Page 10 of Three Rules to Wed a Duke

“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 noplausible 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 thebaroness. 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 istheschool 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 theton’s more widely-known families, butthere 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.”

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