“Lady Ashford,” he addressed her. “You will forgive me if I do not pretend this is a welcome visit.”
Frances stared at him.
The viscountess’s smile faltered only slightly. “I called to offer my congratulations.”
“I heard enough to know you did not come for that.”
A silence followed. Frances felt it press against her skin.
Lady Ashford recovered herself with admirable speed. “You misunderstand me, Your Grace. I was only expressing concern for Her Grace. These are delicate circumstances, and I thought–”
“You thought to question my wife about a child in my care.” His voice remained low, but there was something in it that made Frances’ breath catch.
Lady Ashford’s hand tightened upon the back of her chair. “Society is already asking questions. It is not unreasonable that–”
“It isentirelyunreasonable in my house.”
Frances looked from one to the other. Andrew had not moved farther into the room, yet somehow he had taken command of all of it. Even the space around Lady Ashford seemed to narrow.
“Your Grace,” the viscountess said carefully, “I believe you mistake friendly advice for interference.”
“I mistake nothing.”
Her expression hardened for the first time. Only a little, but Frances saw it.
“You have no place questioning my household,” he told her. “You have no place speaking to my duchess in this manner. And you have no place here, now.”
Lady Ashford went still. Frances’ heart was beating too quickly.
My duchess.
The words ought to have sounded possessive in a way she would resent. Instead, spoken in that cold, steady voice, they felt like a shield thrown between her and something she had not yet seen clearly.
The viscountess drew herself up. “Surely there is no need for such severity.”
“There is every need,” he demanded.
“I came as a guest.”
“And you will leave as one who has forgotten herself.”
Color flared fully in Lady Ashford’s face then. “Your Grace, I must protest–”
“No.” Andrew’s voice cut cleanly through hers. “What you must do is leave.”
Frances stood slowly, though she did not know why. Perhaps she meant to soften the moment, to restore some fragment of propriety before it shattered entirely. But Andrew did not look at her. He kept his attention upon Lady Ashford with a focus so absolute that Frances understood, with a sudden twist of unease, that he was not merely angry. He was alarmed.
Lady Ashford must have understood it too, for her composure wavered.
“I assure you,” she answered more quietly now, “I intended no harm.”
“Then you will find it easy not to repeat it.” Andrew stepped aside, leaving the doorway clear. “You will not approach Her Grace again.”
The viscountess’s lips parted. “That is hardly necessary.”
“It is not a request.”
Another silence followed. At last, Lady Ashford gathered her gloves from the table. Her movements were precise, but not quite steady. She turned to Frances and offered a small, strained smile.
