroded. I picked my way up the stairs to the pews where my parents waited.
As I slipped back into my seat, I drew stares and whispers. Blast. My peers had noticed my absence after all.