Page 76 of Crash Landing
It still did not work. He hardly read a word because he remained too riled to concentrate.
Finally, he gave up, set aside his drink that he had not touched, and walked out of the library just as the doctor came downstairs.
Since it was time for supper, Trajan invited him to join them. “You are welcome to stay, Dr. Pritchard.”
“It is most generous of you, Your Grace. But I am a family man and my wife will expect me home. Besides, I prefer not to travel at night if I can help it.”
Trajan did not press him, for he understood the man’s concerns. He walked the doctor out. “Thank you. Will Hermia be all right?”
“Yes, I think it was nothing more serious than too many strawberry scones.”
Trajan managed a smile. “Good to know that’s all it was. We were afraid it was something more serious. I am relieved.”
Hermia, as a precaution, continued the charade and took her supper in bed.
With the doctor now gone, Florence and his cousins joined him in the dining room. However, none of them were particularly hungry or in any humor to chatter. They ate mostly in silence, something he knew Florence hated.
But it could not be helped. How were they to discuss the letters while servants were bustling in and out to serve them the courses that Florence barely touched?
He and his cousins ate, but not nearly as heartily as they would have done under normal circumstances.
Nor did he wish to talk about their London trip. He thought it safest to make no announcement of their departure until tomorrow morning, just before they were on their way. Servants chatted, especially between neighboring estates, and he did not want word getting back to Frampton tonight and him realizing the letters had been switched.
After supper, his cousins decided to play billiards. Their granduncle had enjoyed the game and installed a magnificent table in Gull Hall.
“Will you join us, Trajan?” Andrew asked.
“Later,” Trajan said. “I need a moment with Florence.”
He knew he ought to have taken it easier on her, but he was still mad with worry about what she had done. Not so much what she had done, but to whom she had done it…Frampton.
She had gone up to her bedchamber immediately after supper, so he went up there now.
“If all you wish to do is stare at me in silence, frowning for the next half-hour, then let us skip our quietmoment,” Florence said, noticing him standing in the doorway. “I am exhausted and could do with a good night’s sleep.”
“We need to talk.” But Mrs. Albright was with her, neatly folding the few gowns and other garments and necessities into Florence’s travel pouch for tomorrow’s journey. “Come downstairs with me, Florence. Just for a moment.”
“All right.”
He ordered Timmons to bring hot cocoa for them in the library.
“We’ll try this again, hopefully without mishap,” he said, leading her in. “We need to clear the air.”
“Between us? Oh, so you do intend to end our betrothal.” She looked utterly stricken, as though he had just stabbed her through the heart.
“I amnotending our betrothal. Why do you think I would?”
“Are you not sick of me yet? You certainly seem to be. You have hardly spoken to me other than to admonish me. And you could not look at me at supper. Do not bother to deny it. I am quite familiar with that look of disgust.”
His heart twisted in a knot. She was referring to the looks her mother had given her throughout her life.
“I warned you this would happen,” she said, her words tight and pained.
“Florence, stop. It isn’t you with whom I am angry.”
“Then who?”
“Me. Have I not made that clear? I am still unsettled and cannot seem to shake off this feeling of danger. It isn’t you. This is why I wanted us to speak. You are the best thing to come out of all this.”
