Page 6 of Three Rules to Wed a Duke

“That’s very true!” Emma interjected cheerfully.

“Do you really think so?” Agnes asked, the hope in her voice piercing Frances’ heart like a knife.

“I do. Those girls at school were only being horrid to you with the one weapon they had. They could never match you in beauty or intelligence or kindness or anything else, so they sought to tear you down for something that was beyond your control. These fine people? They care not, obviously!”

As their mood lightened once more

“Who is that man?” Emma asked, nodding her head towards someone on the other side of the largest room they entered.

“Now why would any of us know that?” Agnes demanded, sounding exasperated. “We’ve been in London for less than a week. Unless Frances has some mystical insight, we’re all at a loss!”

Frances looked to where Emma was still watching him. Though he wasn’t staring in their direction, there was something unnerving about the way he stood off to himself with his arms stiffly at his sides, a mask of complete nothingness as his only expression. Frances was at first intrigued by the way he stood there like a statue, but then she began to feel a pang of sympathy.

“Perhaps he doesn’t know anyone,” Frances suggested, still looking over at him.

“Perhaps he was forced to attend against his will,” Emma said, laughing softly.

“Now why would he be forced?” Agnes countered, but before Emma could argue with her, Frances intervened.

“He could have a mother or sister that he must chaperone. It’s been known to happen, and from what I’ve read, most men are utterly miserable if they have no interest in being there.”

“Well, he does look utterly miserable,” Emma agreed, and even Agnes nodded.

As the first strains of music from the instruments began to drift throughout the house, signaling the start of the dancing, Frances and her friends found a spot just aside from center along the main room’s wall to wait. Like the other young ladies who sought to be asked to dance, they felt an air of hopeful anticipation that barely concealed their taut nerves. Fortunately, the next few hours were a joyful blur of merriment as men throughout the party invited their hopeful partners to dance.

“I cannot recall when I’ve had such fun. This is nothing like those dreadful balls at school,” Emma said when one song ended and they left the dance floor.

“I cannot help but notice that Aggie had absolutely nothing to worry about,” Frances said pointedly, smiling at their friend. “You’ve been asked to dance by nearly every man here!”

Agnes smiled shyly. “I suppose some things are hard to forget.”

Frances started to reply, but she stopped when there came a gentle tap on her shoulder. For a moment, she wasn’t sure someone had even tried to get her attention, thinking the faint touch might be nothing more than someone brushing past her in the crowded room. But Emma and Agnes looked over her shoulder at the newcomer, prompting Frances to turn around and smile.

Her face froze and her breath caught. It was him. No longer standing alone on the far side of the room as he’d done all evening, the stranger had crossed over and was now staring down at her expectantly with the coldest dark brown eyes she’dever seen. There seemed to be endless depth to them, as though they swallowed all light and warmth from the surroundings. She couldn’t even see herself mirrored in them, for his brown curls framed his face in a way that seemed to shade the flickering candlelight from the many sconces. The set of his jaw was almost alarming, as though he was desperately unhappy with his circumstances, and when he spoke, his voice did nothing to change that perception.

“May I have the next dance?” he asked plainly, his tone more of a statement than a question.

Frances darted her eyes back to her friends, who looked on helplessly.

“Of course, Mr.—” Frances began warily.

“Hughes.”

“Oh. Mr. Hughes,” she said, surprised by the abrupt answer when she’d expected an introduction.

Instead of saying anything more, the man merely held out his hand for her to take. Frances cast one last imploring glance to Emma and Agnes but there was nothing they could do. Instead, she slowly placed her hand in his and followed him to the dance floor. Frances faced him and curtseyed deeply, looking down, as the stranger bowed stiffly.

As the music began, Frances looked up at her partner and smiled weakly. He took no notice of it, but instead only positioned his arms for them to dance together. Frances stepped only as close to him as required and began to move about the room like the other couples. She waited, wondering if he would ever tell her his name or make any effort at conversation, but instead, he kept his attention fixed somewhere behind her at all times, regardless of the direction they faced. More than once she thought to say something friendly, but this man left her with the distinct impression that he would not appreciate it.

After a painfully long time, the last notes of the song drifted away to silence. The other dancers erupted in their usual bout of grateful applause, giving Frances the opportunity to move along. She curtseyed, but the man caught her elbow tenderly.

“Do you not wish to dance again?” he asked with a frown.

Frances looked up at him, perplexed. Who was he? How would he not know that convention does not permit a lady to dance with the same gentleman twice unless they are betrothed, and even then, not for two dances in a row! He must be some country relation to the Colonel and therefore unfamiliar with the rules that thetonheld so dear.

“I’m sorry, I cannot,” she said simply, giving him a half-smile before hurrying back to find her friends.

CHAPTER 3

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