Page 37 of Three Rules to Wed a Duke

“Anthony, I—”

“There you are,” he answered evenly. “Please try to be on time for meals from now on.”

“I will, I’m sorry! You see, something terrible has happened at my uncle’s house and I’ve only just learned of it a few minutes ago. I intended to get ready in time but—”

Frances stopped and stared down at Anthony. He wasn’t looking at her, but rather was staring straight ahead as though waiting for something else. When Mr. Vickers and Mrs. Barrett entered with their dinner, he silently nodded his approval and took his plate.

“I’m sorry, but did you hear what I said?” Frances demanded.

“Yes, I did,” he replied, looking up at her as though she might tell him about the weather outside.

“Do you not care?”

“About what?” he asked, though there was no malice in his tone. Frances glared at him, feeling hurt.

“I said something terrible has happened. Do you even wish to know what it is?”

“If you wish to tell me, then I shall gladly listen.”

“And can you not muster even a shred of concern? What if my uncle has died? Or my aunt or my cousin? What if all three of them had perished in a fire this very evening? Do you not care?”

“Did they perish?” he asked blankly, still looking at her as though not understanding her mood.

“No, but that isn’t the point. You didn’t know that, yet you sat there, eating your dinner and staring at the wall as if none of it mattered to you,” Frances said, sinking into a chair and wondering what on earth could make someone so cold-hearted as this.

Anthony glanced around the room quickly, and Frances noticed that he looked over to Mrs. Barrett briefly. The housekeeper nodded to him, then made a slight gesture to him with a wave of her fingers. Anthony then put down his knife and fork and looked back to Frances.

“I’m sorry that I’ve upset you. Please continue what you were saying,” he said in a voice that sounded almost practiced.

“Never mind. You wouldn’t care anyway,” she snapped before taking up her spoon and beginning to eat her soup. Angry tearsstung her eyes, but she didn’t dare brush them away for fear that a torrent would follow.

“You’re crying,” Anthony said, his voice soft and almost distant.

“Of course, I’m crying. That’s what happens when a young lady feels disregarded.”

“As you’ve disregarded me?” he asked as though clarifying her meaning.

Frances looked at him angrily. “What are you implying?”

“I made a very simple request of you, one that you readily agreed to. Yet, at both of the meals we’ve taken together, you’ve been late each time. Does that not show disregard for me?”

Frances opened her mouth to protest, but snapped it shut just as quickly. On the one hand, this evening was neither intentional nor avoidable. But at breakfast? She burned with a flicker of guilt for knowing that it had been completely contrived just to bother him.

“It was not my aim to disregard you,” she finally managed to say, still feeling guilty. “I am sorry I made you feel that way.”

“Thank you. And though I do not understand why you were upset just now, I am sorry. For I’m certain I caused it,” he said in earnest.

Frances looked at him with resignation, feeling only a little at ease now. The sense that they were at odds with each other already was not a fond one, and it left her wondering if there would ever be anything even resembling friendship between them, let alone love or affection.

As if he somehow noticed this, Anthony folded his hands in front of himself and looked to her.

“Please tell me what happened with your uncle. I truly wish to know.”

Frances paused, unsure if he was being sincere or not. The only way she could know for certain was to trust him, so she nodded and leaned forward, letting her posture reveal the weight of all that had happened in the past two weeks.

As she explained what Sara had told her, Frances kept her attention fixed on Anthony’s changing expressions. At first, he kept up his usual detached look, the one that never failed to make her wonder if he’d even heard her, let alone cared. But the more she told him about her hateful relatives and what they had done, the more that façade began to crumbled like this house.

“So, as I hope you can understand, I am quite distraught. Some of those dear people were the ones to comfort me when I first arrived in London as an orphaned girl of ten. My aunt and uncle saw me as nothing more than an obligation, an unwelcome one at that. But Mr. Robbins, Mr. Jeffers, Mrs. Pennington, all of them, they were the ones to make that house feel like a home. I cannot imagine how my aunt will get by without whichever oneshave been dismissed, nor why she would want to. But far worse is the knowledge that these people have been left with nothing but their ruined reputations.”

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