Page 21 of Three Rules to Wed a Duke

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 changedher 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—”

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