Page 41 of Three Rules to Wed a Duke

Frances turned around, astonished.

“Your Grace, did you just make a joke?” she asked, wide-eyed.

“I have done it from time to time. You have just never heard me. I rather think you might not have been paying attention.”

“I’ve known you for a matter of weeks. I cannot recall a single time in that mere fortnight when I would have heard you utter such a thing.”

Frances gave him a wry grin, knowing that this was another of his attempts at humor. Still, she had to keep this banter going if there was any chance that he wouldn’t retreat like a scared hare.

They began to walk throughout the garden, the neglected pebbles turning beneath Frances’ thin slippers. From time to time, her footing rolled out from beneath her, prompting Anthony to reach for her protectively. The feel of his grasp on her arm, even as nothing more than an instinctive reaction, filled her with hope. She looked at him and saw something akin to peace on his face, as though he was precisely where he wished to be.

“Frances,” he began, leaving her breathless when he did not say anything further.

“Yes?” she finally prompted him, praying that whatever spell had been cast at that moment wasn’t broken.

“I’m… very happy you’re here,” Anthony finally said, though the words seemed to be a struggle.

“I’m happy to be here as well,” she assured him softly.

“Are you? Truly?”

Frances winced, wondering what could be behind such a question.Don’t think too much about it, she told herself with a surge of caution.

“Yes, Anthony. I am.”

Frances fought to make her words sound as sincere as her heart knew them to be, if only to convince Anthony that it was true. Everything about his stance, his posture, his eyes told her that he wanted to believe it, even if he wasn’t certain yet.

Somehow, I will prove it to you, she promised silently.

Frances wasn’t sure if she’d imagined it, but Anthony seemed to have come to stand closer to her now. His towering stance seemed to hover over her as though leaning down, his eyes watching hers carefully. She dared not look away, not when she was so certain that he intended to kiss her at long last.

Behind them, someone cleared their throat. Anthony stood up straight and looked around, and Frances turned to see who’d come outside. Shielding her eyes from the bright sunlight, she saw Vickers standing at the bottom step, looking very uncomfortable.

“Forgive me, Your Grace, but the Duchess has visitors,” he said, looking away.

“Visitors?” Frances asked, wondering who could be so untoward as to barge in on a newly married couple only days after they’d taken up residence.

“Yes, Your Grace. Lady Agnes Young, Lady Emma Lovell. They said to tell you that it’s terribly important, a ‘matter of life anddeath,’ to be precise. They are waiting in the drawing room. Shall I inform them you’ll be along shortly? Or should they return another time?”

“No, it’s all right, Vickers. I’m coming. Thank you for telling me,” Frances said in a rush. She started to hurry inside but she stopped and returned to Anthony. With a half-hearted smile that was now dampened by worry, she said, “Thank you for showing me the gardens. I had a lovely time with you.”

As she hurried ahead of the butler, Frances’ mind was reeling with tormented emotions. She’d longed for Anthony to open up to her, to be himself and talk to her. But now that he had taken those first tenuous steps towards that end, she didn’t know what to feel. Was this what it meant to be in love with someone? To relentlessly attempt to sort out one’s emotions?

She couldn’t think about that now. If anyone would have thought that a new bride did not receive guests so soon after her wedding, it should have been Agnes. That could only mean that something awful had happened.

“Aggie! Emma! What’s wrong?” Frances cried out as she rushed into the drawing room to find her closest friends seated on a sofa together, weeping into their handkerchiefs.

“It’s Juliet,” Agnes began, her eyes red from prolonged bouts of tears.

“Juliet? What happened? Tell me at once!”

Emma sniffled and dabbed at her eyes, then composed herself enough to say, “She’s to marry Lord Rowland in three weeks’ time.”

CHAPTER 16

“What did you say?” Frances whispered, falling into a nearby chair.

“Your aunt and uncle learned of this young man she’s in love with,” Agnes said, reaching into her reticule and withdrawing a folded paper. She passed it to Frances to read for herself.

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