The Foundling (Rags to Richmonds #3)

Chapter 16

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

P eople certainly were curious. Over the next several hours, Frederica lost count of the number of times she was asked for an introduction, congratulated on being returned to her family, welcomed to the ton , and—most unexpectedly of all—complimented, on everything from her looks to her dancing, both of which she found absurd. Were it not for her sisters’ marriages and the duke’s advocacy, she might have been persuaded to think people were laughing at her. She had spent her whole life being of no interest to anybody. To be suddenly the cynosure of all eyes was bewildering.

On Oakley’s advice, she did not elaborate on her present situation, despite it clearly being all anybody wished to know. Her family had resolved that she should not be left alone even for one moment, thus one of them was always present to fend off any probing questions. To that end, they had also somehow contrived to help her evade any invitations to dance the first three sets. The two after that, she had danced—poorly—with Kem and Worthe, while for the present set, she was partnered by Oakley. Next to come was the supper dance, and she had promised that to Penrith. She was beside herself in anticipation for it, though she dearly hoped she would make less of a fudge of it than she was presently making of the dance with her brother.

“I am so sorry,” she whispered after tripping him with a wrong turn. “I thought it was the other way.”

“It is well,” he replied with a grin. “I thought it was our turn to go around the outside, so I am hardly in a position to judge. Do not concern yourself—nobody noticed.”

“I do not know how. It feels as though everybody is watching me.”

“None more so than the duke, eh?”

Frederica followed Oakley’s gaze to where Penrith danced in another group. He was, indeed, looking in her direction, quite ignoring his partner. Frederica felt herself blush—and blush again when her inattention made her miss her cue to skip forwards.

“You two seem to enjoy each other’s company exceedingly well,” Oakley said as they joined opposite arms and skipped around on the spot.

Frederica nodded, grinning broadly. Penrith, like her brothers and sisters, had spent much of the evening by her side. He had been required to dance more often than she, but he had returned to her between almost every set, heading off as many questions about her past as she had about his late wife. They made a fine team .

Oakley swapped arms with her, and they skipped back in the other direction. “If he were to speak to you at some point about wishing to spend more time with you…considerably more time…would you be amenable to such a…circumstance?”

Frederica looked at him eagerly, her heart beating even faster than the energetic dance demanded. “Has he said he wishes to…spend more time with me?”

“No—no, he has not. I only wished to know what I ought to say if he did.”

Frederica’s heart sank, and she felt a fool for having allowed it to soar—though it taught her much about her own mind that hope had been her first response to her brother’s ill-veiled hint. They stopped skipping and held their places while the other couples took their turns in the dance. In a voice for her ears only, Oakley added, “I do not mean to hasten you, Frederica—far from it. Only, I have not had a great deal of success when it comes to this side of things, and I should not like to err again. Adelaide and Scarlett would have my guts.”

Frederica laughed lightly but did not reply, for the final figure of the dance was upon them, after which she asked Oakley to fetch her a drink and agreed to meet him at the table in the corner where they had both espied Scarlett frantically fanning herself.

“Lord but it is hot in here!” her sister said when Frederica sat next to her. “You danced well in that set, considering. If I did not know better, I would never have guessed that you were still learning that one this afternoon. ”

Frederica smiled absently but then, thinking to take advantage of their moment alone, said quietly, “Scarlett, what would happen to the family if I decided to stay at Taverstock?”

Her sister ceased fanning herself and regarded her seriously. “We would stand by you. We have told you as much. I wish you would believe us.”

“I do believe you, and I am exceedingly grateful, but that is not what I asked. I need to know what would happen to all of you if all of these people”—she gestured to the rest of the room—“ceased to think of me as a charming curiosity who grew up in an orphanage, and instead recognised me as somebody who still lived and worked there.” She put her hand on Scarlett’s arm. “I beg you would be honest with me. I need to know.”

After a moment’s hesitation, Scarlett twisted her mouth ruefully and sighed. “Very well—it could be frowned upon. Society can be unforgiving—but we would not allow it to trouble us.”

“But what would be the actual consequence? Would it affect Oakley’s chances of marrying well?”

“I suppose it is possible, but?—”

“Would you be shunned—you and Worthe, Adelaide and Kem, Lord and Lady Tipton? Would I disgrace you all in the eyes of your friends?”

“I am sure our friends would know better.”

“Everyone else, then.”

“Well…I suppose, some people might object to the association—but it does not matter!” she said with a note of exasperation in her voice that was quite unlike her. “ You must remember, our aunt and uncle have lived through more than their share of scandals—our father’s elopement, Damian’s many depraved escapades, Adelaide’s broken engagement…They know how to weather such storms.”

Frederica nodded slowly, surer by the moment that she knew her heart at last. “I begin to think it would be infinitely better if they were not made to weather another.”

Scarlett peered at her shrewdly, before reiterating, “They will withstand whatever you throw at them.” Then she smirked. “But I cannot deny that if you decided to throw a duke at them, they would be very unlikely to cavil. Oh! Speak of the devil…”

“Here they are!” Oakley announced, arriving in their little corner with two glasses of wine, Scarlett’s husband, and Penrith. Frederica’s stomach began fluttering wildly.

“For you, my love,” Worthe said, handing Scarlett the glass he had brought for her and sitting in the nearest seat.

“And for you,” Oakley said, handing Frederica her glass. Gesturing to Penrith, he said, “His Grace was looking for you.”

“Forgive me,” Frederica said to him. “Scarlett found this empty corner, and I thought I might take advantage to avoid any more interrogations. I was not hiding from you.”

“I am very glad to hear it,” he said, “for I believe this next dance is mine.”

After a few sips of wine to quench her thirst—and for courage—Frederica took the duke’s hand, and together they joined the line of dancers, where she proceeded to enjoy one of the most magical half-hours of her life. She had worried she would be self-conscious, but it was exactly as it had been when they first danced together at Avonwyke. The heat of his hands lingered upon her palms even when they were not touching; the weight of his gaze made itself felt, even when she was dancing down the line away from him. Her mistakes went unremarked, and their neighbours in the dance went ignored. There was neither the necessity nor the room for nerves in her heart, for it was too full of a far more powerful sentiment.

The set came to an end but the thrall did not. Frederica felt as though she was floating as Penrith led her wordlessly towards the supper room. She met his gaze repeatedly, each time surprised at the intensity with which he was regarding her, each time discomposed by his handsomeness. When he tugged on her hand and said in a low voice, “Come with me,” she went unquestioningly. She would have followed him to the moon if he had asked it of her at that moment.

He led her to a room that was guarded by a footman—a private room, not open to the revellers—and shut the door behind them. It ought to have been alarming that they were standing toe-to-toe in a moonlit room with no chaperon and his breath coming quickly and unevenly as he stared at her—but she had never felt so sure of anything. It was as though all her deliberations had led to this moment .

“Forgive me,” he said in a voice that made Frederica shiver. “I had every intention of waiting, but I could not withstand another moment of you looking at me in that way.” He gave a small laugh and shook his head. “You are still doing it.”

“Sorry.” She closed her eyes in jest and felt him take up both her hands and lean closer.

“Have I told you how absolutely beautiful you look this evening, Frederica?”

She opened her eyes wide in surprise upon hearing him address her so familiarly. It was dark, but this close, she could see his expression—ardent and joyous. An answering smile pulled at her own lips. “Just about everybody I have spoken to this evening has told me—I am completely persuaded that it must be common ballroom parlance for ‘good evening’.”

He chuckled slightly and shook his head. “Only you could think that. Truly, I have never encountered modesty as artless as yours. People have said it to you because it is true. You are the handsomest woman here tonight.”

Frederica scoffed. “That could not be true anywhere that my sisters are present.”

His mouth quirked. “You will have to forgive me if I disagree. And I believe I am the authority on the matter, since it is your face I see every time I close my eyes—your face I look for every time I catch a glimpse of somebody I hope might be you in the street—your face I imagine whenever I think of you, which is all the time.”

Frederica’s heart was racing to hear him express thoughts that so closely mirrored her own. She had tried valiantly not to be carried away on a swell of false hope these past two weeks, but there had been no banishing him from her thoughts, and she too had found herself more often thinking of him than not. “I dared not hope that you…” She faltered and looked down, too embarrassed to say more.

Penrith put a finger under her chin and tilted her face back up to his. “I beg you would cease to doubt it this instant. Dearest Frederica, you are the kindest, gentlest, sweetest-tempered soul I have ever known. You must know I love you.”

An image sprang to Frederica’s mind of his expression of pure happiness as he watched his children in the nursery—along with the comprehension that he had not only been watching his children. Yes , she realised: she had suspected it, though she had done her best not to allow herself to believe it. She thought her heart might burst to hear him say it. “And I you,” she whispered back.

He exhaled forcefully, all the air leaving him in one breath. Then he cradled her face in his hands and kissed her—gently at first, but one arm soon snaked around her waist and pulled her tightly against him, and for one startling but glorious moment, a greater ardour crept into his caress. Then someone banged on the door and called for him, and Frederica’s fairy tale evening came crashing down around her ears.

“What is it?” Penrith barked. He had jerked away from her the moment the knock came, but he held on to her hand .

“Someone is here looking for Miss Richmond, Your Grace, but nobody can find her.”

Frederica tensed, convinced that it could only be one of her relations and dismayed that she must have displeased them by being alone with the duke.

Penrith squeezed her hand and fixed her with an earnest look. “Do not worry. One moment.” He marched to the door and yanked it open. “Who is looking for her?”

“A Mr Dalton from the Taverstock Orphanage. He says it is urgent.”

“Rupert!” Frederica’s stomach turned over with a sickening lurch. Something dire must have happened for him to have come all this way in the middle of the night to fetch her. “What has happened?” she cried as she rushed to the door.

Penrith held it firm, preventing her from seeing out—or, she comprehended, anyone from seeing in. “Where is he?” he asked his footman.

“In the servants’ hall, Your Grace.”

Penrith hesitated; his expression, now fully lit by the candlelight streaming through the partially opened door, was grim. With a sigh, he nodded and opened the door a little farther, revealing Frederica’s presence to the footman. “Take Miss Richmond to him. I shall join you there presently.” To Frederica he said, “I shall find your cousin and bring him to you.”

She begged him to make haste and stepped around the door, blinking fiercely in the bright light as she followed the footman along the fringes of the crowd, away from the ball, and into a world that was much more familiar to her. A warren of dingy service passages led, eventually, to a large room with a table and benches, at one end of which was a huddle of servants. They fell silent when she entered. Some looked at her with curiosity, some with distaste, some with pity as they shuffled aside to reveal Rupert, sitting in their midst. The turn of his countenance told Frederica all she needed to know about the seriousness of the situation. She squeezed her eyes shut.

I should never have come!