Chapter 4

"What did you say?" Frances asked, her ears ringing slightly as the blood pounded in her veins.

"I spoke rather clearly the first time. I said I want you to marry me."

Frances sank into a chair nearby and felt her mind begin to race. What was happening? She looked around, as though a perfectly clear explanation was lingering somewhere near the stone planters filled to overflowing with trailing ivy and delicate snowcaps. When no enlightenment came to her, she turned back to the duke.

"But why?" she asked weakly, trying to make sense of his calm expression and bizarre request.

"I should think it's perfectly logical. You are a beautiful young lady, and you seem very pleasant. I am as yet unmarried, as are you, and therefore—"

"And therefore, we should simply marry because we have nothing better to do?" she asked, wide-eyed. Her ire was growing at the callousness of it all.

"I did not say that. But is there some cause we should not?" he asked, his tone still making him sound as though he found it perfectly reasonable.

"That's your only answer? That I cannot provide you with ample reasons not to accept your offer, therefore, I should accept? I'm sorry, but that is not how my mind works. It was lovely to meet you, Your Grace, but I must decline your offer and see to my responsibilities now. Sara will show you out."

Frances returned inside and made it to the staircase before Lady Hutchings pounced like a starved tiger. Frances managed to pull her away so that the Duke of Preston would not see them converse about him, but once he had passed and the door had closed behind him, the inquisition began.

"What happened? Tell me everything! Who is he?" her aunt began, firing the questions at her like a constable giving chase.

"Apparently, he is the Duke of Preston," Frances began, still reeling from the bizarre encounter.

"We already knew that! What else?" Lady Hutchings demanded as Juliet hurried to her side.

"He is… without a doubt, he is the most abnormal person I have ever met. And Miss Chatham required us to help care for the sick and suffering at a nearby hospital, so I've met quite a number of unusual people. Still, he was so very strange."

"No one cares about that, tell me what he said about Juliet!" her aunt cried in frustration.

"If you wish to know his thoughts on Juliet, why would you not want to know if there's something wrong with him?" Frances asked, puzzled.

"Why would I care about inconsequential things like his personality or his appearance? He's a duke, that's all that matters!"

Besides Lady Hutchings, Juliet nodded. Frances stared at both of them, aghast. The thought of being married to a man and not caring for anything other than his title chilled her to the bone.

And yet, he asked me to marry him, she thought, still trying to make sense of it.

"I'm very sorry to inform you, but he did not speak of my cousin," she said plainly before turning away to go to her room.

Lady Hutchings' hand shot out and gripped her arm painfully.

"I don't believe you. What else would he wish to speak about?"

"Has it crossed your mind that perhaps he wished to speak to me? And that he might want to talk about me?" Frances countered, tears of indignation at being so scorned glistening in her eyes.

"I knew it! I knew you were trying to steal him for yourself!" Juliet shouted, stomping her foot and balling her fists at her side.

"I did no such thing. I was only asking. But both of you seem to think that no worthy gentleman would want anything to do with me, and it hurts me."

"Your feelings are irrelevant," Lady Hutchings hissed. "Your duty is to your cousin. She is your benefactor's daughter, and therefore, you are to do your utmost to ensure that she makes a good match. Only then can you think of yourself. It's astonishing that you still have to be taught to care about others."

"I don't know why you refuse to believe me. If you are so convinced of his affections for Juliet, go chase him down and haul him back here. Surely, Uncle Josias can have a marriage contract drawn up at once. As for myself, I happily relinquish him to you for I wish to have nothing to do with him. Now, if you'll excuse me…"

Frances hurried upstairs to her room before anyone could argue. She paced the length of it—a rather short journey, she thought bitterly—over and over as her mind raced. It was unthinkable that a man, a duke no less, would dance with a young lady once and propose marriage the next day. There was simply no plausible reason for it, which only made her even more certain that Juliet was welcome to have him.

There was nothing to be done to ease Frances' troubled mind except to take the matter to her trusted friends. She'd yet to call on Emma or Agnes since they'd all arrived in London, but they'd had ample time to reunite with their families. An ordeal such as this required their opinions, so she donned her jacket and bonnet and went out.

As Frances strolled along through the more bustling parts of the city to the address she'd written down, her mood shifted considerably. The sun was shining brilliantly, and the streets were filled with all manner of people going about their business. After the monotony of a reclusive life at school, there was so much to see and do in London that she thought she might never tire of it. Fortunately, the inviting setting helped push some of her thoughts about curious dukes and hateful relations to the back of her mind.

When she finally reached Emma's house, Frances couldn't help but look around in wonder. The property was modest enough in size that a well-situated baron might live there, but it was very well cared for. Someone had clearly put a good deal of money into making it even grander than it had once been. Modern windows gleamed in the late morning sun, though the iron shutter dogs still dotted the stone walls on either side of each one and spoke to the proud age of the home. A winding, crushed stone drive ringed the front of the house before disappearing to the back on its way to the mews. Carefully trimmed topiaries sprung up on either side of the grand front steps, all standing in a row like sentries.

"It's so inviting," Frances muttered to herself, smiling as she thought of Emma returning to her family and being welcomed home. It was bittersweet, as it only reminded her of the cold reception she'd received.

After being deposited in the coziest drawing room she'd ever seen, Frances had a moment to look around. Unlike homes where long-passed noble ancestors glared down severely from gilt frames, only one enormous portrait hung in the middle of the room's long wall. It was clearly Emma with her family, all of them seated together and looking quite distinguished. Still, their personalities were evident, captured in oil on canvas as if the family was sitting for a living tableau.

"How different we all can be," Frances said softly, wistfully trying to imagine her aunt and uncle putting such a lovely display up in their home but realizing they would never.

"What was that?" someone called out, startling Frances.

"Lady Dewbury! I'm so sorry, I was just admiring your family's portrait and I didn't hear you come in," Frances said, curtseying quickly. "It's a lovely painting. You all look so happy in it."

"Yes," the baroness said, looking up at it with an unreadable expression. "Emma will be coming down shortly. I thought I would come in and visit with you for a while."

Frances sat after Lady Dewbury took a seat nearby. She smiled pleasantly, but almost at once she got a strange feeling about the baroness. It was almost as if she was hiding something behind her intense gaze and too-eager smile.

"So, all of you are back from school at last," the older woman began, sitting up very tall and looking stiff.

"Yes, my lady," Frances confirmed.

"And are you settling in nicely in London?"

"As best I can, I suppose. It's quite different from our school and its surrounding town."

"I can imagine! The few times I was able to visit Emma, I was rather shocked to see how provincial the area was. I dare say there were more sheep than people!"

Frances laughed, but soon realized the baroness wasn't speaking in jest. She seemed almost offended by the quaintness of the finishing school.

"Still," she continued with a delicate sniff, "all the best families claim that Miss Chatham's is the school for all young ladies of good breeding to attend. It was divine providence that they had a place for her, and that my husband could spare the funds to afford it."

Frances only smiled. She hadn't gotten that impression at all. Of all of her classmates, there had been a dozen or so who were from some of the ton's more widely-known families, but there were just as many young ladies—if not more—who were daughters of poor clergymen, successful tradesmen, soldiers, and widowers who needed to deposit their first wives' children somewhere.

Still, she had no intention of cracking Lady Dewbury's carefully crafted belief, so she only nodded politely.

"I understand your uncle is the Viscount of Hutchings," the baroness continued. "And your father?"

"Earl of Quilby, my lady."

"Ah, an earl?" Lady Dewbury said, her eyes brightening in a way that made Frances somewhat alarmed. "So, he sent you to London for the Season to live with your uncle, I presume?"

"No, my lady. My parents both died when I was ten. My uncle is my mother's brother, and he and my aunt took me in."

"But what of your father's title? His estate? Why would you be sent to live with your mother's people when your father was so well appointed?"

Frances was astonished at the boldness of these questions from someone she had never even met, but still, she was Emma's mother. Perhaps she was only curious about her daughter's friends.

"All of that passed to my father's heir, a young cousin whom I'd never even met. Therefore, the best people to take me in and provide for me were here in London."

"I see. Well, I'm sure you are very grateful to them for raising you in the city where you could get to know all the best families. And then for them to send you to school at such a great cost… I know you show them the proper thanks."

"Of course," Frances said, suddenly feeling like she'd been chastised for being naughty.

Thankfully, Emma arrived at that moment and hurried in. She threw her arms around Frances and squealed with delight at seeing her.

"Come on, let's go to the park! I'm desperate to get outdoors!" she said, already taking her bonnet from a maid who'd followed her.

Emma linked her arm through Frances' and led the way. As soon as the front door closed behind them, she apologized.

"My mother can be a bit forceful when it comes to meeting people and forging allies," she said lightly. "I hope she wasn't too forward."

"I must admit, it was actually refreshing to speak to someone who was quite open about their intentions," Frances replied, waving off Emma's concern. "She did seem to be overly preoccupied with who the best families are."

"Good heavens, that's all she ever speaks of! You'd think she was amassing a loyal army to wage war on the Continent instead of trying to marry off a daughter. But somehow, Father is even worse."

"How so?" Frances asked, worried by Emma's unusually dark demeanor.

Emma sighed woefully. "I have little doubt I shall be married to whichever man will put Father in the best stead. It has always troubled him that he's merely a baron… as if—pardon my saying something so untoward—as if his fortune doesn't command enough respect on its own!"

"I had no idea your family was in such a profitable position," Frances conceded. "You certainly didn't make any of the other girls feel like they were beneath you for it."

"There are many who think money earned is not money at all. They have this unthinkable notion that a man who works for his fortune and is able to provide life's luxuries because of it is somehow not a true gentleman," Emma explained, rolling her eyes. "I'd rather they thought I had nothing than think my father to be some sort of cheat who stumbled into his barony instead of being from a proud titled family. Besides, a good many of our friends really were quite impoverished, and there was no sense in making them feel as though my father's circumstances should put a wall between us."

Frances smiled. That was just like Emma to always be thinking of others and how she would feel in their positions.

"Still, I worry that Father will scrounge up some elderly duke with foul breath, bunions that need rubbing, and boils that need tending, then force me to marry him just to improve his own standing in the ton," Emma cried, actually beginning to tremble with fear and fury.

A duke! That's what I came to talk to her about!Frances remembered.

"Well, I happen to know an eligible duke who didn't have a boil in sight nor a bunion to his name, at least judging from the way he walked. But I'm not sure he would be any great improvement for you. At least an elderly duke might not be long for this world!" Frances teased.

"Which one do you mean?" Emma asked, coming to stand before her.

"Do you remember the man from the ball yesterday evening? The one who behaved so strangely?"

"The one who asked you to dance and did not speak to you at all while you danced?"

"That's the one. He came to call this morning!"

Emma's eyes went wide, and she was struck speechless for several moments. Finally, she looked around and spied a bench beneath some overhanging trees. She dragged Frances by the elbow and bid her sit, then hurried to take a seat beside her.

"Tell me everything!" she demanded, her excited smile erasing her earlier forlorn mood.

"Well, I'm not sure where to start," Frances began, thinking back to the events of that morning. She knew she did not wish to discuss her aunt's hateful accusations, though. "We were all having breakfast when the butler announced a visitor. I received him, and then almost immediately, he asked me to marry him."

"I beg your pardon?" Emma asked, sitting up straighter and shaking her head slightly.

"Yes."

"Marriage?"

"Yes."

"Marriage, you said."

"Precisely." Frances waited while Emma pondered the news in silence. When her friend frowned and opened her mouth once more, Frances added, "Yes, I said marriage."

"I heard you, silly. I was going to ask you what you said to him in reply!"

"Oh. I'm sorry. I simply told him no, and that was the end of that."

"You told him no? What on earth for?" Emma cried, looking horrified.

"Emma, you cannot be serious. What sort of person—a normal person, at least—proposes marriage to a complete stranger after meeting them one time and dancing precisely once?"

"Who cares? You could have had your entire future secured!"

"Or I could have shackled myself for all eternity to someone who is not quite right in the head," Frances said, tapping her finger against her temple. "At the very least, he has no concept of good manners or the proper way of doing things, and that isn't someone I need to be married to."

I would take Aunt Bridget's advice and become a governess first, she thought, though she didn't say it.

Emma was still utterly flabbergasted. She stared down at the grass all around them and appeared to be lost in thought, clearly weighing Frances' circumstances.

"Are you going to say anything?" Frances finally asked, throwing up her hands.

"What's there to say? I'm just trying to imagine what it must be like to be so free that you can refuse such an offer. My father would turn me out in the street if a duke had proposed marriage and I'd simply said, ‘No, thank you, Your Grace.' My mother would never speak to me again!"

"That breaks my heart, Emma. You deserve better than to be thought of so little. We both do," Frances assured her, standing up and brushing off the skirts of her gown. As she strode towards the park's meandering path, Emma chased after her.

"Frannie! Come back. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to hurt your feelings!"

Frances stopped and looked back at her, her shoulders sagging slightly in defeat. Why must their lives revolve around husbands and fortunes? Did these concerns cause everyone to go mad, or just those people who were closest to her?

"It's all right, Emma. You didn't mean anything by it, and I certainly didn't mean to make you feel bad. I just… I'm merely fighting to keep from feeling lost."

"How do you mean?" Emma asked, placing her hand through the crook of Frances' elbow once more and walking beside her.

"Why can we not simply enjoy ourselves this Season? We've spent years practically locked away in a convent to the barren north. I wish to meet interesting people and see so many new things. I want to go to parties and dance and laugh and make new friends—no, no one will replace you and Aggie—and not worry constantly about this mythical future that's hanging over my head. Is that too much to ask?"

Emma thought over her reply, something Frances knew she always did when she was seriously having to consider something that she'd never thought of. At last, she answered by laughing uproariously.

"I agree! We shall both just enjoy ourselves this Season without fretting over it. We shall force Agnes to simply have fun, too. It will be glorious, all thanks to you!"