Chapter 24

The events of the morning were still fresh in Frances' mind when Mrs. Barrett came to find her in the library. The housekeeper smiled endearingly and held out a piece of paper.

"What's this?" Frances asked politely, taking the page and starting to unfold it.

"You've had a reply to your message," the older woman said with a knowing look before leaving Frances alone.

Frances carried the paper to the window and smoothed it open with her hand, staring down at the shaky handwriting. It looked like something a child might pen, though she knew that the woman who'd written it had to be close to her age.

"To the new Duchess of Preston," Frances read aloud softly, "greetings and welcome to my house!"

My house?Frances thought, a quizzical expression knitting her brow.

"I am terribly sorry that I screamed upon seeing you. I was expecting my nurse and you appeared instead. Please forgive me for my poor manners, for I have little cause to exercise them."

What on earth?Frances thought, turning the page over to see if there was more writing on the back. Finding none, she turned the page sideways and saw that the letter simply ended. There was no signature, no explanation as to the sender's identity, nothing.

"All right then," Frances muttered with an incredulous scoff. It was certainly an unusual reply, but she was grateful to have an answer at all. She returned to her rooms to write a response.

"Dear madam, you have nothing to apologize for. I am the one who took it upon myself to go where I was not invited. I'm certain I would respond the same way if I suddenly found a stranger in my room! Thank you for being so quick to forgive, as it says a great deal about your good character."

Frances was pleased with her letter, though she was desperate to get answers for the questions that still burned in her mind. Who are you? Why are you here? How long have you been the prisoner of the Duke of Preston? She held back, knowing that those questions would have to wait until she could prove she was trustworthy.

A new idea came to her, one that was both completely devious but also entirely sincere.

"I would imagine that you get lonely from time to time. I'm finding that I'm lonely myself as of late. I would be overjoyed to visit you, but only if you wish it."

Satisfied with her choice of words, Frances folded the page and brought it to Mrs. Barrett to deliver. Instead of cajoling the housekeeper in hopes of pinching some information from her, Frances merely thanked her for seeing to its delivery and returned to the library.

Another reply from upstairs came only an hour later.

"Your Grace (Mrs. Barrett has informed me of your identity!),

I would be honored to receive you in my quarters, but I fear I am in no condition to have visitors. I do hope to meet you in person soon.

Faithfully, A."

Ah-ha! The mysterious A, Frances thought, remembering the offending note that had come for Anthony. But what could possibly keep her from being ready to receive anyone if she had remained upstairs for who knows how long?

The correspondence did Frances a world of good. Her heart was healing from the great offense she committed against this young woman now that she knew there was no harboring of ill will. But there was still one stain marring her happiness.

Anthony.

He had yet to see her or speak to her, and Frances began to despair of yet another dinner alone in the dining room. She thought of writing him a similar letter in hopes of apologizing, but it felt so cold somehow. This was her husband, after all, and sending letters to a man in the same household as though it was the penny post was ridiculous.

With little else to occupy her time besides sewing and worrying, Frances returned to her task of itemizing all the repairs the house would need. She assembled the names of worthy craftsmen thanks to Mr. Vickers' inquiries, and began to plan an orderly schedule of work according to the greatest need. Too soon, though, her thoughts began to wander. There was little point in repairing a house that her heart had yet to build into a home.

"Your Grace, you must come quickly," Mr. Vickers said as he approached Frances where she worked. He appeared out of breath, and Frances was instantly alarmed.

"What is it?" she cried, putting down the book she'd been writing in and jumping to her feet.

"Your cousin. Miss Walford. She is here!"

Mr. Vickers raced from the room with Frances straight on his heels. Torrents of fearful thoughts nearly blinded her as she made her way to the front of the house. There, Juliet was seated on a sofa with a young man beside her. Frances vaguely remembered his features as the one who'd fled when she'd interrupted the couple in the garden that fateful night.

"Juliet!" Frances cried, opening her arms wide as the girl threw herself into them. She held her cousin closely, saying a silent prayer of thanks for the girl's return.

"Oh, Frances! I'm so glad to be back in London," Juliet said, her words muffled as she buried her face in Frances' shoulder. Soon enough, the younger girl stepped back and smiled nervously.

"Cousin, my I present my husband, Mr. Thomas Bailey?" Juliet said, her voice trembling slightly even though her pride was evident.

Thomas leapt to his feet and darted forward to bow. "It is a pleasure to meet you, Your Grace," he stammered. Frances feared he might faint from nerves, and she couldn't help but smile at them both.

"So. Your husband. I see," she said, pretending to look disapproving. She gave them a wry grin before asking lightly, "Tell me, how was Scotland?"

Juliet only beamed as she slipped her hand through the crook of Thomas' elbow and held fast to him.

"It was… magical!" Juliet finally gushed. "I cannot think of any more romantic journey than to travel the length of the country and be married in such a place of beauty and splendor!"

"And traveling for six days each way in a crowded coach?" Frances reminded her, arching a knowing eyebrow.

"Well, that part was less romantic," Juliet admitted.

"Oh, but once we were married, I hired a carriage for us," Thomas interjected quickly. "I would never travel alone with your cousin before we were married, of course."

"That is quite admirable of you, Mr. Bailey, and I'm glad to hear that you thought of such provisions. But tell me, what are your plans now? Have your fathers had anything to say about this?"

Juliet and Thomas exchanged worried glances, and Frances assumed the rest. She gestured for them to sit once more, then took a seat across from them.

"There have been some fortunate developments in your absence," Frances began, taking a deep breath. "Mr. Bailey, I have paid a visit to your father, and I believe he will not be too terribly put out with you."

Thomas looked as though he might faint once more, only this time it was from sheer relief. He nodded and stammered his thanks.

"As for you, cousin, your mother is quite beside herself."

"I know," Juliet said dejectedly, looking down. She brightened suddenly and leaned forward to plead her case. "But I swear! I never would have done something so drastic if not for the threat of Lord Rowland hanging over me! You've met the man, you know yourself how awful he is! He had the nerve to speak of… well, you know… and right in front of Father! I wished to die of humiliation right on the stop!"

"Yes, I'm all too familiar with his behavior," Frances agreed primly. "I am not condemning your actions, dear cousin. I assure you. I believe I have been able to repair the upset with your parents, though I must require that you do not ask me how it came about."

"Your Grace, we are both very grateful for your intervention with our families. We do not deserve such effort, but we are both indebted to you!" Thomas said. Juliet wept tears of happiness.

"You are quite welcome, but I suggest you save your thanks for after your parents have finished scolding both of you. Now, as for the matter of where you shall reside and what you shall do next, what have the pair of you decided?"

"Well," Juliet said, frowning slightly, "I had thought we could stay here for a while…"

"Here? At Cadmoor House? I'm sorry, I don't know that I can make that possible," Frances began, fretting at having to disappoint them.

"But the duke has already granted it," Juliet answered, looking over Frances' shoulder.

Frances followed her cousin's gaze to the corner near the door. She gasped in surprise at the sight of Anthony, standing silently, appearing as though he'd been present the entire time. She noticed some ominous marks on his face and drops of red on the front of his shirt, though there were no other injuries so far as she could tell.

"I see," Frances said, trying to sound cheerful as she turned back to them and smiled. "Then I suppose Vickers shall show you to your room. Juliet, if you have need of a lady's maid, Sara will be more than happy to help you."

"Thank you, Frances," the girl said shyly, " But I'm proud to be Mrs. Thomas Bailey, now."

"How clumsy of me. Of course, Mrs. Bailey," she said with a proud grin.

Thomas and Juliet thanked her once again then rose to follow Mr. Vickers out. Frances waited until they'd gone, then whirled around to look at Anthony.

"What happened to you? Are you all right?" she asked, her voice shaking.

Anthony looked at her for several agonizing seconds, then simply walked out of the room.

It felt as though a searing pain had pierced Frances' heart. He was so put out with her that he couldn't even bring himself to answer a simple question, not if it meant having to speak to her. She didn't miss the cold stare in his eyes as he pondered her question, and it broke her heart to know that things between them were already so in peril.

"Give him time," someone said softly. Frances turned to face Mrs. Barrett.

"How much time, hmm? Be patient, give him time, don't think about this, don't question… when does it stop, Mrs. Barrett?" she asked accusingly.

"I don't know, Your Grace. But what choice is there? To remain miserable and confused as you stumble about in search of answers, or to make the best of it and continue to believe that all will be well?"

"Why will you not simply tell me the truth? Why does everyone insist that I am an outsider and not to be trusted? This is supposed to be my home!" Frances cried, the frustration mounting.

Mrs. Barrett could only shake her head as she backed out of the room slowly. Frances felt the irritation shift into anger, and she stormed out of the room after Anthony. She could see him at the far end of the long hallway, which meant he had to be going up to visit "A."

"Anthony!" Frances called out, though he did not slow his steps or even acknowledge he'd heard her. "Anthony!"

At least he isn't running from me. That must count for something, she thought as she hurried after him.

When Anthony reached the door to the forbidden stairs, he stopped just long enough to grasp the door handle. The person upstairs must have been expecting him, for the latch turned and the door opened slightly without the need for a key. Frances called his name once more, the desperation she felt nearly suffocating her.

Anthony paused and finally looked at her for only a moment, his eyes still cold, his expression still one of stone. How could he possibly be so handsome, his features so alluring, yet his disposition practically cried out a warning to all who could hear to stay away?

"Anthony," Frances said once more, disappointed at the sound of her own pleading tone. But why shouldn't I plead with him to hear me? I have wronged him, and I must make amends! she thought, waiting for him to acknowledge her.

When he didn't speak or move, Frances knew this could very well be her only chance. Her words now could seal her fate: he would either listen to her apology and take it to heart, or he would turn his back on her once more. If that were to happen, she knew there would be no future between them.

"Anthony, I want to tell you something." Frances paused for him to look over at her, but he kept his attention on the door. She took a deep breath and pressed on, determined to have her say for what may be the last time. "I went against your instructions and I'm very, very sorry. For what it's worth, I have already written an apology to this person upstairs and begged for her forgiveness as well."

He still said nothing, so Frances added, "I am utterly alone here, but worse, everyone knows so great secret but me. I feel like a fool for being the only person in this house who is not trusted enough to know the truth. And yes, I realize I have just proven to you how untrustworthy I am. I do not expect you to reveal anything to me after what I've done, but I only wish for you to know why I went upstairs. Regardless, it was wrong of me and I'm sorry."

Frances held her breath as she waited for him to reply. It could only have been her imagination, but she could have sworn she heard the ticking of the mantle clock in the dining room, marking off the seconds of silence as though ridiculing her. She began to feel the first flames of indignation at being made to stand there in silence, but she quickly remembered that this had all been of her own doing.

"Anthony? Have you nothing to say to me? Is there no room in your heart to forgive me?" she asked, a mournful sigh punctuating her words.

His response was slow in coming, and even then, he only nodded before opening the door the rest of the way and disappearing.