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“We’re getting a nanny,” he said in a tone that brooked no argument from anyone. “And Francesca is busy enough.” Then, to me, “We’ll talk about this later, all right?”
I wanted to talk about it now. Just like I wanted to talk about why in the hell we had to have dinner with people who clearly did not want me there. Why he felt it was more important to put on whatever this show was for his neighbors than be true to his own family.
“Excuse me, sir,” interrupted Gibson before I could say as much. “Dinner is served.”
Xavier didn’t look away from me, but something flickered in his blue eyes that begged me to wait.
So, as everyone stood to adjourn to the dining room, I did.
I just didn’t think I would regret it so soon.
FOURTEEN
Dinner was the quietest disaster I’d ever lived through.
It started with a savory carrot soup decorated with digs at my dress. Next was a succulent roast with a side of “When is Francesca going home?” Third, was the salad course, dressed with a game of Pretend Frankie Isn’t in the Room, even when I asked direct questions. By the time we took up our solid silver spoons for dessert, a raspberry cream confection, I wanted to throw mine in the faces of every person at the table, including Xavier, whose primary response to every passive-aggressive insult was to blink and squeeze my knee as if to say,Just deal with it.
“I’d love to take you shopping, Felina,” Imogene had told me as our dessert plates were being cleared.
“That’s very kind,” I lied through my teeth. “And it’s Francesca.”
I would have rather jumped in the lake with all my clothes on. And dragged her with me if she purposefully called me by the wrong name one morefreakingtime.
Of course, it didn’t help that Imogene probably looked like a supermodel in literally everything she put on, while the wrong outfit made my curves strongly resemble the body of a Cabbage Patch Kid. I had watched her eat exactly two bites of each dish she was served before setting her utensils primly at the eight and two positions, fork below the knife. I had thoroughly enjoyed all the courses, but if the Douglases’ faces were any indication, I more closely resembled one of the estate’s pigs chowing down on their nightly slop.
Imogene looked over my outfit somewhat pityingly. “Of course, I wouldn’t want to embarrass you. The shops I prefer might be a bit beyond your pocket money.” She winced, like it was physically hurting her to think about it. “Kip, you really might increase her allowance. What else shall the poor girl to wear to dinner?”
Xavier chuffed, as if the idea was preposterous, but his hand landed on my knee and squeezed again, silently bidding me to hold my temper.
I didn’t understand it. Normally,hewas the one ready to fly off the handle at any sign of insult to his person. But throughout the dinner, he’d been as placid as a dove, making pleasant, if dull conversation with the viscount about the latest weather patterns.
Before I could declare heartily that as a grown woman, I could buy my own clothes and did not need or want an allowance from any man, thank you, Imogene turned to Georgina to discuss the hat trends at this year’s Ascot. And for the fourteenth time that evening, it was like I did not exist.
By the time Gibson and a footman (I still couldn’t believe Corbray Hall had one) arrived to clear the table and usher everyone to a different sitting room for after-dinner drinks and petit fours, I was done. I claimed a headache and escaped to my rooms, eager to kiss my daughter good night, only to find that Sofia had already been put to bed.
And I hadn’t even been told.
So I stomped around the room, yanking off my earrings like I was preparing for a street fight, throwing my clothes into the laundry basket like they were hand grenades. I tried a hot shower, three different books, and even made myself some tea with the room’s kettle. Nothing calmed me down.
It was my own fault for not standing up for myself. I knew that. But I didn’t know how to respond to these people the right way. At home, my family was direct, a table full of filterless Italian Puerto Ricans who said exactly what they thought, when they thought it. It was crude sometimes, and hurtful, but at least you knew where everyone stood. I could deal with brutal honesty.
But these games—insults masked as complimentary advice, disdain that played like courtesy—I didn’t know how to do that. Every glance was coded, every comment an inside joke. I was completely outmatched.
And so, by the time Xavier came back to the room sometime past ten, I had been seething at the end of the bed in my nightgown and robe for nearly two hours, imagining all the ways I could pin my boyfriend to the wall without actually killing him. I had come to the unreasonable conclusion that it was entirely his fault. Even if I couldn’t play the game, he certainly could. And he should have played it for me, dammit.
He opened the door quietly, trying to slip in like a cat, but stopped halfway when he realized the light was still on. “Oh, you’re awake.”
I looked up from where I was tying and untying the two ends of my robe. A copy ofPersuasionlay next to me, unopened. I pushed it to the floor. “Oh, you’re speaking to me.”
Xavier frowned and closed the door behind him. “What is that supposed to mean?” He slipped off his shoes and set them by the door. I only then realized how odd it was to see him wearing shoes inside. The Xavier I knew took them off as soon as he entered any house. Not here, apparently, where there were maids cleaning every room daily.
“Well, to start with, I’m shocked you even noticed I was gone,” I said. “You barely said anything to me when I bid everyone good night. I realize none of them could have cared less, but I thought you might a little.”
Xavier worried his jaw for a moment, clearly trying to figure out how to navigate this situation. I honestly wasn’t sure how to navigate it myself. I wasn’t used to this feeling of being indebted to someone by virtue of their generosity while at the same time being furious with them. I was lucky to be here, in this grand house, on an actual estate like the ones I’d read about for years. But I also felt cast out, like I absolutely did not belong.
“I’m sorry,” he said finally, though it was wooden and rehearsed. “To be honest, I was relieved.” He continued upon seeing my expression, “Not because I wanted you to leave. Just because you were so clearly having a terrible time. I didn’t want you to suffer.”
That should have made me feel better.
