Page 50 of Three Rules to Wed a Duke

“Good evening, Vickers. Have there been any messages?” she asked, refusing to let herself hope.

“As a matter of fact, there have,” he replied happily. “I was just going to have them sent up to you, for most of them appear to be invitations.”

“Oh, that’s right. We’re to be invited everywhere now that our honeymoon is nearing its end,” she answered almost drearily.

As if it was actually any sort of honeymoon, Frances thought sadly, mentally tabulating the days since their wedding. Had it already been nearly three weeks? It certainly didn’t feel that way. Of course, these invitations would be for events later in the Season when the first month of their marriage had already come and gone. They would be expected to attend and be congratulated as a happy couple.

If only Frances could be certain they were happy…

“Of course,” Mr. Vickers said. He stepped closer and looked as though he might say something secretive. He lowered his voice and said, “You know, there was a time when this house hosted such magnificent parties. The previous duchess was known to issue some of the most sought-after invitations of the Season. Perhaps in time you will decide to do something similar.”

“Hmm, perhaps! And if His Grace permits it, of course,” Frances said, a merry look in her eye in spite of her heavy spirits. She scooped up the pile of correspondence from the table in the entryway and smiled. “I’ll take these upstairs and look them over. If I need any help responding to them, may I call on you, Vickers?”

“At all times, Your Grace,” Mr. Vickers said warmly as he leaned into a deep bow.

Upstairs, Frances thought to place the correspondence on her writing table and leave it for a few minutes, intent on resting until her weariness was gone. Instead, she decided to tackle the new task straight away and be done with it. She sifted throughthe folded pages and expensive envelopes, sorting them into different positions on the desk so she might answer all of them.

One of them, however, was unlike the others. It was nothing more than a folded note, its writing visible even from the outside. Frances opened it, and she regretted it at once.

“Dear Anthony,” Frances muttered aloud, “I wish to thank you so much for the new gifts. You spoil me so! I am undeserving of your love, but am so grateful for it all the same.

Ever yours, A.”

Frances pressed her hand to her middle to squelch the sick feeling inside of her. The letter had been intended for Anthony, and she fervently wished she’d never lain eyes on it. It had been but a faint whisper of truth, but it didn’t require all of the pieces for the picture to be revealed.

Anthony kept a mistress after all.

Frances’ mouth went dry as she looked around the room, her eyes tricking her into thinking the walls were falling around her. Sara was at work with her back to her, and Frances was only slightly mollified to know that she wouldn’t have to explain her stricken expression.

“Sara?” she said as blithely as she could manage. “I’m not feeling well all of a sudden. Would you mind bringing up some tea? Ithink I shall feel better once I have some tea and lie down for a while.”

The lady’s maid turned around and looked at her in alarm, but she hurried to do as Frances asked. Once the door had closed behind her, Frances thrust the hateful letter in her drawer and went to her bed. She slipped beneath the covers as if they could barricade her from such awful things as deceitful husbands and missent letters. With any luck, pulling them up over her eyes would shut out all knowledge of this terrible discovery.

Frances didn’t realize she’d drifted off to sleep until she awoke to find the room darkened and a cup of cold tea beside her bed. She was disoriented, and in the haze of first awakening, she forgot what was troubling her. Too soon, though, she remembered Anthony’s mysterious letter and that hurt it had brought her.

A knock at her door invaded her thoughts. She assumed it would be Sara, coming to fetch the teacup, or perhaps Mrs. Barrett to inform her of the dinner hour. She was tempted to ignore it, so melancholy was her disposition.

What do tea or dinner matter in the face of such humiliation?she thought as she stared at the ceiling.

The knock sounded again, slightly more persistently this time. Frances had no wish to be rude despite her poor spirits, so she forced herself out of bed and over to the door. She opened it and recoiled slightly at the sight of Anthony standing on the other side.

“You missed dinner,” he said plainly.

“That was not my intention,” she answered. Frances thought to tell him how she’d fallen asleep, but quickly decided he wasn’t worthy of an explanation.

“It does seem to be quite a feat for you to follow the simplest of rules,” Anthony said, crossing his arms and looking slightly confused.

“Oh? I’m sorry you see it that way,” Frances said, her irritation growing into blooms of anger. “I rather thought there was no such thing.”

“No such thing as rules? Nonsense.”

“Well, after all, there is certainly a far more universal rule that a man takes a wife and then he remains faithful to that wife,” she snapped, her eyes blazing.

“Yes. That is usually the custom,” Anthony agreed, nodding.

“So, you’re familiar with it? Then perhaps you can explain the reason for this.”

Frances went to her writing table and retrieved the card. She held it out for Anthony to take, letting the offending note drop from her fingers as though she wished to be rid of it as soon as she could. He turned it around and flipped it open, though his expression remained completely unchanged as he read it.

---