Chapter 11
Frances
She stared at him as though he had entirely lost his mind, for he must have.
Had he really just told her that he was going to make her his wife? As though she had no say in the matter?
Her heart was pounding so hard she could hear it in her ears.
Marriage. To him. As if she had no say in the matter. As if he’d named his price at the market, and the lead around her neck was about to be turned over.
“Excuse me?” she sputtered, the words coming out strained, which she hated.
“I said I’m going to make you my wife. You need a husband. I need a wife. Therefore, we should get married and solve both of our problems.”
“I did not know that my lack of a husband was a problem to be solved. I never found myself in dire need of a husband. It was Aunt Eugenia’s idea, which I am grateful for, but I can just as easily go back to Bedfordshire and find a husband with an honorable profession.”
“What? A miller? A farmer?”
“Yes, those are honorable professions,” she said. “Not that you would know.”
“Do not be silly. This is the best solution. We will have the banns read, then we will get married. We can stay in my townhouse for a while, and then we can go to my country seat in Somerset. You will like it. It’s pleasant, and it will remind you of Bedfordshire.”
Her head started spinning.
“Is this some elaborate prank? Because if it isn’t, then you are the most incorrigible, ridiculous person I’ve ever met.”
James sighed, as though her defiance were a mere inconvenience. He walked to the window and shook his head. “Aunt Eugenia would be happy about this.”
“Of course she would be. Wait, are you in cahoots with her? Because she hinted earlier about the two of us being a lovely match.”
He smiled. “Well, she isn’t wrong.”
“She is very wrong, and you are very wrong. In fact, there is something wrong with you. With your mind. Don’t you think that I have the right to make my own decisions? What makes you think that I am willing to become your wife?”
He shrugged. “It is the perfect solution. Perfectly simple.”
“Perfect solution?” she scoffed. “First, we started off strongly disliking each other due to your lofty attitude. Then, I thought we were finally getting along after that horrible experience at the theatre. Then, you decided not to talk to me for days. Now, here you are, demanding that I marry you. You don’t even—”
“You wish for me to get down on one knee?” he asked. “I will if you want me to. I just didn’t take you for the sort of woman who enjoys such displays.”
Her mouth opened and closed. Truthfully, she hadn’t thought about how she wanted to be proposed to. But what she did know was that this was not it.
“Besides, what is this problem you need to solve? I thought that you did not want to get married and that you were perfectly happy the way you are.”
“I am,” he affirmed, turning back to her with his arms crossed. The defiant look on his face puzzled her.
“Then what is this problem of which you speak?” she demanded, tapping her right foot on the hardwood floor.
The Baron’s words came back to her. Something about bad news about his estate? What had he meant? Was this related?
James inhaled deeply through his nose and looked out at the street again. Music drifted through the walls, and Frances wondered if the Baron was at it again, or if somebody else had taken his place.
“I—” James broke off. “I…”
The Duke of Somerset was stammering? She had never thought she would see the day.
“Very well,” he huffed. “If you cannot be reasonable and see that this is best for you as well, I shall tell you the truth.”
“That would make for a nice change.”
Frances plopped down on the settee and crossed her legs one over the other, but then remembered that a lady didn’t do that. So she crossed them at the ankles.
James watched her as though she were a complex problem he didn’t quite know how to solve, and then he stomped across the room and dropped into the seat across from her, pulling up one leg and resting his ankle on the opposite knee.
They stared at one another as though they were two dogs about to get into a fight, and she had to admit that she enjoyed the sudden change in their power dynamic.
For while he had made demands upon her the moment she had walked in here by presenting his preposterous proposition as though it was going to benefit her and she could not possibly deny… well, this was the most delicious change in circumstance.
James wetted his lips. This was not at all how he had imagined this would go.
He had assumed that once he returned, he would sit down with his godmother and explain the change in his circumstances.
His godmother would see reason, and she would speak to Frances, explaining to her how this idea of his was most beneficial for them both.
They would then conclude that a marriage between him and Frances would be best for everyone involved. They would come to a civilized agreement that would benefit all parties. Himself, primarily.
Of course, he had entirely forgotten about his godmother’s silly tea party. He hadn’t planned on returning for another two days, after all. But circumstances had made it so that he hadn’t felt like staying in Brighton after his meeting, and thus he’d rushed back to London.
He had burst in, attire and hair still bearing the marks of his travels, only to find himself confronted with a tedious collection of his godmother’s friends.
As if that wasn’t enough, he had then spotted Wentworth, whom he refused to think of as Lord Blatt, sitting at the pianoforte, playing for Frances, who was looking at him as though he were a musical deity.
Wentworth, of all people…
James had never liked Wentworth, ever since their days at Eton. During their first week at school, Wentworth had felt the need to establish dominance over James by dunking his head into a bowl of cold stew in the kitchen while they had all been cleaning up.
James, expecting the soup to be scalding hot, had screamed in terror before finding himself covered with cold, oily liquid. It had dripped down his pristine new shirt and trousers, and he had stood there feeling utterly humiliated while his classmates laughed at him.
To make matters worse, he’d been sent to the headmaster as though he were the perpetrator, not the victim, and the headmaster had then lectured him for half an hour about decorum and how he would expect a duke’s son to know better than to get into scraps with those beneath him.
The trouble was, Wentworth and the others didn’t consider themselves beneath James.
Maybe if he had been the heir, they would have, but he was merely a second son.
And the fact that his older brother Marcus, who also went to Eton, all but ignored him whenever they were in the same space only made his position as the unwanted second son more obvious.
Thus, Wentworth and his friends had continued to make his life miserable the entire time they were at Eton, until James had developed something of a spine and practiced boxing moves with his grandfather after spilling his heart to him.
And finally, after James had outgrown Wentworth both physically and intellectually, he had punched the fellow once in front of the entire class, and that had been the end of it. He’d been left alone. He’d also earned the reputation of a brute, but that had come to serve him well.
In hindsight, that had been an early display of his temper, which he continued to struggle with to this day.
To see Frances with his old nemesis, looking at him with admiration, had almost torn his heart out. And yes, it had inspired him to show off his status to Wentworth, who was now beneath him in every sense of the word.
And now here he was, years later, still letting that pompous fool get under his skin. Still acting like a jealous schoolboy instead of a duke. What was wrong with him?
Hearing Frances defend Wentworth hadn’t improved his mood in the least. And so yes, perhaps he should have proposed in a more dignified manner. In a manner that might not have led her to outright reject him. But there was nothing he could do about it now.
He sighed, drumming his fingers on his leg.
“Very well, I shall tell you the truth if you insist. I need a wife. Quickly. I do not want to dabble in the marriage mart. I do not want to dance with an endless number of women, all of whom are looking to set their caps at me because they want to be a duchess. I need a wife quickly. I do not have time for all of that.”
Frances looked at him, rubbing her lips together in a way that he couldn’t deny was thoroughly enticing, if his mind had been in the frame for such things.
“Somerset Trust,” he added. “It’s one of England’s largest banks.”
“I have heard of them,” she said.
“My father placed half of our holdings in their care in exchange for a loan. He was not the best when it came to managing the estate, so… Somerset Trust owns half of my estate. Now the time has come for them to renew the terms of our agreement, and they are not inclined to do so. In fact, they are inclined to call in what is owed to them and sever our alliance.”
“Why?” she asked, sounding surprised.
“Because they were already uneasy the last time terms were up for renewal five years ago, because I was only the second son and hadn’t been raised to be the heir. Still, they gave me a chance. However, they are unhappy with my performance.”
“Why? Have you made a mess of the estate?”
“No, I have not,” he bit out. “The estate is doing very well. It is not the estate or my management skills that they have a problem with. It is—” He groaned and dropped his shoulders.
“The continuity of the line. It is my personal life. My lack of stability,” he said, feeling humiliated to even have to utter the words.
“They do not like… you?” The amusement was evident in her voice.