Of Fate And Prejudice

Chapter Four

Roman cursed at the sound of the door slamming shut. He cursed the financial predicament he was in, but more than that, he cursed himself for seeking to lay the burden of his salvation on Frances. It was through no fault of hers that he was on the brink of bankruptcy; he was solely to be blamed for his own failures. And if Layla had been present to witness his despicable actions toward her sister, he was certain she would be disappointed. Indeed, Layla would be disappointed in the entirety of his character. He was not the same man she fell in love with; he'd been torn apart by grief and had lost himself in the abyss of his suffering.

He shook his head. Perhaps his bad behavior could be explained, yet it couldn't be excused. Compelled by guilt, he made his way out of the drawing room, determined to apologize to Frances. He would offer his protection without further strings attached, and if she insists on leaving England, he would provide the funds.

He had barely reached the end of the long hallway when he heard the conversation between Frances and her servant.

"What happened?" the maid was saying.

"I shall not concede to his dastardly plan, is what happened."

Roman reached the end of the hallway in time to find the two women standing in the center of the vestibule. He paused in his tracks, giving them room to acknowledge his presence, for he didn't wish to be caught eavesdropping. But Frances had her back to him, gripping two valises, and the servant didn't seem to register him while she conversed with her mistress.

"I do not understand."

Frances shook her head. "I will explain on our way out of here." She stepped forward, to which the servant took a step that blocked her path.

"It is raining pitchforks outside. We cannot leave, not now."

"We're not stuck here, heaven forfend!" Her voice rattled the chandelier above their heads.

The servant nodded. "For now, I believe."

"Oh." The valises slipped from her grip to the floor. Her petite form swayed. Fearing she might faint yet again, Roman hurried forward with three long strides and circled an arm around her waist.

She jumped at his touch, then turned to look at him.

"Mr. Brown?" She struggled to step away, but he simply tightened his hold on her. "What are you doing? Unhand me!" she cried.

"You're unwell. You would have fainted just now."

"No, you don't know that."

"I watched you faint only a moment ago. You will hurt yourself if you keep dropping like a felled tree."

"You fainted? When?" The servant stepped forward, panic widening her eyelids.

"It is nothing, Sara, really," Frances insisted.

"And the—" She reached out, but Frances caught her hand midair.

"No!" Frances shook her head, silencing her. "We will speak of it only in private."

"Yes, but you cannot keep doing this, putting your health at risk like this. You must rest, at least for a few weeks." Anger and concern darkened Sara's gaze.

"And I will, as soon as we find suitable shelter."

"You're both welcome to stay here," Roman offered, causing Frances to turn sharply to him, her gaze shooting invisible daggers.

"Perhaps I failed to make my stance clear enough, Mr. Brown. I will never concede to your devious scheme."

"You, in fact, made your stance clear, and I applaud you for it. You're right, it was indecent of me to try to use you to rebuild my dwindled fortune."