Page 25 of Three Rules to Wed a Duke

“You! What’re ya doin’ listenin’ to others talk like that?” the butcher shouted at her, causing Frances to flinch.

“Well, I’m rather glad I did, for now I can set your mind straight on the matter. My cousin is not the sort of girl to permit anyoneto take any liberties with her. She loves your son very much, and she is proud of who he is,” Frances argued hotly. “She knows quite well what his station has been, and she knows that he intends to work hard. But even should he fail to rise above his beginnings, she cares not and would be a good wife to him. You should be so lucky as to have such a devoted and adoring girl to love your son!”

“Eh? Is that so? And how lucky will I be when that father of hers has my son thrown in the gaol for darin’ to so much as look at his daughter, let alone marry her?” the man protested.

Frances didn’t have an answer. In her desire to see someone be happy, she had failed to consider that other people could actually be put in harm’s way by the effort.

“They are breaking no law,” she said weakly, though she knew that someone in Thomas’ position had little recourse against a viscount who’d been wronged.

“I wish that were good ‘nough,” the butcher said, his tone changing slightly to almost sarcastic understanding. He looked to his son and saw the expression of longing and hurt Thomas wore. “Truly, I do.”

Frances was at a loss. There had to be some way she could convince this man that Juliet had no ill intentions, that her heart was as set as his own son’s on being together. She found no other way except for the most obvious.

“Then you shall simply have to speak to Lord Hutchings yourself,” she said to both of them. “Rather than sneaking through the marketplace or arriving at social events disguised as a footman, you must be honest about your intentions, assuming they are real.”

“How can I when I am nothing but a butcher’s son?” Thomas asked weakly, casting a sheepish look to his father at such a statement.

“You are not nothing, boy!” the butcher shouted back, taking his son by the shoulder. “You are the smartest young man I know, able to do anything he sets his mind to. Youshallstudy and do more, I vow it!”

“But what of your shop? Weren’t you just telling me that you cannot manage it without me?”

The butcher waved off Thomas’ words. “I was only mad. We’ll find a way to make it work, though ya may have to teach that brother of yers to do the job right.”

Frances smiled at their newfound understanding then remembered her errand.

“I’m so sorry, but I came to speak to you about an order we may have accidentally requested. It was only part of Miss Walford’s ruse to come see Thomas, and we did not intend to actually purchase it.”

The butcher narrowed his eyes at her for a moment before laughing merrily.

“I thought it might be a bit too much when I first read it,” he said, pulling the paper from his apron pocket and handing it back. “Not even Thomas could eat so much!”

Frances thanked him for understanding, the relief she felt causing her to be light-headed. She made them promise they would consider her advice, though inwardly, she wondered a grave thing—how would Lord and Lady Hutchings ever accept this man as Juliet’s husband if they barely tolerated her as their niece?

CHAPTER 10

Monday morning dawned with a dreary rain, one that seemed to bring a chill to the air despite the summer day. A heavy wind shook the windowpanes as Frances got up and prepared for the duke’s arrival at any moment. When she came down to breakfast, she found that the dining room was empty, with no dishes on the sideboard or platters of eggs and bread alongside them.

“Sara? Do you know what’s going on?” she asked, looking around.

“Lord and Lady Hutchings aren’t coming down. They’re taking their trays in their rooms,” Sara whispered, looking over her shoulder. “We’re not supposed to be talkin’ to ya, but I’ll go and fetch somethin’ for ya to eat and put it in the drawin’ room.”

“No, I wouldn’t want you to get in any trouble,” Frances said, keeping her voice low. “I’ll have something after the ceremony today, for my good friends are going to have a small luncheon. But do you still have that parcel with my belongings in it? I fearmy uncle is going to keep his word that I cannot have any of my things.”

“I do, miss! It’s down in me room. I’ll bring it to ya outside when yer ready to go,” Sara promised.

No sooner had the maid spoken than Mr. Robbins came around the corner of the foyer. He bowed deeply and smiled at her.

“Lady Frances, it is my great pleasure to inform you that His Grace, the Duke of Preston, is here to collect you.”

“Thank you, Robbins. I suppose I’m ready to depart,” Frances answered, glancing down at her simple gown. “Unless you think this isn’t all right?”

“You look as lovely as ever, my lady,” the butler replied. Sara nodded, her eyes misting with happiness.

“Then I suppose I shall go and greet him.” Frances still didn’t move, and Mr. Robbins looked at her with a worried sort of smile.

“My lady, if you are having any doubts, do know that you don’t have to—”

“Not you too, Robbins, please!” Frances said, laughing nervously. “All I’ve heard for the past three days is one complaint after another.”

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