Allan was staring at her.
“Nothing you wish to say to them, Frederica?” he asked.
“I have said my peace,” she whispered for his ears only. He looked as if he did not quite believe her.
“We have much experience of this world, My Lord,” Margaret said, attempting to laugh.
The sudden frown that appeared on Allan’s face made Frederica shift on the spot. She had this errant idea of softening that frown, running a finger across his temple and down to his cheeks. When she imagined placing a kiss there, she had to tear her gaze away from Allan.
What is happening to me?
“We wish to instruct our daughter to behave properly, as any marchioness should do —” Ernest was cut off.
“And a marchioness has no need of your advice. May I remind you that she is now your superior?” Allan suddenly picked up Frederica’s hand.
She was as stiff as wood, but she followed where he gently steered her. He urged her to take her place in a large rococo armchair. It was the grandest seat in the room. With his back turned to her parents, he winked at her, encouragingly.
Confused, she took the chair, aware that she hadn’t yet dared sit in such a seat.
What is he up to now?
“I must ask that you leave,” Allan said, standing straight and turning to face them. He leaned on the back of the winged armchair.
“What?” Ernest spluttered, still attempting to smile as if this was no big deal though Allan seemed a great distance away from joining in with any such smile.
“Not plainly spoken enough for you, My Lord? Very well, then I shall speak plainer still.” Allan’s voice was commanding in the room. “I will not stand to be here and witness my wife being talked down to and belittled in her own home. She outranks you, and she is also no longer under your roof and guardianship. She has a home of her own — and as such — she will not suffer anyone telling her what to do in it.”
He gestured to the door. “I think it wise you two leave at once. You will not return to this house unless expressly invited by my wife or me.”
What is he doing?
Frederica turned in her seat to stare at him.
This will only make it worse!
“Allan,” she hissed at him.
“Trust me,” he whispered again.
Margaret looked as if she had been kicked in the stomach as Ernest turned bright purple.
“Come, Margaret, we know when we are not wanted.” In one swift movement, he led her from the room though Frederica caught her mother’s gaze looking back at her, imploringly.
A rage pumped through Frederica’s veins as she heard her mother and father arguing in the distance, their heavy footsteps striding through the house. She was trying to hold onto so many emotions that she felt like she was balancing multiple balls of stringed wool in her arms. There were far too many to possibly hold onto at once.
As a door was slammed across the house, Frederica felt as if she had dropped that wool and it had all begun to unravel.
“What do you think you were doing?” Frederica moved to her knees on the armchair, turning to face Allan behind her.
“Ousting them from our house,” Allan said calmly with a shrug.
“How can you do that?”
“Freddie, they were talking down to you. Belittling you. You weren’t defending yourself.” He looked her straight in the eye as he spoke. “If you won’t defend yourself, then I will damn well do it for you.”
“What did you call me?” she whispered in amazement.
“Ah, yes, Freddie.” He shifted his weight awkwardly between his feet. “It’s my new name for you. Do you mind?”
