Page 78 of Three Rules to Wed a Duke

“Certainly not! I will haul you before the court for this if you refuse!”

“No, you won’t,” Frances said sternly, her posture erect and proud. “You would have done so already if you thought you might win the judgment. I happen to be of the mind that your contract may even be a forgery, and that is why you have not yet had it inspected by the magistrate.”

“You accuse me of falsehoods?” Sir Perry hissed, balling his fists and looking as though he might strike someone. Frances put her hand on Anthony’s knee when she felt his leg twitch, signaling that he might rise to his feet.

“I do indeed. His Grace may have seen the contract for himself, but I have not. For all we know, you wrote it yourself in the carriage on the way here.”

Frances continued to goad him, though she knew it could be dangerous to infuriate him further. Anthony would never get the baronet to show his true self through his patient insistence on propriety, though, so it was up to her to cause the man to become callous.

Any moment now, she thought, watching the baronet with a smug look as she thought back to the rest of her plan, the part she had not shared.He will move to strike me, and I can have him taken to the gaol. It would be a small price to pay for Abigail’s happiness.

“You’d do well to get your wife under control before another man sees to it for you, Preston,” Sir Perry said, seething. To Frances’ disappointment, he calmed himself enough to ignore her jabs and speak to Anthony. “Fine. I agree to your terms. But know this. When your sister arrives, neither of you are to say a word to her. Should she accept the contract, I will ensure that you never see her again. Is that still what you wish?”

“It is,” Frances answered before Anthony could object.

“And now your wife speaks for you as well,” the baronet said with a haughty laugh. “Then have it your way. Bring her in.”

Anthony glared at Sir Perry for several long seconds, then he darted his eyes to Mr. Vickers and nodded once. The butler leftthe room to fetch Juliet, who was waiting elsewhere in the house for her cue. Too soon, he returned with her, and Juliet dropped into a curtsey before Sir Perry and the duke and duchess.

“Lady Abigail, I have a contract here that states you are to be my wife. It was signed by your father before his passing, and it is his wish that you marry me. What say you?”

Juliet played her part well. She trembled slightly, the demure young girl in her first Season, as she looked to Anthony and Frances. She smiled weakly at the baronet, looking very much as if she might accept his offer. At the last minute, she shook her head.

“I’m sorry, Sir, though I am flattered by your affections, I am not of a mind to marry yet. I cannot ask you to wait for me to change my mind, either, so I release you from my father’s contract.”

Juliet curtseyed and started to move towards the door, but Sir Perry gripped her arm tightly to bring her back. He stepped closer to her, his anger evident. As Juliet cried out in surprise, one of the footmen came forward and dispatched the baronet with a sharp blow. The other picked him up from the floor and held the man’s arms tightly behind his back.

“You will regret this, Preston!” the baronet shouted, his guttural cries sounding like that of a rampaging beast as he struggled to free himself.

“I don’t think he will,” someone called out from the doorway. Frances looked up and saw Emma standing proudly; flanking her on either side were her father and an unknown man.

“Lady Emma? What brings you here?” Frances asked, rising to her feet and coming over to greet her.

Emma curtseyed, something her friend had never done. Beside her, her father and the stranger bowed.

“Your Grace,” Emma said, a certain air of formality about her that spoke to the gravity of the situation. “My father, the Baron of Dewbury, has some information to share about your guest.”

“Quite so,” Lord Dewbury said gruffly. “When I learned of Bellingsworth’s troubling ways, I took it upon myself to learn more about him. As it turns out, he is a fraud.”

Frances darted her glance to Sir Perry, who suddenly looked as though he might be ill.

“There’s no Baronet of Bellingsworth?” Frances asked, the hope welling up in her at this new development.

“Oh, to be certain, there was. It was a title that was bestowed rather than inherited, and it was to end with its original recipient.” Lord Dewbury turned his bitter gaze on Sir Perry and said, “Your brother.”

Emma looked triumphant as her father continued, ignoring Frances’ gasp of surprise.

“Sir Perry, as he has styled himself, killed his brother and took the title for his own. He has been laying claim to this through false pretenses for years, even going so far as to commit a number of traitorous acts in order to increase his fortune to go with his dubious title.”

“But how would that benefit him if this title is to be removed upon his death?” Anthony asked.

“That is where his marriage contract comes in. By convincing you that he had a claim to your sister—no, not this girl, your actual sister—” Emma’s father continued, looking Juliet up and down, “he intended to marry the sister of a duke and kill you before you could have an heir. Then, his own children would inherit your estate and he would be the father of the Duke of Preston, a title he would claim for himself as regent.”

“How can you possibly know all this?” Frances asked, still watching Sir Perry’s guilty expression.

“My dear Duchess, I make it my business to know everything about everyone. Your uncle asked that I give you my regards, by the way, and pleads for your forgiveness once again.”

Frances waved off the mention of her uncle, but she couldn’t help but be impressed with Lord Dewbury’s thorough investigation.

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