Chapter 8

Frances once again found herself pacing the short distance of her room, wringing her hands to keep from biting at her fingernails. Sara had been gone for nearly two hours, and the errand Frances had sent her on surely shouldn't have taken as much time as that. She worried that the girl might have gotten lost, knowing from their reading lessons that her skills were not very solid. Then she wondered if something terrible had befallen her, and a feeling of guilt ate at Frances for putting her in harm's way.

Just as she thought she might cry out from madness, there was a knock at her door. Frances threw it open to find the housekeeper standing there with a forced smile.

"Miss Turner, you have a visitor," Mrs. Pennings said slowly, her expression unreadable.

I'm sure word of the discord in the house has reached the downstairs by now, Frances thought as she nodded her thanks.

With her head held high, Frances started for the first floor, Mrs. Pennings behind her like a gaoler accompanying a prisoner past the cells. There was no telling what awful surprise awaited her below, and she walked as though she was on her way to the gallows. She wouldn't be the least bit surprised if Lady Hutchings hadn't brought a priest and a special license to force her hand, and she practiced what she would say under the circumstances. Lord Rowland would not be marrying her, today or any other day!

Downstairs, as Frances had hoped, the Duke of Preston stood by the window in the drawing room. Her aunt and uncle were seated, glaring at him hatefully.

Please let this work, she thought as she entered the room with a falsely agreeable demeanor.

"Ah, Your Grace. How lovely to see you again," she said, addressing him instead of her family.

The duke turned to look at her, and though nothing about his blank expression changed, Frances recognized that this was still his attempt at looking pleasant.

"The Duke of Preston seems to think that he intends to marry you," Lady Hutchings began through clenched teeth. Beside her, Lord Hutchings was red-faced and fuming.

"That's right," Frances said sweetly. "He proposed marriage a week ago, and I took some time to consider his request. Now, I have accepted his gracious offer. If he still intends for us to marry, I am entirely agreeable to it. Happy, I would even go so far as to say."

The duke nodded curtly, then turned his attention to the viscount and his wife. Frances looked to them silently as well, knowing that the first to speak would lose this war.

The silence dragged on. One thing she was quite certain about, though, was that the duke could outlast all of them in his ability to regard someone without speaking. Therefore, she did the same.

Finally, Lord Hutchings had had enough.

"There's no dowry, you know. Did she tell you that before you forced your way in here and demanded we give her to you?" he demanded.

"Why would I require a dowry?" the duke asked plainly, as though the concept confused him.

"Isn't that why any duke would marry someone like her?" Lady Hutchings sniped, waving her hand dismissively at Frances. "An untitled orphan with no future, no connections? What good is she if not for her father's money? She's utterly useless as a wife."

"I think she's quite a valuable young lady. She's beautiful and kind, and moreover, she's proven that she's highly cunning. She's outwitted the pair of you, hasn't she?" the duke asked evenly, as though he truly expected an answer.

Frances looked away to hide a giggle of surprise.

"Mark my words, in the weeks before this charade of a wedding takes place, you will come to regret this. Both of you," Lady Hutchings said forcefully.

"Weeks? I should think not. I've already applied for a license. We shall marry in two days," the duke answered without a hint of emotion.

What? Two days? Why so soon?Frances thought, turning to look at him in shock. She concealed her surprise and looked back to her aunt and uncle, daring them to argue.

"Unheard of! Everyone will gossip about you! Why would any respectable young lady marry a man with only two days' wait unless she was… compromised," Lady Hutchings insisted.

"Oh? Were you not just going to have me marry Lord Rowland in only a week?" she asked lightly.

Lady Hutchings clenched her jaw angrily. Lord Hutchings somehow managed to shift to an even deeper shade of red, an ominous sign for his health. Frances only beamed at them, then turned to look at the duke. His blank face was almost enough to make her regret this scheme, but she was instantly reminded that she'd had no other choice. A man who'd sought her out for her beauty and her mind was infinitely better than one who was merely tired of taking to his bed alone.

A noise from the foyer caused Frances to turn around. Juliet waited in the doorway wearing her coat and holding her bonnet. She looked in at the tense scene and frowned, regarding everyone without saying a word. Lady Hutchings finally rose and stormed out of the room, followed shortly after by Lord Hutchings. They each brushed past their daughter without a care, nearly causing her to stumble.

The duke finally came forward and stood in front of Frances. He looked into her eyes, and she saw the same empty expression that had unnerved her each time they'd spoken. Just as had happened once before, though, there was a flash of softness, almost longing in them, and then it was gone.

He bowed formally, then straightened and tugged on the edge of his coat to smooth it.

"I shall call on you Monday morning to go to the church," he stated, then he too left the room. The front door had closed behind him before Frances could remind herself to breathe.

"Are we still having tea with Emma and Agnes?" Juliet asked.

Frances stared at Juliet without speaking for a moment, then she burst out in a fit of giggles. Her cousin watched her warily before joining in. At long last, Frances wiped her eyes and took a deep breath.

"I think we shall have far more to discuss with them at tea than the weather," she said. "Let's be off."

Frances was not wrong.

"You're getting married?!" Emma cried as soon as Frances entered.

"What? How did you even know?" Frances asked, looking to Juliet as though the girl had somehow informed her.

"My brother's school mate is employed in the Archbishop's office. He saw the notice of the license and told my brother, who ran home to inform me! So, it's true then?"

Frances looked around, bemused. What were the chances that there would be such a connection to spread the word? It was no wonder ladies guarded their reputations as if they were more precious than gold, for it took no effort at all to destroy them with gossip.

"Yes, it's true," she said slowly. "But I only learned of it half an hour ago."

"Do not misunderstand me, I think this is the most romantic thing I've ever heard! But how on earth did he apply for the license without your knowledge, or your uncle's for that matter?" Agnes asked.

Frances thought about her question. How, indeed? The duke must have gone to the Archbishop directly after receiving her letter… or else he'd done so before learning that she'd changed her mind? The thought didn't sit well with her, but it wasn't as though she had any other choice.

"I don't know the answer, but I'm afraid I have far more important questions," Frances said, her mind growing foggy with confusion. "For instance, how shall we go about learning his name?"

"I believe I can help with that. I shall ask my father. Surely, he's heard of this Duke of Preston," Agnes offered, but Emma intervened.

"My father keeps an itinerary with every member of the peerage he's met. I'll go ask him now." When Emma had gone, Agnes turned serious.

"You haven't told us why you accepted his proposal, especially if you know so little about him. I thought you'd rejected his suit because of his, well, uncommon behavior?"

"That is true, yes. But that was before my aunt scraped the bottom of the nearest pond to find a match for me." At Agnes' perplexed look, Frances sighed and explained. "Therefore, as you can see, the Duke of Preston suddenly became infinitely better than my other option, which was a lifetime—perhaps a short one, at that—married to a vile creature who is seeking a bedfellow rather than a wife."

Agnes' eyes went wide with disbelief. Juliet's cheeks burned a bright pink. Frances mumbled a half-hearted apology for shocking them so.

"But let us consider only the good things," Agnes said, her words sounding too cheerful. "Will your aunt and uncle be hosting an event to make the announcement? Or perhaps a wedding feast after the ceremony?"

"I should think not. They're none too pleased about it, and I was not left with the impression that they have anything to celebrate. It's also not as though they are eager to spend any more coins on my interests," Frances blurted out without thinking about Juliet's feelings. She shot her cousin an apologetic look, but Juliet only nodded in agreement.

"Well then, Mother and I shall happily host just such an event in your honor," Agnes announced, her eyes shining. "In fact, Emma and I shall have a tea this Friday as well and invite everyone we know. We can have it out on the terrace! It will be so lovely!"

Frances briefly wondered if Agnes wasn't actually happy to hear about the Hutchings' reaction, for it meant she could stage the celebration herself.

"That is very gracious of you, but I would hate for you to go to any trouble, especially with the Season already begun and invitations to other events already sent out. It's not as though the Duke seems to enjoy social occasions, after all." Agnes looked so forlorn that Frances had to relent. "Perhaps just the tea this week with our friends. That way, he won't have to attend."

"Who won't have to? What did I miss?" Emma asked, clearly out of breath from her errand.

"We're planning a tea this week. I'll tell you everything later. Now, what did you discover about this Duke of Preston?" Agnes called out.

"Right then. His name is Anthony Hughes," Emma began, but Agnes interrupted her.

"Anthony… what a divine name!"

"Yes, well he's but five-and-twenty—"

"Such a fine young age to marry!" Agnes called out, nodding with approval. Emma shot her a warning look.

"Though he inherited after his father's death when the Duke was but nine years of age."

"Only nine? What horror! That poor man, to lose his father when he was only a child!" Agnes wailed, but Emma had tolerated the interruptions for the last time. She reached down and plucked up a small cake and forced it into Agnes' mouth. Frances giggled at the surprised look on Agnes' face, but then burst out in a fit of boisterous laughter when she caught sight of Juliet's expression.

"Are they always this way?" her cousin asked quietly.

"Oh no. They're usually far worse!" Frances explained, smiling at both of her friends.

"Anyway, as I was saying," Emma continued while Agnes dabbed at the crumbs on her bodice with a cloth, "Father seemed to know all about him. Long passed father, a mother who died only a few winters ago from infection. Father said Preston is immensely wealthy, both from his father's estate and from his own business ventures. Timber properties, he thinks it is, though he did warn that such a business could be a front for something nefarious."

"A front? What do you mean?" Frances demanded, her eyes wide with worry.

"Father said that timber makes for a good explanation as to why there's so much wood down in the hold of a ship, but that it's really wooden barrels…"

No one spoke, watching Emma expectantly for an explanation.

"You know… for liquor?"

"Ahhh," the three ladies answered in unison before their distaste at the news became clear.

"I can only hope he's not a man who drinks," Frances muttered sadly, but Juliet put a comforting hand on her arm.

"It would explain his odd behavior when forced to go out in public," Agnes said, wincing slightly.

"I don't think so," Emma announced. "Father is furious at you for snagging a duke and taking one more eligible one off the market, and quite put out with me for letting you get to him first. If he thought the Duke of Preston to be something of a drunkard, he wouldn't feel that way. My father is the worst sort of social climber, but he would never force me to marry a detestable man."

Agnes elbowed Emma sharply in the ribs, and together they looked at Frances and Juliet sadly.

"Oh, good heavens, I didn't mean anything by that!" Emma insisted, but Frances assured her it was all right.

"Not to worry, Emmy. I fear my aunt and uncle thought they were doing me a kindness in choosing such an awful lout for me. They seem to think that's all I'm worthy of or capable of marrying. Meanwhile, poor Juliet here—"

Juliet shook her head quickly, glaring at her. Frances only nodded once and said, "Never mind. Let's talk instead of the wedding."

"Oh, I cannot believe it! One of our little sisterhood is already getting married!" Agnes cried, clapping her hands in excitement once more.

I can hardly believe it myself, Frances thought, though she was certain her reasons were quite different from that of her friends.