Chapter 23

"Sara, I will be going out to have tea today with Lady Agnes and Lady Emma," Frances announced to her lady's maid the following morning. She turned away shyly to ask, "Has there been any word of the duke?"

"I haven't seen him, though I did hear that he returned last night after you'd gone up. I can go and see if you like."

"No. He knows quite well where my rooms are. I'm sure if he wishes to speak with me, he'll see to it that I'm aware of it. Come, I'll dress and go down as if nothing has changed," she answered, trying not to sound so dejected. "Perhaps he'll permit me to apologize.

To Frances' dismay, Anthony did not come down for breakfast. She waited alone in the empty dining room, pricked by the guilt of knowing that this was precisely how Anthony must have felt all the times that she'd been late or absent. She felt isolated and somewhat humiliated, startling at every noise from the hallway only to be disappointed again when it wasn't him.

How have I managed to make such a mess of things in such a short time?she thought bitterly. I should have had to marry that awful Lord Rowland, for it's all I deserve if I cannot be a better person than this.

"Good day, Your Grace," Mrs. Barrett said as she brought in Frances' breakfast. "I trust you slept well."

"Yes, Mrs. Barrett, thank you," Frances answered automatically, intent on not inflicting her sour mood on the housekeeper.

"I'm afraid His Grace has asked for his breakfast to be brought up this morning," the older woman said delicately. "Will you still take yours here in the dining room?"

"Yes, Mrs. Barrett," she repeated, sounding even more dejected. "Thank you."

"You're most welcome, Your Grace."

So, I'm to be punished like a naughty child for my disobedience, Frances thought as she began pushing her eggs and bread around on her plate. She took a few spoonfuls, but she had no wish to eat anything anymore for her ire soon returned. I have half a mind to go up and demand that he speak to me!

Soon enough, Frances decided against it. Her impulsive behavior had already led to enough trouble as was. She'd long been ruled by her emotions, which probably made it even more impossible to understand a man who seemed to have none. Now it was time to slow her reactions, think things through, and wait to see what would happen.

As she and Sara made their way to Lady Agnes' house, Frances tried her best to be in good spirits. After the rain from the day before, the sun had finally emerged and was doing its utmost to dry off the streets and the parks. Here and there, a tree still stubbornly refused to let go of the water drops clinging to its leaves, but otherwise, everything seemed freshly cleaned and glistening.

There was no reason her mood couldn't be the same, but her resolve was tested within only minutes of arriving.

"What shall you do then?" Agnes asked mournfully when Frances finished recounting her woeful tale.

"I don't know. I cannot even think of it without breaking down and crying," she confessed as she stared down at her teacup thoughtfully. Beside her, Emma was already in tears.

"Frannie, you've been through so much! And in such a short time, too. Why will you not accept Agnes' offer and come stay with her? Or perhaps you could go to her country home together and just get away from all of the upheaval!"

"And cause her to miss the rest of her Season? I could never do such a thing," Frances said, smiling sadly at her friends.

Agnes waved off her concern. "What do I care for parties when you're in such dire straits? A mistress is bad enough, though far too many gentlemen see no problem with it. But this Sir Perry scoundrel coming around and threatening your household is a whole other matter. And then to have your husband vent his frustration on you for it? It's unthinkable. We shall pack our things and head to Bath for the rest of the summer. Perhaps then your husband will think twice about carrying on in such a way."

"I'll be sure to ask Father about Sir Perry. As I've said, he keeps up with simply everyone. If Father has never heard of you nor made a study of your personal matters, you are not anyone worth knowing," Emma assured her. "But I agree with Agnes. You should both leave London for a little while. Aggie can even come back for a few of the more important events while you enjoy your solitude."

"You're not coming?" Frances teased, but Emma pouted.

"Father would never hear of it, not when he's already thrown the bait in the waters, as he so tenderly put it," she answered, rolling her eyes. "He spent even more than Mother requested on my items for this Season, all in hopes of a fortuitous match."

Frances looked at her friend sympathetically. As troublesome as her own life had been, she couldn't imagine what it must be like to be in Emma's position, nor Agnes' for that matter. One was the daughter of a desperate social climber whose wealth would never be enough to open the right doors for him, therefore his daughter's marriage must do it for him. The other was the beloved—and perhaps even slightly spoiled—daughter of a duke, though the rumors surrounding the circumstances of her birth meant she wore a shroud of others' speculation at all times.

"We're certainly an interesting lot, aren't we," Frances said, sighing.

"I should say so," Agnes agreed, laughing as she lifted her teacup in a toast to Frances' sentiment.

"I adore you for making the offer, Aggie, but I must stay here and face whatever is to come. I was wrong. I never should have gone upstairs, no matter how much my curiosity and jealousy justified it. Running off and hiding in your family's house—however beautiful and luxurious and inviting it may be!—would be the cowardly thing to do."

"Just know that the offer stands at any time. You only have to say the word, and Father's carriage will be on its way to Cadmoor House to collect you. Who knows, by then, perhaps Emma will have secured a marriage contract to a prince and her father can loosen his reins enough to permit her to come with us!"

"I can only wish!" Emma cried. "I mean, the bit about coming with you, not about marrying a prince."

"You wouldn't want someone so lofty?" Agnes teased with a friendly grin.

"Not unless we were in love," she answered wistfully. "But I have little doubt that a love match simply isn't in Father's designs. The best I can hope for is that my husband will be pleasing to look at, kind in tone, and either young enough to be handsome or old enough to not live for much longer."

"Emma! What a dismal view of things!" Frances cried, laughing incredulously at her friend's unguarded words.

"Am I wrong? Look at your own marriage. Married to a stranger, and though he seems kind enough and is certainly the most handsome man among the ton, what happiness has it brought you? What security?"

"That's true enough, but I made this choice for myself, and I must shoulder all of the blame for my own happiness. It was a hurried decision, but I stand by it for it was certainly the better option."

"You know, there is another way to look at this," Agnes said, looking slightly troubled. "We're so concerned with your husband's possible mistress that we're failing to consider that this can be a good thing."

"I'm having a little trouble agreeing with you on that, Aggie," Frances joked darkly.

"No, hear me out. We must remember that this sort of thing is common among some of these so-called gentlemen. He may not even see anything wrong with it, for everywhere he turns, it is quite the norm. Perhaps this is a woman he has loved for years, and he refuses to cast her out and leave her to fend for herself simply because he had to marry you. While it calls his character into question that he took up with her in the first place, it does say something about his loyalty that he didn't put her aside the second another woman came along."

"So, I should be grateful that my husband has another woman? Overlook this great transgression and just remind myself that everyone's doing it? That's not helping me to feel better in the least. Besides, he insisted that he has no mistress. He's a strange man, to be sure, but I've never gotten the sense that he's a liar."

"I would almost prefer if this woman was a mistress. The only other option is that he's keeping a prisoner under lock and key," Emma reminded her.

"I think we're being quite dramatic here," Frances interjected, the entire conversation doing more harm to her emotions than good. "He has said there's nothing untoward going on, and the housekeeper has even promised me that it is not what I think. What I wish to know is what I should do now? I feel horrible for what I've done. Whoever that woman is, I frightened her out of her wits and Anthony is furious with me. Help me make this right."

"You've already apologized to her in your note. Now, it's up to the duke to hold still long enough for you to tell him you're sorry as well. I fear there's little else you can do until both of those gestures are acknowledged," Agnes said while Emma clucked sadly.

"I know. I was hoping you'd have some sort of insight beyond that," Frances moaned, hanging her head.

"The most important part is that you've owned your mistake and have worked to correct it. If anyone will not permit you to make amends, that says far more about their character than yours."

Frances thanked her friends for the support and the sympathetic ear, then made her way back home with Sara at her side. They veered off in the direction of the marketplace in hopes of finding out any news of Juliet, but Frances stopped Sara with a tug on her arm, pulling her into one of the first shops they came to.

"What's the matter, Your Grace?" Sara whispered as the proprietor of the bookshop peered around a shelf of volumes at them.

"Look! It's the duke," Frances replied, craning her neck to see Anthony through the shop's front window.

"Well, this is the perfect chance for you to speak with him! He would never dismiss you or ignore you in plain sight of everyone. Go to him and talk to him," Sara suggested excitedly, but Frances shook her head.

"No. I owe him a sincere apology. That's not the sort of conversation to have while a blacksmith is hammering away at his anvil behind you," she said, sighing. "Besides, he looks as though he's going some—"

Frances stopped. Right before her eyes, Anthony approached the butcher, the very same one whose wayward son was hopefully with Juliet. The two men spoke, then they disappeared inside the butcher's store. Frances and Sara exchanged confused looks.

"How does His Grace even know this man?" Sara asked softly, but Frances only shook her head.

"Come, let's go out the door behind the shop so he won't see us," Frances suggested, leading Sara by the hand until they were outside once more. They hurried away from the marketplace and back towards the main road that ran through this part of the city, not slowing down until they approached the house.

"Sara, isn't that Sir Perry? That awful man who barged in and acted like such a fool?" Frances asked, leaning closer to whisper from behind the brim of her bonnet.

"The one in that carriage? It does resemble him, yes."

"What on earth could he be doing sitting in a carriage outside of our house?"

"Shall I inform Mr. Vickers?" Sara asked, sounding worried now.

"I think that's for the best."

Frances tried to keep a watch on the man as they drew closer while still keeping him from recognizing her. Unfortunately, there were few people milling about on the straight at this house of the day, so it was hard to remain inconspicuous.

"Your Grace! Duchess!" the man called out, hurrying out of his carriage after he'd spotted them.

"Don't look at him, just pretend we haven't heard him. Go, Sara!" Frances urged her.

Too late, she felt a swift jerk on her arm, one that turned her around to face her assailant. Frances cried out in alarm as she came face to face with the baronet.

"I was calling out to you, for you—" he began, but his words were cut off with a gurgling cry of surprise. He fell to the ground at Frances' feet, while Sara stood over him, clutching the torn cord of her reticule.

"You'll not be puttin' yer hands on a duchess, least not when I'm ‘round to thrash ya!" Sara shouted, her carefully practiced diction slipping as she leaned down to direct her angry words at the man.

"Sara, how did you…" Frances began, but she was too astonished to continue.

"Old trick me mum taught me," Sara said, standing upright and grinning. She reached into her reticule and withdrew a rock that was slightly larger than her fist. "I always carry one o' these when I go out."

"My word," Frances whispered, unsure of how else to respond.

"Come on, before he gets his feet under him. We'll have Vickers call for the constable."

Sara led her inside, but Frances could only follow numbly behind her. She cast a glance over her shoulder at the heap of a man on the sidewalk, faintly relieved to see that he was at least sitting up. He pressed a hand to his hand where Sara's well-aimed weapon had struck him, then he scrambled to his feet and slowly made his way to his carriage.

"Remind me never to anger you," Frances said with a weak smile as the door safely closed behind them.