Page 42 of Three Rules to Wed a Duke

Frances took the page and turned it around, opening it and scanning the tear-stained paper. Juliet’s torment as she begged Agnes to seek out Frances and tell her the awful news gripped at her heart, threatening to rend it in two.

“This cannot be,” Frances whispered, clutching the letter to her chest and sobbing quietly. “That horrible man! Married to my little cousin?”

Agnes let out a fresh wail of agony while Emma clung to her arm, distraught.

“How did they even learn of—wait a moment, Juliet isn’t…”

Frances stopped, refusing to even utter the words. Agnes and Emma waited expectantly, as though wondering what she could possibly be referring to. When Frances smirked and cocked her head slightly, giving them a silent but poignant glare, both ladies gasped in surprise.

“No! Nothing like that. She’s not ruined,” Agnes assured her, keeping her voice down.

“This young man she loves actually came to the house to confess his adoration of her and seek her hand in marriage!” Emma said in earnest. “It would be so completely romantic if the ending had not turned into tragedy!”

“But if she’s not been compromised, why on earth would she have to marry that horrible Lord Rowland?” Frances demanded.

“Apparently, your aunt and uncle fear that Juliet might do something unthinkable. They’ve arranged the entire thing to take place according to the earl’s license. The banns have already been posted!”

“What should we do? We must help her!” Agnes cried. “From what you’ve told us of this wretched beast of a man, her life will be utter misery.”

“Whatcanwe do?” Emma asked, resting her head on Agnes’ shoulder as though she hadn’t the strength to sit up.

“I know precisely what we can do,” Frances said, a steely look in her eye. “My aunt and uncle may have contrived to be rid of me through this brute, but Juliet will be spared that fate too!”

“But how will you prevent it?” Agnes asked, brightening somewhat at Frances’ determined announcement.

“I don’t know. But I am now a duchess, after all, and that should matter for something.”

“We could resort to kidnapping her,” Emma suggested lightly. “No one will ever think to look for her here if she’s been nabbed by scoundrels.”

Frances looked at her for a moment as though trying to decide if she was serious. Unfortunately, she seemed to be.

“I don’t think that will work, for she will have to reappear sometime. Then what will she tell people? ‘Oh, I was taken away against my will, but I never saw their faces and they just decided to release me unharmed?’ I’m not sure it’s very believable.”

“Oh. I didn’t think it would work very well,” she confessed, sounding dejected.

“But it was still a very thoughtful effort on your part,” Agnes assured her, placing a hand on her shoulder.

“We must think of something. We have three weeks,” Frances said. “I shall try to discover all I can, but we must come up with a solution soon.”

Agnes and Emma nodded, and for several minutes, their talk was subdued as they thought of the poor girl they’d only just befriended. Frances couldn’t help but shudder at the memory of the boorish earl and his lecherous ways. If that was how he conducted himself when first meeting a young lady, she couldn’t let herself imagine how he behaved when that young lady was sworn to him for all time.

“But let’s think of happier things now,” Agnes suddenly said, putting away her handkerchief and forcing a smile. “Tell us what’s happening with you, Fran.”

Frances smiled. What could she possibly say? Her husband was a very kind and even tender person who had absolutely no desire to converse or spend time together? The most devastatingly handsome man in the world was not only her husband, but still practically a stranger to her?

“Everything is wonderful,” she finally said, trying to sound cheerful.

“Liar,” Emma mumbled, but Agnes shushed her with a jab of her elbow.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Frances, we’ve been your best friends for years now. We’ve shared a room at school all this time. We can simply tell when you are unhappy. You can be truthful with us, and you know that we will never divulge anything you tell us in confidence. So, what is it?” Agnes pressed.

“How can you possibly know me better than I know myself?” she asked her friends sadly, reaching and taking their hands. “In truth, I’m not happy, though I feel that in time I will grow to think of Cadmoor House as my home. It’s only that everything feels so out of sorts.”

“In what way?” Emma demanded, clearly concerned.

“It’s nothing dreadful, just small things really. Can you imagine a house of this size having only three servants? And one of those servants is a nurse, but for whom? The duke, or the butler or housekeeper?” Frances nodded when Agnes and Emma looked perplexed.

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