Chapter 7
Frances
After the play was finished, Frances followed the rest of the family out. Marianne appeared at her side and looped her arm through hers, while her sisters walked behind them and the Duke walked with Aunt Eugenia.
“So, you and His Grace,” Marianne started. “What was that about?”
Frances felt her cheeks flush. “There is nothing to tell. He is an impossible man—conceited and high in the instep. He reminds me of a character from a novel I read recently. I cannot remember what it was called. The author was listed as ‘A Lady,’ and this young gentleman’s daughter met this most insufferable northern man… ”
“Mr. Darcy,” Marianne supplied with a knowing smile. “I read the book—Pride and Prejudice. I suppose, on first appearance, he is not unlike Mr. Darcy. But I assure you, he is a good man. He has suffered much tragedy.”
Frances looked over her shoulder at the Duke, who was chatting amiably with her aunt.
“I heard something about his family that made me think there was something unpleasant there,” she admitted, remembering what he’d said in the carriage.
“Yes,” Marianne said quietly. “And his brother. They both died in quick succession. Rather tragic. His brother…” She lowered her voice. “He was involved in a duel over a woman. It was rather unfortunate, and at the time, all of London was talking about it.”
“A duel?” Frances frowned. “Aren’t those illegal?”
“Yes, they are. James’s brother, Marcus, had been courting a lady for quite some time, but she then decided that she would rather bestow her affection on another gentleman.
Marcus challenged him to a duel and lost his life.
He was shot. At first, it looked most severe.
However, he died the next day. The young lady—I forget her name—married the other gentleman and lives happily, while Marcus rots in the ground.
There was going to be a trial, but in the end, the other gentleman was never punished.
The shock of losing a son was too much for the former Duke, and he died of apoplexy a few months later. ”
“Goodness, that is tragic,” Frances breathed.
“Yes, and it changed James completely. He used to be such a happy boy—always laughing, always witty and ready to jest. But after that, he changed. He became withdrawn and Friday-faced, and his attitude toward love…” Marianne rolled her eyes.
“What do you mean?” Frances asked, suddenly intrigued.
She did find it rather odd that a man of twenty-nine was not yet married, when most lords had already sired heirs by then.
“Because his brother died in a duel over a woman, James has decided that love brings nothing but heartache and pain—that it makes men foolish. Thus, he has decided to avoid courtship and marriage. He is entirely uninterested in romance.” Marianne paused meaningfully.
“Although he seems rather interested in you.”
They walked down the spiral staircase into the lobby.
“Faith! There is nothing between the two of us. He vexes me, and I vex him.”
“Oh yes, but Evelyn and her husband used to vex each other all the time, and now look at them. Well, you haven’t met Nathaniel yet, but the two of them are the picture of happiness.”
“Well, I cannot wait for him to return to his home, and I am sure he will be happy to see the back of me as well.”
“If you insist,” Marianne said as they stepped outside into the cool night air. “Well, there is our carriage. Let me bid you farewell, but please, you must come for tea soon. I cannot wait to introduce you to Henry, my stepson.”
“Of course,” Frances said, and hugged her cousin warmly.
In short order, Charlotte and Evelyn also hugged her, and then the three sisters piled into their carriage and departed.
Theirs had been at the very front of the line, but Aunt Eugenia’s carriage was several back. The three of them made their way there and climbed in.
“How did you enjoy the play, dear?” Aunt Eugenia asked.
“It was entertaining,” Frances replied.
“I must say, I enjoyed the quiet in our box,” Aunt Eugenia said with a knowing smile. “I feared the two of you would be terrible chatterboxes. I didn’t think you would ever stop talking.”
“We were discussing an interesting topic,” the Duke chimed in.
Frances smiled slightly as their eyes met. But then she remembered Marianne’s teasing words and quickly looked away. She could not have soft feelings for this man. Absolutely not.
He thinks of you as nothing but a foolish country girl. Do not make a cake of yourself by starting to moon over him just because he has a tragic story. That doesn’t mean he is suddenly a good person.
What felt like an eternity later, the carriage finally lurched into motion, and they moved away from the theatre.
Frances sat quietly while Aunt Eugenia and the Duke conversed about the play and the various people they had seen that evening.
Her eyes felt heavy, and she let her head rest against the side of the carriage, almost drifting off to sleep, when suddenly the carriage stopped abruptly, and she was thrown forward.
She nearly landed in the Duke’s lap.
He quickly steadied her, his arm wrapping around her shoulders, his hand gripping her arm. The sensation was most unexpected, and she stared at him for a second before sitting back properly.
“Goodness, what was that?” Aunt Eugenia gasped. She had had the foresight to hold onto the handlebar affixed to the side of the carriage.
“I do not know,” the Duke said, opening the door to peer out. “I will be right back.”
Frances craned her neck, curious as to what was happening. From her vantage point, she could see that several carriages had stopped ahead of them, and several more behind. The road was utterly congested, but she couldn’t tell why.
The Duke was now walking between the carriages to see what was causing the delay.
“I want to follow him. I want to see what’s happening.”
“I do not know if that is a good idea,” Aunt Eugenia cautioned. “There has been some unrest—”
“I know, but we will not be going far.”
“Very well,” Aunt Eugenia sighed.
Frances climbed out of the carriage and hurried after the Duke. “Your Grace!” she called.
He stopped and turned back, his eyebrows rising as he saw her running toward him. She had picked up the hem of her skirt, and her shoes were clicking on the cobblestones.
“You should not be out here. Get back to the carriage,” he ordered.
Instantly, her hackles rose.
Top-lofty man!
Nobody was going to tell her what to do, and most certainly not him.
“I assure you, I am perfectly capable of walking on the street.”
“That is not what I meant.” He took her arm, put his hand on the small of her back, and turned her in the same direction he had been looking in.
The feel of his hand on her back sent pleasant tingles across her skin. However, she had no time to contemplate what that might mean because right then, she saw what he had been pointing at.
Up ahead, two streets over, was a crowd of people—dozens at least, many of them carrying torches. They were moving in their direction, their voices carrying in the night air.
“Who are they?” she whispered.
He grimaced. “People protesting against the Corn Laws. They’re blocking the way home. We cannot go in that direction. The authorities will be out as well. Let us get back to the carriage. We will have to go another way.”
Frances turned around, suddenly fearful. The people coming ahead sounded angry, their voices raised in chants she couldn’t quite make out. The torches looked menacing in the dark of night.
She walked quickly with him back toward the carriage, but more people were emerging from the side streets now, surrounding the line of vehicles.
Suddenly, heavy footfalls sounded behind them, and she saw that some of the rioters were running.
“Mercy!” she gasped.
The Duke grabbed her by the wrist and pulled her along. The two of them ran toward her aunt’s carriage, but it was nowhere in sight.
“Confound it!” he muttered.
“Your Grace!” a voice called, and an unfamiliar gentleman poked his head out of a nearby carriage window. “If you’re looking for your godmother, she had her driver go forward to collect you, but then, upon seeing the mob, she made a sharp turn down Catherine Street toward Piccadilly!”
“Thank you, Lord Leicester,” the Duke said. “Come quickly. We shall try to catch them.”
Again, he grabbed her wrist, and together they ran, leaving the congested theatre district behind.
Around them, other noblemen who had been in their carriages were now getting out and hurrying away on foot.
Some had sent their servants ahead to make a barrier between them and the approaching protesters.
The Duke’s hand slipped from her wrist and wrapped around her hand properly.
Together, they ran down Catherine Street and after several more twists and turns found themselves on Wellington Street.
It was thrilling and terrifying at the same time.
Frances held onto him tightly as they ran, her breath coming in gasps, her skirts hampering her movements.
When they reached the Strand, they paused, looking both ways for Aunt Eugenia’s carriage.
“Where is she?” Frances called. “Has she left us?”
“She wouldn’t have,” the Duke said. “Something must have happened. She likely had to take a different route to avoid the crowds. Come, let us try to make our way toward Mayfair. We can walk to my club if necessary and send word to her from there.”
He pulled her along as though she were a small child, but she didn’t protest.
Ten minutes ago, if anyone had told her that walking hand in hand down a dark street with him would be comforting, she would have declared them utterly addled. However, as it stood, it was.
They hurried through the streets, him still holding her hand, when he came to an abrupt stop.
“By Jove,” he said.
“What?” she asked, turning in the direction he was looking. And she saw it.