Page 12 of The Broken Marchioness (Lords of Inconvenience #3)

CHAPTER TWELVE

F rederica stared numbly between her parents.

Ernest was walking around the parlor, clearly examining every inch of it with great interest. He even picked up some of the ornaments from the mantelpiece, turning them over in his hands, before replacing them again.

Margaret, on the other hand, didn’t examine anything other than Frederica. She sat in the chair closest to her, leaning toward Frederica, her eyes wide like a barn owl’s gaze.

“And you are being a good wife, are you not?” Margaret asked, restlessness in her tone. “You are attending to him in every way?”

“Mama, I am his wife, not his valet.”

“Oh, you know what I mean.” Margaret waved her hand impatiently. “You are a marchioness now, Frederica. There can be no repeat of the scandals you have indulged in before.”

“Indulged in!?” Frederica spluttered. “You make it sound as if they were of my choosing.”

“Did you not put yourself in those situations?” Ernest suddenly spoke from across the room, now having turned his attention to a cabinet full of crystal glasses. “Did you not make yourself vulnerable? You are hardly blameless.”

Frederica could say nothing. She stared at her father’s back, speechless.

Is he right? Am I to blame after all?

She thought back to the night when Lord Wetherington had found her alone. She had been foolish enough to think that her isolation would keep her safe, but it hadn’t. She had made herself into his target.

The Almack’s Assembly Rooms were just the same. Maybe she had gone with the intent of finding Dorothy, of ensuring she was perfectly safe, but once again, Frederica had made herself the victim of another scandal.

Allan never would have taken advantage of me though. He never would have tried to force a kiss as Lord Wetherington had done.

She wished to argue that it wasn’t her doing, but all fight or fire within her gut abated at once. It was as if it had been doused in ice, put out at once. She hung her head.

“No, dear.” Margaret abruptly tapped her chin. “You are a marchioness now. You must meet the gaze of the ton with challenge and pride.”

“Pride?” Frederica repeated, thinking it an odd sort of word to choose. “What about modesty? Being humble? Do I wish for the world to think I am turning my nose up at them?”

“Good Lord,” Ernest scoffed. “You have no awareness of your station.” He turned to face her sharply, his face like thunder. “To think we had you for a daughter.”

She leaned back, as if he had slapped her with the words.

“After all we have done for you — all the effort and money we put into your tuition, your governess, raising you to be a perfect lady, to be sensible of your position — and this is how you repay our kindness?”

“That’s how you see me?” she whispered the words.

More than anything in the world at that moment, she wished she was with Honora again, hiding in her house in Cornwall. At least there, she was safe. She was far away from this world of hatred.

She had thought briefly the day before that maybe under Allan’s roof, she could find that sense of being home, but it was not to be. Her parents had invaded this space, made her feel small and insignificant, as if she were nothing more than a shadow cast onto a wall.

“Maybe if we’d had a son, he would have done more to impress our position and status in the world.”

“Ernest,” Margaret said sharply. “That is unkind. We love our daughter dearly.” She placed her hand over Frederica’s on her knee.

Frederica considered reaching out and taking her mother’s hand and trying to find solace in her mother’s touch.

“She may be unlike us and a disappointment, but we still love her.” Margaret’s words made Frederica stand, all thought of taking comfort in her mother gone.

I am a disappointment to them.

She had a sudden desire to escape. Maybe she’d go to the music room or even seek out refuge in Allan’s rose garden. At that moment, she would rather be anywhere than here.

She marched toward the door.

“Where are you going?” Ernest barked at her. “Frederica, we are not done here. I demand you stop at once.”

Frederica’s feet stopped of their own accord.

It seemed after running away from them for a year and defying their wishes, a small old voice inside her mind had re-awakened. A voice that cried out that she should not disobey her parents. After all, she had disobeyed them enough. No wonder she was a disappointment to them .

“Now, turn and face me.” His words were cold and icy.

Frederica didn’t turn at once, not until he spoke again.

“Frederica,” he hissed her name.

She flinched then turned on the spot to face him, her eyes narrowed.

She found an expression not unlike her own staring back at her. Her father was glowering at her, utter dislike spread across her face.

“Now, we must talk of all that you will do as a marchioness. First, you must hold a ball.”

“Why?” she asked. “Why must I?”

“Because it is the done thing,” Margaret explained, waving her arms in the air. “You must announce yourself as a marchioness on the ton’s stage. You must play a part now. It is a performance.”

“You must also hold a tea party, only for the ladies,” Ernest went on. “Your mother did the same when we married.”

“Yes, that’s right. You must invite all the well-to-do ladies that you can,” Margaret seconded. “As for your clothes…” She looked down the gown that Frederica was wearing.

Once again, Frederica had donned the pink gown her aunt had given her. It was the only one in her wardrobe that she felt truly comfortable in. She fidgeted with it now, adjusting the skirt haphazardly.

“You must start dressing like a marchioness.” Margaret gestured to a pile of ladies’ journals and magazines she had brought with her. “These will tell you all about the latest fashions from Paris. The mode this month is ruffles.”

Frederica tried her best not to scoff, knowing it would incur her parents’ wrath all the more.

“You know she will not do it, Margaret.” Ernest sighed heavily, rubbing his brow. “She is quite determined to embarrass us. I am convinced of it. Did you not see how interminably miserable she looked at their wedding? I am sure she did it just to spite us.”

“Ernest!” Margaret complained.

“I know it,” Ernest spat.

Frederica felt pain in her gut. She didn’t know what else to do. The guilt was swelling inside her, along with the shame and fury. She couldn’t argue with her parents; that particular fire had completely gone. Instead, she spun on her heel and marched toward the door, only before she could reach it, it opened.

She jumped back to avoid being hit as Allan walked into the room. His eyes shot to her and then to her parents.

Something leapt in her chest at seeing him. She was trying to hold so many emotions inside of her that the confusion of happiness, relief, and fear at his entrance made it all the worse. She blinked madly, holding back tears she was afraid would fall.

The idea that Allan would hear even more about how much her parents were disappointed in her was a cruel thought indeed.

“Frederica?” he said to her, walking toward her. “Your parents have come to visit?”

She nodded, unable to speak for a sudden lump in her throat.

“What a pleasant house you have, My Lord,” Margaret declared with a suddenly simpering tone, moving to her feet as she swept an arm around the room, admiringly.

Frederica tore her gaze away from her mother, choosing to stare at Allan instead. She was still trying to figure out a way to creep past him and escape her parents.

“We simply came to see if our daughter was settling in,” Ernest explained.

“Were you now?” Allan asked in a somewhat dubious tone. He walked toward Frederica, his eyes moving to meet hers. “Are you all right?”

“I —”

“She’s fine,” Ernest said, cutting Frederica off before she could finish speaking for herself. The expression on Allan’s face altered at once. His jaw hardened to something that was almost unrecognizable. “We have simply been giving her instructions in how to behave now she is a marchioness.”

“What events to hold — a ball, and a tea party,” Margaret chimed in.

“Who she should invite,” Ernest continued.

“What she should wear.”

“I see,” Allan said coolly. “And you think a marchioness needs to hear such words from an earl and countess, do you?”

Frederica’s eyes widened.

Allan was staring at her.

“Nothing you wish to say to them, Frederica?” he asked.

“I have said my peace,” she whispered for his ears only. He looked as if he did not quite believe her.

“We have much experience of this world, My Lord,” Margaret said, attempting to laugh.

The sudden frown that appeared on Allan’s face made Frederica shift on the spot. She had this errant idea of softening that frown, running a finger across his temple and down to his cheeks. When she imagined placing a kiss there, she had to tear her gaze away from Allan.

What is happening to me?

“We wish to instruct our daughter to behave properly, as any marchioness should do —” Ernest was cut off.

“And a marchioness has no need of your advice. May I remind you that she is now your superior?” Allan suddenly picked up Frederica’s hand.

She was as stiff as wood, but she followed where he gently steered her. He urged her to take her place in a large rococo armchair. It was the grandest seat in the room. With his back turned to her parents, he winked at her, encouragingly.

Confused, she took the chair, aware that she hadn’t yet dared sit in such a seat.

What is he up to now?

“I must ask that you leave,” Allan said, standing straight and turning to face them. He leaned on the back of the winged armchair.

“What?” Ernest spluttered, still attempting to smile as if this was no big deal though Allan seemed a great distance away from joining in with any such smile.

“Not plainly spoken enough for you, My Lord? Very well, then I shall speak plainer still.” Allan’s voice was commanding in the room. “I will not stand to be here and witness my wife being talked down to and belittled in her own home. She outranks you, and she is also no longer under your roof and guardianship. She has a home of her own — and as such — she will not suffer anyone telling her what to do in it.”

He gestured to the door. “I think it wise you two leave at once. You will not return to this house unless expressly invited by my wife or me.”

What is he doing?

Frederica turned in her seat to stare at him.

This will only make it worse!

“Allan,” she hissed at him.

“Trust me,” he whispered again.

Margaret looked as if she had been kicked in the stomach as Ernest turned bright purple.

“Come, Margaret, we know when we are not wanted.” In one swift movement, he led her from the room though Frederica caught her mother’s gaze looking back at her, imploringly.

A rage pumped through Frederica’s veins as she heard her mother and father arguing in the distance, their heavy footsteps striding through the house. She was trying to hold onto so many emotions that she felt like she was balancing multiple balls of stringed wool in her arms. There were far too many to possibly hold onto at once.

As a door was slammed across the house, Frederica felt as if she had dropped that wool and it had all begun to unravel.

“What do you think you were doing?” Frederica moved to her knees on the armchair, turning to face Allan behind her.

“Ousting them from our house,” Allan said calmly with a shrug.

“How can you do that?”

“Freddie, they were talking down to you. Belittling you. You weren’t defending yourself.” He looked her straight in the eye as he spoke. “If you won’t defend yourself, then I will damn well do it for you.”

“What did you call me?” she whispered in amazement.

“Ah, yes, Freddie.” He shifted his weight awkwardly between his feet. “It’s my new name for you. Do you mind?”

“I mind that you just sent my parents out of the house.” She waved an arm at the door.

“What? Did you actually want to spend hours at a time here with them talking down to you?”

“Maybe I deserved it,” Frederica said, watching as Allan jumped back from her, as if she had burned him.

“What did you say?”

“Maybe I deserved it.” She climbed off the armchair and stood straight, her hands on her hips. “They are right to make me sensible of the situation I have put myself in, aren’t they?”

“Sensible of it? Or guilty?” he challenged.

“They are one and the same thing!” she insisted.

“No, they are not.” Allan turned away, pacing on the spot. “For anyone to belittle another’s position in life takes extraordinary pride, but from one’s own parents… it’s disgusting behavior.”

“It’s only right after what happened,” she said, trying to raise her voice to match his.

“After what happened?” he repeated in alarm. “You and I were found alone in a corridor. We were only talking. You know as well as I that we did nothing wrong. For God’s sake, I only stopped you from falling downstairs when we were seen. Why should you be ashamed of that?”

“It’s not that.”

“Then what is it?” he challenged fiercely. “Because I cannot see why you would want your parents in this house to make you feel dreadful about yourself when we did nothing wrong.”

“Maybe it is my fault,” she complained, latching onto the last thing her father had said. “I put myself in these situations.”

“You were walking down a corridor!” Allan practically shouted the words. “Oh yes, that’s the act of a scandalous woman, isn’t it?”

“Do not be sarcastic now, Allan, please.”

“Then explain it to me.” He took a step toward her. “Explain to me why on earth you should suffer guilt and shame in your own home and be satisfied to be belittled even more for it from your own parents.”

“Because you were not my only scandal, Allan, remember?” She threw the words into the air, not knowing what else to do. “What came before…” She held her hand to her chest. “It casts a long shadow.”

“And what did exactly happen before?” Allan said, his voice now deep and low. “What is it you are not telling me?”