Chapter 3

The next morning, breakfast was a tense, solemn affair. By tradition, Lady Hutchings should have taken her tray upstairs in her room, leaving Frances to face only Juliet and Lord Hutchings at the table. Instead, she came down and sat directly across from Frances, her disappointment seeping from her every pore while she waited for a servant to fill her plate from the sideboard instead of getting it herself. While Frances kept her head down and ate her breakfast silently, Lady Hutchings fussed and fumed over her own plate, making more noise than a bee's nest as she buttered her toast and stirred her coffee.

At long last she threw down her knife with a terrible clatter, causing Frances to jump.

"I simply do not understand how you can be so selfish, how you can have such little regard for us as your hosts," Lady Hutchings said, pressing her hand to her forehead.

"I beg your pardon?" Frances asked, unsure of her meaning.

"Yesterday evening, Frances! At the ball? How could you dance with every eligible gentleman, laughing and flirting and stealing the attention away from your loving cousin? Juliet has never so much as said an unkind word to you, yet you went and paraded yourself around for attention, ensuring that no one even came near her!"

"I… I don't know what you mean. I was nowhere near Juliet all evening. And I most certainly did not dance with every gentleman, nor did I flirt as you claim!" Frances replied, wounded by her aunt's dim view of her.

Lady Hutchings scoffed. "If you don't think your behavior was wanton, then I would hate to think what other things you learned at that school! It was humiliating, to say the least."

Frances looked around the table, her chest tightening. Did they all feel this way about her? She couldn't tell, for her uncle was still buried behind his newspaper. For her part, Juliet seemed to be a little confused by her mother's outburst, though she refused to meet Frances' eye.

"I'm very sorry you feel that way. I shall be sure to mind my manners more closely in the future," Frances said simply before trying to resume eating her meal. Her aunt's cruel insinuation had robbed her of her appetite, though.

"If you don't, there won't be any more opportunities. I will not have someone come into my home and trample on our loving hospitality with their coarse manners and disregard! If you have no respect for your uncle and me, I would have thought you would at least show your dear cousin more kindness and deference than that!"

"I'm very sorry you didn't get to dance with anyone, Juliet," Frances said sincerely. It may not be my fault, but I certainly didn't want her to miss out, she thought.

Her cousin only shrugged, but after a stern warning glance from Lady Hutchings, Juliet looked put out.

"Fortunately, I was able to commend my daughter to everyone present, though the selection of worthy gentlemen was rather lacking. Lord Hutchings will have to do a better job of securing invitations from the best families in the future, for I have no intention of passing off my only child to some husband who does not meet our standards."

Lady Hutchings drained her coffee cup and wiped her mouth delicately, then turned to her daughter.

"I'm certain that you'll have a number of men calling on you today as that was your first event, so be sure to keep yourself prepared and available for visitors. Even in spite of your ungrateful cousin's antics, true gentlemen know a girl of worth when they see one."

Juliet smiled proudly at her mother while Lady Hutchings beamed. Not for the first time, Frances fought to keep from rolling her eyes.

Before the meal had finished, Mr. Robbins came to the dining room door to announce a visitor.

"My lord, the Duke of Preston has come to call," the butler said formally, holding out a small silver tray with a card atop it.

Lady Hutchings looked as though she might burst. She clapped her hands excitedly and turned to Juliet with a knowing look.

"… for Miss Turner," the butler added with a slight bow.

The dining room went silent. Lady Hutchings and Juliet stared, open-mouthed, and Lord Hutchings lowered his newspaper to look at Robbins. Even Frances was speechless.

"Who did you say?" Lady Hutchings demanded, her voice more shrill than usual.

"The Duke of Preston, my lady."

"I don't know that man. Do you know him, Josias?" she asked.

"Never heard of him," Lord Hutchings grumbled, sounding wholly disinterested.

"Just how do you know this man, Frances?" her aunt asked coldly.

"I don't know him. I've never heard the name, let alone been introduced," Frances said, defending herself from their apparent disbelief.

No one spoke until finally Lord Hutchings instructed the butler to put the guest in the drawing room. Frances looked around at them, waiting for someone to tell her what to do.

"Well, I'm sure he's come to call so that he can get more information about Juliet. He must be far too timid to speak to her directly," Lady Hutchings said with a pinched smile. "Go and greet him, and be certain that you represent her well! I will expect a full accounting of what you two spoke of the moment he is gone. Go!"

Frances nodded slowly and slipped out of her chair. She thanked the butler and left the dining room, her curiosity as strong as her confusion. All the way to the drawing room, her mind raced with questions. Who was this duke, and why had he come? How would he have even known to ask for her by name in this house? It had to be someone she'd danced with the evening before, but she had been introduced to no one by that name.

Unless…

"Your Grace?" Frances asked hesitantly when she came face to face with the stranger who'd danced with her at Colonel Fitzgerald's party. He was as tall, imposing, and handsome as she remembered. She curtseyed and waited for him to explain.

"Miss Turner," the man replied with a very formal bow.

"It is good to see you again," she said when he said nothing further.

"And you as well," he replied, suddenly looking very uncomfortable.

Frances was about to invite him to sit down when she heard the unexpected sound of footsteps outside the drawing room door. She glanced over her shoulder but saw no one, which could only mean that there were spies afoot. Aunt Bridget, she thought with a rueful smirk.

"Would you care to see the garden, Your Grace?" Frances asked, determined to rob Lady Hutchings of the chance to eavesdrop.

"As you wish."

Frances led the way outside, gesturing to where Sara was seeing to her work. She jerked her head discreetly for her to join them outdoors. The maid smiled happily and followed them out, sitting off to the side against the house with a patient but attentive look. Frances smiled and nodded her thanks before turning to speak to the duke.

"I'm sorry that we haven't been introduced," she began, but he cocked his head and looked at her strangely.

"It wasn't necessary. I gave the butler my card. Did he not inform you of my name?"

"Well, yes. But that's not the same as an introduction."

"How is it not?"

"An introduction is an intentional act. It signifies that you wish to know the person you're speaking with better so that you might address them by name. Without such an introduction, I am utterly incapable of doing that with you at the moment."

"You may address me as Your Grace. Did you need to know something more?" he asked.

Frances looked at him for a few seconds. He didn't seem upset or irritated, and she had to admit that his tone wasn't quite rude. It was more inquisitive, if that was the right word. So, what was the cause of this strange air about him?

"Well, you haven't actually told me your name. Mr. Robbins only informed me that the Duke of Preston was here. Did your parents actually christen you ‘Duke of' for some reason? Or is that your title?" she teased playfully, hoping it would make this hard, cold veneer crack a little.

"I'm sure you know they did not," he snapped in reply. Frances took a step back in surprise, and the duke's demeanor softened by a fraction. "My name is Anthony Hughes."

"I see," Frances said, waiting for him to say more. When he did not, she asked, "And would you care to know my name?"

"I already know it. It is Miss Turner. I've addressed you by name already, remember?"

"My name is Frances. Frances Turner."

The duke only nodded at this, as though putting that information away somewhere out of reach. Frances caught Sara's eye and silently pleaded with her to do something. The maid could only smile helplessly as she shrugged, unable to offer anything more than sympathy at the awkwardness of it all.

As there was nothing more to say, Frances began to walk along the terrace, stopping to look out over the small garden. She had to admit that her aunt and uncle were meticulous in their care for the grounds, keeping Mr. Jeffers busy with tending to their lovely property. She had spent many happy hours here when she was younger, usually sitting on the swing at the far end of the arbor and reading a book. The garden had always been a tiny, stolen oasis in the busy city, but now, it seemed to stretch on like a barren landscape, leaving her with nothing to see. When she turned to gauge the duke's reaction, she saw that he had not come with her to the terrace wall.

Enough is enough, she thought miserably. I did not endure my aunt's wrath this morning to have to report back that the duke is a cold man with the personality of that empty watering can!

"Well, it was very nice of you to pay me a visit this morning," Frances finally said, realizing that the duke had nothing else to say to her.

"Of course," he replied plainly, though he made no move to go to the door.

"I'm sure you have other people you must call on," she hinted, folding her hands in front of her and rocking back and forth on her toes nervously, but still he stood where he'd first planted himself.

"No. I do not like to visit anyone."

"I see. Yet, here you are," she said, laughing lightly. The duke showed no sign of amusement.

"This is not a social call, Miss Turner."

"Oh? Is there some other reason for you to be here?" Frances asked, sincerely curious about his remark.

"Yes. I have come to speak to you about a matter of grave importance."

Her breath seemed to grow shallow. Had something happened? Something at the ball, perhaps? Worry began to rise up in her until Frances felt like she might need to sit down. She knew that he was a stranger to her and therefore could hardly have any unpleasant news to share, but this entire interaction had been so odd that anything seemed possible now.

"What's the matter?" she managed to ask in a breathy whisper.

The duke stared down at her without registering any notice of her concern. His chiseled features were still placidly detached, as though he wasn't even thinking of her or their surroundings. There was no hint of malice or disdain, yet no sign of good humor either. Instead, his dark, brooding eyes were as piercing as they'd been only hours before when they'd danced.

"I want you to marry me."