CHAPTER 27
James
“Your Grace, would you like me to stoke the fire for you?” a servant’s voice called.
James looked over his shoulder. A young footman stood in the doorway, illuminated by the light from the sconces in the hall.
“No,” he replied. “I am quite comfortable as I am. You may retire.”
“As you wish, Your Grace. Is there anything else you require?”
“Solitude, if you please,” he said, but there was no anger in his voice. His tone was even, without inflection.
“Of course.”
It was only after the footman had disappeared that James realized who he was. He was the boy Frances had interceded for while he was being chastised by Franklin.
Memories of that day flashed through his mind, and he took a deep breath. She wasn’t going to be chastising Franklin again. Nor advocate for any of the servants. Her time at his home was at an end. Finished.
The previous day, her lady’s maid had supervised the packing of her belongings, which had been transferred to his godmother’s home. She had made her way there after all, likely seeking the familiarity of the place. Although how familiar it was to her, he didn’t know. She hadn’t lived there for very long, after all.
What would her life be like now?
She would have her money. That was clear. He entirely believed her when she said that she was not going to spend a penny of it, that she was going to send it back, so he had decided to give the money to Aunt Eugenia instead.
She would keep it safe for Frances until her anger had ebbed. When she could think clearly again, she would be grateful for the money. James knew it.
He was going to provide for her as a gentleman ought. He was determined to do right by her.
Or as right as he could after he had upset her so very much. He hadn’t meant to make her love him, and he hadn’t meant to love her either. It had happened as naturally as breathing.
But that was utter foolishness. He had to forget all about that. And he would. Or at least he kept telling himself that.
He poured himself another whiskey. The third? Fourth? He had lost count. The decanter was nearly empty anyway.
Another knock sounded at the door, and he turned.
Not now.
“I told you I do not need anything. You may retire.”
“Your Grace.” Franklin stepped into the room without waiting for permission. “Someone is at the door. A visitor at this unseemly hour.”
“Who would call at this time of night?” It was almost ten o’clock.
“It is your godmother.”
James groaned. Of course, she was here. He had expected her sooner, to be frank.
“I suppose there is no way you can ask her to return at a more decent hour?”
“When have I ever been known to abandon a pursuit that I was committed to?” her voice came immediately, and she strode into the room.
She was wearing a gown fit for a ball and an elaborate turban. “And it is not late at all.”
“It is very late,” he insisted.
“At your age, you ought to be out and about at this time of day,” she remarked. “At least you are still awake, so I daresay it’s not too late to have a conversation. Franklin, I feel as though I have stepped into an ice house. Are you trying to freeze your master?”
