Chapter 30

Frances and Anthony sat together on the drawing room sofa, looking every bit as stiff as if they'd been positioned there by someone else and instructed not to move. The minutes ticked by on the mantle clock while neither of them spoke.

"This reminds me, we should have our portrait painted soon," Anthony finally whispered dryly. Frances couldn't help but snicker.

"Your Graces, Sir Perry, Baronet of Bellingsworth has come—" the butler began formally, but the intruder shoved past him without waiting for the introduction to finish.

"What's the meaning of this, Preston?" Sir Perry bellowed. Mr. Vickers and two footmen took their positions at the door, standing guard rather than leaving them to their talk. Anthony looked the baronet up and down, refusing to rise to his feet to greet him or invite the man to sit.

"How good of you to come," Anthony said slowly. "But pray tell, what is the meaning of what?"

"We have a contract. It is in writing, signed by your father's hand!"

"My father is dead, God rest his soul," Anthony answered simply.

"That does not undo his agreement, one which you must honor! Now produce my betrothed or continue to pay my fee for violating the contract."

Frances watched Sir Perry and noted how he was actually a rather small man when viewed for long enough. His age was showing as well, and Frances began to wonder whether all of the gossip about this man was actually true or merely overblown stories. Up close, hearing him rant in the light of morning, he seemed to be nothing but a bag of blustering wind.

"As I mentioned in my letter, I feel a compromise is in order. I was never made aware of this contract until you appeared with it, and I therefore had no part in agreeing to it. It is my decision then that my sister be the one to decide her future for herself."

"What would a stupid girl know of making a sound decision?" Sir Perry shouted before turning a sneer of disdain on Frances. "Contracts such as these are the work of men. I cannot even fathom why your wife would be here."

"Rest assured, regardless of who is present in any given situation, my wife will definitely be the most intelligent person in the room," Anthony stated matter-of-factly. Frances struggled to keep her expression neutral, for the compliment thrilled her to no end.

"I care not. All that matters to me is my contract. Do you dare go against your father's intentions?" the baronet challenged.

"If it was, in fact, my father's intention to force my sister into marriage with someone like you, then I gladly defy him. So, make peace with my terms. If my sister approves of you, then I shall willingly permit the atrocity to take place. If she refuses you, then you shall go on your way and never let your shadow fall on my doorstep again. Agreed?"

"Certainly not! I will haul you before the court for this if you refuse!"

"No, you won't," Frances said sternly, her posture erect and proud. "You would have done so already if you thought you might win the judgment. I happen to be of the mind that your contract may even be a forgery, and that is why you have not yet had it inspected by the magistrate."

"You accuse me of falsehoods?" Sir Perry hissed, balling his fists and looking as though he might strike someone. Frances put her hand on Anthony's knee when she felt his leg twitch, signaling that he might rise to his feet.

"I do indeed. His Grace may have seen the contract for himself, but I have not. For all we know, you wrote it yourself in the carriage on the way here."

Frances continued to goad him, though she knew it could be dangerous to infuriate him further. Anthony would never get the baronet to show his true self through his patient insistence on propriety, though, so it was up to her to cause the man to become callous.

Any moment now, she thought, watching the baronet with a smug look as she thought back to the rest of her plan, the part she had not shared. He will move to strike me, and I can have him taken to the gaol. It would be a small price to pay for Abigail's happiness.

"You'd do well to get your wife under control before another man sees to it for you, Preston," Sir Perry said, seething. To Frances' disappointment, he calmed himself enough to ignore her jabs and speak to Anthony. "Fine. I agree to your terms. But know this. When your sister arrives, neither of you are to say a word to her. Should she accept the contract, I will ensure that you never see her again. Is that still what you wish?"

"It is," Frances answered before Anthony could object.

"And now your wife speaks for you as well," the baronet said with a haughty laugh. "Then have it your way. Bring her in."

Anthony glared at Sir Perry for several long seconds, then he darted his eyes to Mr. Vickers and nodded once. The butler left the room to fetch Juliet, who was waiting elsewhere in the house for her cue. Too soon, he returned with her, and Juliet dropped into a curtsey before Sir Perry and the duke and duchess.

"Lady Abigail, I have a contract here that states you are to be my wife. It was signed by your father before his passing, and it is his wish that you marry me. What say you?"

Juliet played her part well. She trembled slightly, the demure young girl in her first Season, as she looked to Anthony and Frances. She smiled weakly at the baronet, looking very much as if she might accept his offer. At the last minute, she shook her head.

"I'm sorry, Sir, though I am flattered by your affections, I am not of a mind to marry yet. I cannot ask you to wait for me to change my mind, either, so I release you from my father's contract."

Juliet curtseyed and started to move towards the door, but Sir Perry gripped her arm tightly to bring her back. He stepped closer to her, his anger evident. As Juliet cried out in surprise, one of the footmen came forward and dispatched the baronet with a sharp blow. The other picked him up from the floor and held the man's arms tightly behind his back.

"You will regret this, Preston!" the baronet shouted, his guttural cries sounding like that of a rampaging beast as he struggled to free himself.

"I don't think he will," someone called out from the doorway. Frances looked up and saw Emma standing proudly; flanking her on either side were her father and an unknown man.

"Lady Emma? What brings you here?" Frances asked, rising to her feet and coming over to greet her.

Emma curtseyed, something her friend had never done. Beside her, her father and the stranger bowed.

"Your Grace," Emma said, a certain air of formality about her that spoke to the gravity of the situation. "My father, the Baron of Dewbury, has some information to share about your guest."

"Quite so," Lord Dewbury said gruffly. "When I learned of Bellingsworth's troubling ways, I took it upon myself to learn more about him. As it turns out, he is a fraud."

Frances darted her glance to Sir Perry, who suddenly looked as though he might be ill.

"There's no Baronet of Bellingsworth?" Frances asked, the hope welling up in her at this new development.

"Oh, to be certain, there was. It was a title that was bestowed rather than inherited, and it was to end with its original recipient." Lord Dewbury turned his bitter gaze on Sir Perry and said, "Your brother."

Emma looked triumphant as her father continued, ignoring Frances' gasp of surprise.

"Sir Perry, as he has styled himself, killed his brother and took the title for his own. He has been laying claim to this through false pretenses for years, even going so far as to commit a number of traitorous acts in order to increase his fortune to go with his dubious title."

"But how would that benefit him if this title is to be removed upon his death?" Anthony asked.

"That is where his marriage contract comes in. By convincing you that he had a claim to your sister—no, not this girl, your actual sister—" Emma's father continued, looking Juliet up and down, "he intended to marry the sister of a duke and kill you before you could have an heir. Then, his own children would inherit your estate and he would be the father of the Duke of Preston, a title he would claim for himself as regent."

"How can you possibly know all this?" Frances asked, still watching Sir Perry's guilty expression.

"My dear Duchess, I make it my business to know everything about everyone. Your uncle asked that I give you my regards, by the way, and pleads for your forgiveness once again."

Frances waved off the mention of her uncle, but she couldn't help but be impressed with Lord Dewbury's thorough investigation.

"But you can prove these allegations against Bellingsworth?" Anthony asked.

"I most certainly can," he replied smugly. "When I learned of his identity, I sought out his business associates. There are a small number of them sitting in the gaoler's cells right now, willing to trade their testimony to spare their necks. I trust that Sir Perry will not be so fortunate with his fate."

Frances grasped her friend's hand for reassurance, unable to even hope that this was all true.

"Emma? Please do not toy with me, I beg you. Your father's information is correct? This man will be dealt with under the law?" she pleaded.

"Most certainly. As Father said, this liar's men have already been taken in and confessions have been made. Unlike this marriage contract, their sworn statements are valid."

Frances felt as if she could faint, but Anthony was close at her side at once. She nodded to tell him she was all right.

"I was only overwhelmed," she promised him. "I suppose I didn't think this scheme would work out so well!"

"To be fair, Emma and her father were a great help. Sir, you have my everlasting gratitude. Anything you ever have need of, you must only call on my to help," Anthony promised Lord Dewbury.

"I'd be careful with my promises if I were you, Your Grace. He may call upon you to find a husband for me!" Emma said, nudging her father playfully with her elbow.

"After what we've seen today, I cannot say that I'm in favor of marriage much at all, and certainly not to any of the men there are to choose from in the ton," her father replied, jerking his head to the men to remove the false baronet.

"I shall be all too happy to select someone for myself, you know. Only if you approve of him, of course," Emma teased, but her father only shrugged.

"It worked rather well for Thomas and me," Juliet ventured, but Frances soon corrected her.

"That's a topic for another time. For now, we should go and inform Abby that her imprisonment is over."