Sins of Omission (8 page)

A somnolent silence descended upon the house, the only sounds coming from the crackling of wood in the fireplaces, the ticking of a clock in the parlor, and the scurrying of mice in the attic.  If one listened carefully, a rhythmic drip-drip could be heard from the melting icicles in the eaves of the house.  The past two days had been a little warmer, melting the snow in those out-of-the-way spots that weak winter sunshine hadn’t been able to reach, and turning the roads into ribbons of mud. February was the dreariest month; that last stretch of darkness before the promise of spring, which lifted the spirits and dispelled the gloom of the long winter months.

Frances listened carefully for any sounds coming from down the hall.  Neve had fed Valentine only an hour ago, so everyone should be asleep until the baby woke up howling for another feeding.  Frances hadn’t realized how often babies needed to be fed.  Normally, noblewomen turned over their children to wet-nurses who breastfed the babies without disturbing the mother, but Neve wouldn’t hear of it.  She wanted to nurse Valentine herself, and barely let the baby out of her sight.  It was endearing, if a little unorthodox, but Frances understood only too well.  She’d have kept Gabriel with her also, had he lived, and not wanted to miss a moment with him. 

Frances tiptoed down the corridor and up the stairs.  Archie’s room was on the top floor, next to the servants who each had a small garret with a dormer window overlooking the rooftops of Paris.  There were empty bedrooms down on the second floor, but Archie felt that it wouldn’t be appropriate for him to sleep on the same floor as the family.  Frances carefully turned the doorknob and entered the monastic room.  Archie’s clothes were carefully folded and left on a chair; his dagger on the floor by his bed, and his sword
—
his prized possession
—
in its scabbard, laid reverently atop the clothes.  There were no other personal possessions to speak of. Frances suspected that Archie never made any place a home for fear of getting too emotionally attached.

Archie was stretched out on his bed, his bright hair fanned across the pillow, and his bare chest silvery in the moonlight. 
Good thing the window isn’t shuttered or it would be completely dark
, Frances thought as she advanced into the room slowly so as not to startle Archie out of a deep sleep.  She stood for a minute just drinking him in.  Archie really was handsome, in a real-man kind of way.  He didn’t need curly wigs or rouged lips to be attractive.  Frances sucked in her breath.  She could still leave and save herself the humiliation, but she’d made up her mind.  She would never accept another man until she knew exactly what it was she was agreeing to.

“Archie,” she whispered.  Archie sat bolt upright and stared at her for a moment before realizing that she wasn’t a restless spirit wandering the halls.  Well, actually she was, but not in the way he might have thought.

“Frances, what’s amiss?” he asked urgently, as he took her in and decided there was no need to go for the dagger.  “Are you all right?”

“Yes; sorry to wake you, Archie,” Frances muttered.  She wasn’t sure how to broach the subject now that she was here.  She’d had a speech carefully prepared, had thought the whole scheme through, but the words had fled, leaving her tongue-tied and embarrassed.  Frances shifted from foot to foot and wrapped her arms around herself as she stood mutely over Archie’s bed.

“What are you doing in my room?”  Archie leaned back against the pillows and surveyed her, a slow smile spreading across his face.  “Have you come to seduce me?” he joked, thinking that would put her at ease.  Frances nearly bolted, but mortification rooted her to the spot.  She hoped Archie would say something, but he just watched her, his expression carefully blank as he waited for her to state the purpose of her visit.  His eyes, which were a cornflower blue, appeared almost black in the shadows of the room, making him look strangely forbidding.

“Archie,” she began at last, “I think Lord Everly wishes me to marry.”

“That wouldn’t be unreasonable, would it?” Archie asked.  “What else would you do with your life?”

“No, it’s not unreasonable, and I’m not opposed to the idea, but after the last time…” Frances’s voice trailed off.  There was no need to say any more; Archie was well aware of her history.

“Frances, I know you are frightened, but Lord Everly would never allow you to wed someone he thought would be unkind to you.  You can trust him; he has your best interests at heart.”  Archie patted the space on the bed, inviting Frances to sit.  She perched on the edge, wondering how to blurt out what she’d come to ask.

“It’s not that, exactly.”

“Well, what is it then?”

“I won’t agree to marry anyone until I know what to expect,” she stammered, “you know, in the bedchamber.”

“And what is it that you think I can do to help?  And in the middle of the night?” Archie asked carefully, beginning to realize that this nocturnal visit wasn’t as innocent as it might seem.

“I want you to show me,” Frances blurted out, her cheeks turning crimson.  Good thing Archie couldn’t see in the darkness.

“Show you?” Archie asked, dumbfounded.  “You want me to lie with you?”

“Yes,” Frances said simply.

“Are you mad?  Lord Everly would castrate me with a dull knife if he found out, and he would be right to do so.  You are his ward, not some serving wench.  Go back to your room,” Archie said with feeling.

“Archie, please, don’t send me away.  You are the only person I trust, and I know you wouldn’t hurt me.  I just want to know what it’s supposed to feel like when it’s not done to inflict pain.  No man has ever touched me in love, and I can’t agree to a marriage until I know that the person I’m going to marry is capable of loving me like that.”

“And how will you know?  Do you plan to lie with every man who courts you?” Archie asked, exasperated by Frances’s request.

“Of course not, but I’ll be able to see how I feel when he touches my hand or kisses me.  I’ll be able to imagine the rest.”

“I can’t say that I fully comprehend your logic, but I suppose I can understand your fear.  Frances, I’d like to help you, but it wouldn’t be right for me to do what you ask.  We are not even courting.”

“Have you never made love to women you weren’t courting?” Frances asked innocently.  She knew perfectly well that Archie wasn’t the courting type.  He liked experienced, willing women, who only wanted a few hours of pleasure and nothing more. 

“Frances, turn around and go back to your room.  This conversation is over,” Archie hissed.  Frances rose to leave, but there was one more thing she could do.  It was daring, but it might show him what he was missing.  Frances pulled at the strings keeping her shift closed, but Archie was quicker than she anticipated.  He grabbed the strings of the shift, expertly tied them, took her by the shoulders and pushed her out of his room, locking the door firmly behind her. 

Frances let out a sob of despair as she pressed herself against the cold wall of the corridor.  She had never felt so humiliated.  In a way, it was almost worse than being abused by Lionel.  She never expected any affection or kindness from him, but she had from Archie.  She sank to the floor and rested her head against her drawn-up knees as hot tears of shame ran down her cheeks.  What was wrong with her?  Did Archie find her repugnant?  Would it be such a hardship to do it once just to put her mind at rest?  She was so wrapped up in her own misery that she didn’t hear the door open or Archie step into the corridor.  He lifted her to her feet and held her until the worst of the crying subsided, patting her on the back as if she were a child.  He was warm and solid and smelled, as usual, of horses, leather, and his own musky scent, which Frances found strangely reassuring ever since the night they spent together in the barn outside Portsmouth.  Archie had never laid a finger on her, but he made her feel safe and cared for.

“You silly, silly goose,” he murmured as he wiped the tears from her cheeks with his thumbs.  “I didn’t reject you because I don’t find you alluring; I’m only trying to do what’s right.  Can’t you see that?”

Frances raised her tear-stained face to his, her eyes full of incomprehension.  He was so perverse sometimes.  He behaved as if he cared for her, but he wouldn’t take what she was offering so freely.  She didn’t expect anything in return, didn’t he get that?

“I’m sorry I asked,” she mumbled.  “Good night, Archie.  Please, do let us forget this ever happened.”

Archie stared down at her.  Frances was bathed in a beam of moonlight shining through the dormer window of the corridor, her face a study in lavender and silver, her eyes sparkling like sapphires.  Her lips were parted as she gazed up at him, and her cheeks were damp from her tears of humiliation.  Archie’s mind hollered for him to stop, but his instinct was stronger.  He bent down and kissed Frances lightly on the lips.  He meant it to be a kiss of tenderness and reassurance, but instead she leaned into him and wrapped her arms around his neck, finally breaking through his hard-won control. 

The kiss deepened as Frances tried to respond in a way she thought a woman should.  She was more like a blind, helpless kitten than an instrument of seduction, but Archie’s heart turned over at her innocence.  She’d likely never even been kissed.  He hardly realized what he was doing as he slid his tongue inside her mouth and felt her stiffen in his arms.  Frances balked for just a moment, then allowed Archie to explore her mouth as his hand came up to cup her breast.  She moaned delicately, grinding her hips against his in a gesture of pure instinct rather than intention to seduce. 

Archie grabbed Frances by the shoulders and pushed her away, panting.  His loose cotton drawers did little to hide his arousal, which Frances’s eyes were drawn to.  She appeared torn between satisfaction and wariness, no doubt slightly frightened by his reaction to the kiss. 

“Go to your room,” Archie ordered her gruffly, “and don’t ever come to me in the middle of the night again.  Ever.”  He disappeared inside his room and locked the door, leaving Frances baffled.  She touched her lips with trembling fingers, unsure of how to feel about what had just taken place.  Archie had said no, but then kissed her more passionately than she would have expected, like Hugo kissed Neve when he thought no one was looking.  Perhaps he cared for her after all.  He certainly wanted her just a moment ago.  Frances shuffled down the corridor toward the stairs, still bemused.  He’d told her to leave him alone, but his body had told her something else entirely. 
Why are men so difficult to understand?
she mused. 

Frances re-entered her room and climbed into bed, pulling the coverlet to her chin to stave off the cold.  Her feet were freezing from wandering the corridors, but there was a warm glow radiating from within.  A slow smile spread across her face as she replayed the kiss over and over in her mind, amazed by the feelings it invoked.  She felt tenderness, desire, wonder, and fear all at once.  How was it possible for one kiss to render her so helpless, yet make her feel so alive?  Would it feel like that with everyone, or just with Archie? Frances wondered.  She had a lot to learn about the relations between women and men, she decided as she closed her eyes.

After several hours of tossing and turning, Archie finally gave up, pulled on his clothes, and crept from the house.  He couldn’t stand to be confined a moment longer, and needed a breath of fresh air to clear his head.  The morning was cold, and the mud that had squelched beneath his boots yesterday had frozen into a slippery crust, forcing him to walk more carefully, otherwise he would have half ran toward the river.  A barely visible band of peachy-pink was just appearing above the horizon, the sun not far behind as the city began to wake all around him.  Several boats appeared on the river, and a coach drove past, likely carrying some fop home after a night of debauchery.  Archie strode along the riverbank, oblivious to the cold breeze coming off the water.  The early-morning air was fresh, his breath coming out in white puffs as he hurried along.  He had no particular destination, just needed to walk until he burned off the nervous energy that was coursing through his veins. 

What had Frances been playing at, coming to his room like that?  Did she think he had no honor? Archie wondered angrily, and immediately berated himself.  Of course he didn’t.  He’d done the right thing, and then immediately went back on his word and kissed her.  And it wasn’t just a kiss of affection, but a kiss of desire, driven by blind need.  Archie angrily kicked a mound of snow, making the bits fly in all directions and giving him some small measure of satisfaction.  He was so ashamed of himself.  Frances was his to protect, not to lust after.  She was just a child, hardly older than Jem.  Yes, she was probably more beautiful than any girl he’d even seen, and the trust in her eyes lowered his defenses, but he’d had no right to touch her.  She needed him to stay strong and honorable, not burn with a desire he had no right to satisfy. 

Archie’s nose was red with cold, and his fingers grew stiff since he’d not taken his gloves.  Thankfully, his traitorous cock was also reacting to the cold and was now flaccid in his breeches, beaten into submission by the weather and Archie’s fury.  Frances deserved better than him, no matter how much he cared for her, and he would behave like a gentleman and not do anything
—
anything
—
to ruin her chance of happiness.  He had nothing to offer her save protection and devotion, not nearly enough.  Frances deserved a better life than a mere man-at-arms could give. 

Archie stopped walking and stared out over the river, stunned by his thoughts.  He’d never considered a future with any woman, and was shocked to find that he was talking himself out of loving Frances when he’d never realized he did until this very night.  He turned back, but not before he drove his fist into a stone parapet, nearly breaking his hand in the process.  The impact brought him back to his senses, and he took a deep breath and cradled his injured fist in his left hand, sobered by the pain.  It had been a moment of weakness, and it wouldn’t happen again, he resolved as he marched back home.  Not if he could help it.