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“Gabriel’s getting a little … possessive, I suppose.” Dorothy sighed. “It’s getting a little annoying if I’m being honest.”
“I can tell. You looked like someone had just told you that your dog had died.”
“But I don’t have a dog.”
“You know what I mean, Dorothy.” Frederica waved a hand. “The point is, I could tell that you weren’t happy at all. You were putting on a brave face, but it was becoming obvious. The only time you looked happy was when you were discussing that book with the strange name with Aunt Annabelle. Even then, that didn’t last long.”
Dorothy wrapped her arms around her middle. She hadn’t thought people could tell that she was not right with herself.
“Did anyone else notice?”
“Not that I could tell. Maybe Gabriel could sense something, but I’ve known you for years. I know when you’re upset.” Frederica approached her friend and clasped her hands. “Will you tell me what’s going on? This was meant to be a holiday for us to enjoy ourselves, and you’ve ended up looking sad and losing sleep.”
“That second part isn’t that obvious, is it?”
“Only to me. What’s wrong? Is it because Lord Dashwood is here?”
Dorothy thought about telling her friend a lie, but Frederica wouldn’t believe her. There was nothing else that would lower her mood. She pulled away and sat down heavily on the settee.
“I feel so pathetic, Frederica. I’m upset that he fought for the engagement to end and how he treated me when we hadn’t even met. Now we’ve met, and … well, he’s not what I expected.”
“How do you mean?”
Dorothy bit her lip. She could not tell Frederica about the kisses. That was something Dorothy wanted to keep to herself for a while. She stared at her hands twisting in her lap.
“I don’t know. He … he seems different from what I expected. When we first met, before I knew who he was, I liked him. If there was anyone I would consider courting me, it would be him. Finding out his identity should have made him unacceptable. And yet …”
“It hasn’t,” Frederica finished.
“No.”
Frederica sighed. She sat beside her friend.
“You don’t like this, do you?”
“Of course, I don’t. It’s bad enough that we must be in the same house for a week.”
“Have you actually talked to him? Because I haven’t seen you speak to him when I’m with you.” Frederica’s eyes narrowed. “Or have you been sneaking off to speak to him?”
“Sneaking off? No! I’ve just been in the same room as him when we’re alone.” That was as close to the truth as she could get. “We didn’t do anything, Frederica. It was just talking.”
“I believe you, but I doubt anyone else will. Not even Aunt Annabelle, and she’s pretty relaxed with etiquette this week.”
Dorothy’s head was hurting. She didn’t know if it was because of the lack of sleep – the nap in the afternoon hadn’t taken much of the edge off – or from the tension during dinner, but it was too much for her.
She put her head in her hands, resisting the urge to cry.
“Oh, Dorothy.” Frederica put her arms around her. “I hope you can forgive me.”
“What do I need to forgive you for?”
“For bringing you here. If I’d known Dashwood was going to be here …”
“No, you have nothing to apologise for.” Dorothy lifted her head and gave her friend a small smile. “And I did want to come. This place is beautiful, and I don’t regret coming.”
“But the guests could be slightly different.”
“Something like that.” Rubbing her hands over her eyes, Dorothy leaned into her friend. “We’ve got a few days left. I want to make the most of them. Preferably on our own, away from the other guests. There is plenty I want to do without having everyone else around. Do you think we can do that?”
