Page 65 of Three Rules to Wed a Duke

Anthony paused and finally looked at her for only a moment, his eyes still cold, his expression still one of stone. How could he possibly be so handsome, his features so alluring, yet his disposition practically cried out a warning to all who could hear to stay away?

“Anthony,” Frances said once more, disappointed at the sound of her own pleading tone.But why shouldn’t I plead with him to hear me? I have wronged him, and I must make amends!she thought, waiting for him to acknowledge her.

When he didn’t speak or move, Frances knew this could very well be her only chance. Her words now could seal her fate: he would either listen to her apology and take it to heart, or he would turn his back on her once more. If that were to happen, she knew there would be no future between them.

“Anthony, I want to tell you something.” Frances paused for him to look over at her, but he kept his attention on the door. She took a deep breath and pressed on, determined to have her say for what may be the last time. “I went against your instructions and I’m very, very sorry. For what it’s worth, I have already written an apology to this person upstairs and begged for her forgiveness as well.”

He still said nothing, so Frances added, “I am utterly alone here, but worse, everyone knows so great secret but me. I feel like a fool for being the only person in this house who is not trusted enough to know the truth. And yes, I realize I have just proven to you how untrustworthy I am. I do not expect you to reveal anything to me after what I’ve done, but I only wish for you to know why I went upstairs. Regardless, it was wrong of me and I’m sorry.”

Frances held her breath as she waited for him to reply. It could only have been her imagination, but she could have sworn she heard the ticking of the mantle clock in the dining room, marking off the seconds of silence as though ridiculing her. She began to feel the first flames of indignation at being made to stand there in silence, but she quickly remembered that this had all been of her own doing.

“Anthony? Have you nothing to say to me? Is there no room in your heart to forgive me?” she asked, a mournful sigh punctuating her words.

His response was slow in coming, and even then, he only nodded before opening the door the rest of the way and disappearing.

CHAPTER 25

Frances awoke the following morning and resigned herself to another solitary breakfast. Still, she had to put on a brave face and try, if only in hopes that Anthony would see the effort she was making. Today, though, she came down to the dining room only to find something unexpected beside her plate. The familiar-looking paper was folded and tucked beneath her napkin so that only a small corner was sticking out. Frances looked around to see if anyone had come in behind her, then she slid the page out to read it.

With it still placed in her lap to hide it, she smoothed it open with her hand and read it to herself.

“Your Grace, please do me the extreme honor of paying me a visit upstairs this morning. I am beside myself with excitement at the thought of meeting you at last! I know we will have so much to talk about.

Faithfully, A.”

Frances stared at the letter in surprise. To be certain, it did appear to be the same shaky handwriting as her previous notes from this mysterious woman. But could this be some sort of trap? A ruse concocted by Miss O’Reilly to lure her upstairs so that Anthony would stumble in and find her? This could be the very thing that would make him finally be rid of her, and it would be all her fault. Frances shook her head.

Your guilt and trepidation are making you lose your senses, she thought as she began to eat her breakfast.Besides, even if it was all some sort of scheme, you will have this note to exonerate you.

With her mind made up, Frances hurried to finish her breakfast, then returned to her room to dress for the visit. She wasn’t sure what she should wear to meet this person—would it be a friendly visit with someone who was no threat to her? Or should she wear something of Lady Agnes, something that gave off an aura of power to prove that Frances wasn’t intimidated by the woman’s presence? In the end, she decided on something pretty but simple, something that spoke to her role as duchess without being overly pretentious. When she was ready, she slipped out of her room and made her way to the staircase door, already knowing somehow that it would be unlocked for her. She glanced around to ensure that Anthony wasn’t nearby, then she slipped inside and closed it behind her. All the way up the old wooden stairs, Frances thought about how to introduce herself.

“Hello,” she muttered as she climbed. “I’m the Duchess of Preston. What are you doing in my house?”

No, that will never do.

“It is lovely to meet you. Why do you live here?”

No, nor that.

The door at the top of the staircase had been left ajar again, so Frances pushed it open gently to look inside the ornate room. As before, she made her way through the beautiful sitting room and crossed over to the bedroom door, hesitating for only a few seconds before knocking.

“Wait a moment please,” someone called out from the other side. Muffled voices followed after while Frances waited. At last, someone announced, “Enter!”

Frances turned the doorknob and slowly opened the door. She looked inside, this time taking in the full splendor of the bedchamber. The enormous bed that she’d seen last time was still the main feature, though other gorgeous furnishings nearly filled the space. Another table to eating or writing sat near the window with a pair of matching stuffed chairs. An easel and paints were positioned near another window where the light could filter in and aid the artist. Along one entire wall, an army of matching wardrobes had been positioned, likely to hold countless gowns and garments.

But it was the hostess herself who drew Frances’ complete attention. She was no more than a girl, hardly of an age for her first Season. She was wearing a lovely gown, though Frances noticed that it seemed a little bit too large, as if it sought toconsume her thin frame. Miss O’Reilly stood positioned in such a way that the nurse was literally holding the girl up, her arms shaking from the effort of supporting her.

“Good day,” Frances began softly, still wide-eyed as she decided to forgo all titles and pretense. “I’m Frances Hughes.”

With the nurse’s help, the girl managed the most painstaking curtsey Franes had ever seen. It pierced her heart to see her try. She could stand it no longer.

“You mustn’t!” Frances said, rushing forward to stop her. “I’m certainly not worth the effort!”

“That’s what I told her,” Miss O’Reilly mumbled, rolling her eyes. Frances ignored the barb.

“I must, Your Grace,” the girl said. “It is your due! My name is Miss Abigail Hughes.”

“Lady Abigail,” Miss O’Reilly corrected, but the girl shook her head.

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