Chapter 14

"Good evening, Your Grace. I've come to let you know that dinner will be ready within the hour if you would like to begin dressing," Mrs. Barrett said as had become her custom.

Frances looked up from the table where she'd been toiling away for the better of the afternoon at her sewing. She glanced at the windows and was taken aback to see that the sun had already sunk behind the London skyline. Looking back to the growing pile of pattern pieces she'd already cut, she sighed.

"I hadn't realized the time, Mrs. Barrett," she said with a gentle laugh of derision.

"You've certainly been busy today," the housekeeper agreed.

"Has the lady's maid I wrote off for replied yet?"

"I haven't received word, but I shall be happy to continue helping you myself until she does. Don't worry about that."

Frances looked at her gratefully. There was no reason to assume that Sara would leave her uncle's employment and take a position at Anthony's house. Still, Frances certainly hoped she would accept her offer, especially after how the girl had helped her in keeping a few of her things. But Mrs. Barrett's assistance would be most welcome in the meantime.

"I cannot keep asking you to do more than you already do," she replied. "I'll manage for myself, I promise. So, are you thinking that I shouldn't be late for another meal?"

Mrs. Barrett glanced away at the sight of Frances' smirk, and then came closer.

"Your Grace, I know this must be terribly difficult for you. It's all so new and strange, but if you could find it in your heart to think of how it must feel to be the duke in all of this. This house has long been his private sanctuary—"

"His prison, you mean," Frances corrected, and Mrs. Barrett only looked grim.

"It would only be a prison to those who wish for less solitude. His grace enjoys his privacy. If you only knew how hard it was for him to venture out and attend the very events where he first met you, you would perhaps have more sympathy for him?" she asked, as though trying not to sound like she was scolding her.

"Perhaps," Frances finally conceded. "But what was the point in marrying at all if he intends to keep me shut out as well?"

"I cannot say for certain, for I am not the duke's confidant. But I do know this much: this was a tremendous step for him. Attending a ball, seeking you out, proposing marriage only to be rejected and not understanding why, then having you change your mind and agree to marriage… it was quite an ordeal, I'm sure. Be patient and permit him to recover from the effort of it, from the fright even, and then you will see what a gentle, caring, simply nice man he is."

Frances smiled shyly. She had been rather abrasive about forcing Anthony to be more to her liking, she was certain of it. There was a prick of guilt in her conscience for it, too. Mrs. Barrett was right, she hadn't exactly given Anthony much of a chance to be accustomed to all of this, and he was quite likely to be just as unnerved by all of it as she had been.

"Thank you, Mrs. Barrett. You have once again given me some very wise counsel, and by rights, you shouldn't have to be instructing me on how to be a good wife and duchess. I appreciate how patient you've been in correcting my missteps."

"Think nothing of it, Your Grace, for I most certainly don't!" she answered cheerfully.

A knock at the door prompted them both to look up in surprise. Mrs. Barrett crossed the expansive sitting room and opened the door to Mr. Vickers.

"Your Grace, you have a visitor downstairs. She says she was summoned here by you. A Miss Sara Brandt," the butler said formally.

"Sara! Oh, my goodness, what wonderful news. Vickers, please bring her up. Mrs. Barrett, that's the lady's maid I wrote for. She served in my uncle's house, and I know she'll be so much happier here."

"That is welcome news," the housekeeper said, visibly glad to hear it. "We must instruct her in His Grace's rules, however, and see that she remembers them."

By the time Mrs. Barrett left and Sara was escorted up, Frances was beside herself with excitement. There would finally be someone in the house who knew her, someone who could chat with her and pass the time with her.

Maybe now I won't feel so alone, Frances thought, practically dancing across the room to open the door.

Her excitement was extinguished all too quickly. One look at Sara's somber face told her that something was terribly wrong.

"Sara, what's wrong?" Frances demanded, taking her by the arm and gently pulling her towards a chair.

"Oh, Yer Grace! Everything's wrong! It's just awful!" she cried, falling into a chair and dropping her bag on the floor beside her.

"Tell me everything," Frances insisted, sliding another chair close by and sitting down.

"Well, ya know how yer aunt and uncle aren't the kindest people in all of London," she began hesitatingly. "Always goin' on about money and others' titles and whatnot, always mindful that they don't have as much as everyone else."

"Yes, that does sound like them."

"Yer uncle's gone and dismissed half the staff! But he wouldn't say it was due to their wages, so he accused ‘em of stealing from him, claims they've been doin' it for years!"

"What? How could he do such a thing! It's not only a horrid lie, but they'll never find any respectable work if people think them to be thieves!" Frances cried, horrified.

"I know it. It's just awful. And to think that the only one who did actually go pilferin' anything was me, tryin' to help ya keep yer rightful belongin"s!"

"Sara, you mustn't feel that way. You did nothing wrong, for those things were my property," Frances corrected her sternly, trying to make the girl see that she was as innocent as a lamb.

"Thank ya, but I know what I done. I took ‘em after yer uncle said ya weren't to have any of yer things. But I just couldnaw stand to see ya go without what's rightfully yers! Those things were from yer saintly parents, and it wasn't right to keep ‘em from ya."

Frances threw her arms around Sara and embraced her, thanking her once again for the trouble she'd gone to.

"So, after so many of ‘em were dismissed in such a hateful way, and then when Mrs. Pennings had told me about yer letter—yer aunt had taken it from her so I couldnaw read it, not that I could know what the words said anyway—I came here straight away, hopin' for a position a-fore that terrible man could send me away."

"Of course, you have a position here! And I promise I shall ask my husband about hiring those who were so hatefully accused. This is not right, and I will do my best to make him see that," Frances promised.

Sara wept tears of sadness and relief while Frances patted her hand, reassuring her that somehow they would make this right.

"Do you think he'll approve?" Sara finally asked, dabbing at her eyes.

"I should think so. He's a good person, and—oh good heavens! I'm late for dinner with him!" Frances cried out, jumping to her feet.

"Here, I'll help you," Sara offered, following Frances to where some of Agnes' gowns were hanging. She shrugged off her coat and laid it over a chair to set about dressing Frances and styling her hair.

With Sara's assistance, Frances was ready and hurrying down the stairs in only a matter of minutes. Still, she cringed when she glanced at the clock above the dining room fireplace. Anthony was already seated at the table, looking lonelier than Frances could recall ever seeing him.

"Anthony, I—"

"There you are," he answered evenly. "Please try to be on time for meals from now on."

"I will, I'm sorry! You see, something terrible has happened at my uncle's house and I've only just learned of it a few minutes ago. I intended to get ready in time but—"

Frances stopped and stared down at Anthony. He wasn't looking at her, but rather was staring straight ahead as though waiting for something else. When Mr. Vickers and Mrs. Barrett entered with their dinner, he silently nodded his approval and took his plate.

"I'm sorry, but did you hear what I said?" Frances demanded.

"Yes, I did," he replied, looking up at her as though she might tell him about the weather outside.

"Do you not care?"

"About what?" he asked, though there was no malice in his tone. Frances glared at him, feeling hurt.

"I said something terrible has happened. Do you even wish to know what it is?"

"If you wish to tell me, then I shall gladly listen."

"And can you not muster even a shred of concern? What if my uncle has died? Or my aunt or my cousin? What if all three of them had perished in a fire this very evening? Do you not care?"

"Did they perish?" he asked blankly, still looking at her as though not understanding her mood.

"No, but that isn't the point. You didn't know that, yet you sat there, eating your dinner and staring at the wall as if none of it mattered to you," Frances said, sinking into a chair and wondering what on earth could make someone so cold-hearted as this.

Anthony glanced around the room quickly, and Frances noticed that he looked over to Mrs. Barrett briefly. The housekeeper nodded to him, then made a slight gesture to him with a wave of her fingers. Anthony then put down his knife and fork and looked back to Frances.

"I'm sorry that I've upset you. Please continue what you were saying," he said in a voice that sounded almost practiced.

"Never mind. You wouldn't care anyway," she snapped before taking up her spoon and beginning to eat her soup. Angry tears stung her eyes, but she didn't dare brush them away for fear that a torrent would follow.

"You're crying," Anthony said, his voice soft and almost distant.

"Of course, I'm crying. That's what happens when a young lady feels disregarded."

"As you've disregarded me?" he asked as though clarifying her meaning.

Frances looked at him angrily. "What are you implying?"

"I made a very simple request of you, one that you readily agreed to. Yet, at both of the meals we've taken together, you've been late each time. Does that not show disregard for me?"

Frances opened her mouth to protest, but snapped it shut just as quickly. On the one hand, this evening was neither intentional nor avoidable. But at breakfast? She burned with a flicker of guilt for knowing that it had been completely contrived just to bother him.

"It was not my aim to disregard you," she finally managed to say, still feeling guilty. "I am sorry I made you feel that way."

"Thank you. And though I do not understand why you were upset just now, I am sorry. For I'm certain I caused it," he said in earnest.

Frances looked at him with resignation, feeling only a little at ease now. The sense that they were at odds with each other already was not a fond one, and it left her wondering if there would ever be anything even resembling friendship between them, let alone love or affection.

As if he somehow noticed this, Anthony folded his hands in front of himself and looked to her.

"Please tell me what happened with your uncle. I truly wish to know."

Frances paused, unsure if he was being sincere or not. The only way she could know for certain was to trust him, so she nodded and leaned forward, letting her posture reveal the weight of all that had happened in the past two weeks.

As she explained what Sara had told her, Frances kept her attention fixed on Anthony's changing expressions. At first, he kept up his usual detached look, the one that never failed to make her wonder if he'd even heard her, let alone cared. But the more she told him about her hateful relatives and what they had done, the more that fa?ade began to crumbled like this house.

"So, as I hope you can understand, I am quite distraught. Some of those dear people were the ones to comfort me when I first arrived in London as an orphaned girl of ten. My aunt and uncle saw me as nothing more than an obligation, an unwelcome one at that. But Mr. Robbins, Mr. Jeffers, Mrs. Pennington, all of them, they were the ones to make that house feel like a home. I cannot imagine how my aunt will get by without whichever ones have been dismissed, nor why she would want to. But far worse is the knowledge that these people have been left with nothing but their ruined reputations."

Frances dabbed at her eyes with her napkin when she finished, sighing mournfully. Anthony did not speak for such a long time that she began to wonder if he'd even paid attention in the first place.

"Do you have nothing to say?" she asked, trying to keep her words gentle.

"I'm thinking on it."

What's there to think about? The only proper response is fury!she thought bitterly, but she was determined not to spark another disagreement that evening. Instead, she waited patiently for him to proceed.

"It is only proper that I offer them a position," he finally said.

"Really?" Frances asked in disbelief.

"Don't you think you are the cause of your uncle's ire, the reason he vented his spleen on these servants?"

"I suppose that's true," she admitted, taken aback by the knowledge.

"Then it stands to reason that we should make this right for them. After all, had I not proposed marriage, you would have had no reason to upset your family. Therefore, I am as much a part of the cause as you, and I should do all I can to put it to rights."

His simple explanation was both succinct and the most Frances had ever heard him speak at once.

"But I don't even know who they are or how many. What if you have no need of such a number?" she pressed, though her hope was building.

"It is still my responsibility to help them. They will be employed until they find another position they like better," Anthony said, returning to his plate as though the matter was settled.

"Are you…" Frances began, but she stopped when she thought that her words might offend him. Still, she had to know. "Are you certain you won't be uncomfortable with so many people about?"

"Why would I be uncomfortable?" he asked plainly.

"I don't know, I just thought you seemed like the sort of man who prefers his solitude and the quiet of his own house," she replied slowly, measuring her words.

"That's very astute of you to notice. Yes, I do prefer to have quiet and keep my privacy."

"But these people, so many of them…" she continued, letting her words trail off unspoken.

"I shall just have to accommodate them. As I said, it is our fault they are in this position." The duke wiped his mouth and slid his chair back. He stood and bowed slightly to Frances. "Now, if you will excuse me."

And he was gone.

"What was all that?" Frances said aloud after several minutes had passed.

Mrs. Barrett smiled. "That was love, Your Grace."

"I beg your pardon?"

"I have known that man since the day he was born. I have never seen anything like that from him," she explained with a proud smile, looking quite pleased with herself. "You have made quite an impression on him already, if you don't mind my saying so."

"But to just go and hire an untold number of servants? People he's never even met? I cannot believe it," Frances said, still astonished.

"He did it for you, Your Grace. He's trying."

And with that, Mrs. Barrett took Anthony's plate and carried it downstairs.