Chapter 12
Frances
Frances swirled her spoon in the teacup, the silver clinking against the porcelain.
“I think the sugar is quite dissolved now,” Marianne remarked, placing one hand over her wrist to stop her. “What is wrong? You look quite blue-devilled.”
Frances sighed and leaned back. “James has proposed to me.”
“He made an offer of marriage?” Marianne squeaked. “Really? I knew there was something between the two of you!”
“No, believe me, there is nothing between the two of us,” Frances said quickly.
“Not a jot. Not the slightest particle of affection. He did not make the offer out of his sudden and undying love for me. He made the offer because he needs a wife. Apparently, Somerset Trust has him at knifepoint. If he cannot produce a wife post-haste, they will no longer support him and will demand back the money that they loaned to his father. He would have to sell lands, and his tenants would suffer, and he would suffer. And so he thought, since I am on the shelf and in desperate need of a husband,” she drawled, “that I would be most grateful for his offer.”
“Your tone tells me that you are not,” Marianne said.
“It is not that I am not. It is… James and I do not see eye to eye. We started off on the wrong foot, and it has only grown worse since then.”
“Except whenever I see the two of you talking, I see two people who are of one mind on many things and have spirited debates. And dance together quite beautifully. Besides, I have noticed the way he looks at you.”
“I have not,” Frances replied, although that wasn’t true.
She knew she did. Dash it all, she couldn’t help herself. It wasn’t just because he was handsome, but because there was something about him that always drew her back into his orbit.
“So, you will not even consider it? His offer?” Marianne asked, looking at her intently.
“I have to admit it is a good offer. It would give me the freedom I always craved, and I would have my own income—be independent…”
“Or you could remain married, and you could live your life, and he could live his.”
“He suggested as much.”
The truth was, Frances had thought about James’s offer long and hard for the last twenty or so hours. She wanted to be independent from her family, even from Aunt Eugenia.
She didn’t want to have to be eternally grateful to her aunt for having set her up with somebody.
She didn’t want to have to return to her father either.
Besides, she couldn’t deny that the idea of becoming a duchess while her stepmother and half-sister continued to struggle to gain any sort of standing in society was alluring, indeed.
Add to that all the good she could do. If she had money, she would be able to help those in need, especially those back home.
Her church desperately needed to be renovated.
The prayer books were tattered and old, and the children who relied on the church often had clothes so tattered they were in danger of falling off.
She could fix all of that.
But it would mean accepting James’s offer.
“He’s an honorable man,” Marianne said, interrupting her thoughts. “He always has been. And I would not be so quick to dismiss the possibility that there is more between the two of you than either of you wishes to admit.”
“No,” Frances insisted. “There most certainly is not. And whether he is honorable or not, I cannot say. I know that he is insufferably top-lofty for his own good at times. And he proposed to me in a most arrogant manner.”
“He did?” Marianne’s lips twitched. “How did he do it? I take it he did not go down on one knee?”
“No,” Frances said. “First, he was incredibly rude to one of Aunt Eugenia’s guests, then he stormed away after I censured him.
And then, when I followed him to see why he was in such a foul mood, he informed me that he was returning home earlier than expected, and that I would come with him as his wife. ”
“How perfectly like him,” Marianne snorted. “He has always been the practical sort.”
“Practical, or rather full of himself? I want to say it is the second.”
“Perhaps it is,” she relented. “Perhaps he was out of sorts because he saw you talking to Lord Blatt.”
Frances looked up. “Why would he be out of sorts because of that?”
“I do not know the whole story, but they did not like one another very much when they attended Eton. Lord Blatt claimed that James once planted a facer on him. I did not see it, but I heard about it. Nathaniel heard about it as well from another friend who was there.”
Frances shook her head. She hadn’t taken James for the violent sort. After all, he hadn’t joined in the ruckus after their night at the theatre, but had been more determined to get away from there.
“Has he a temper, then?” she asked.
Marianne shrugged. “Not more or less than most other men. His father used to say that he didn’t have the temperament to be a duke, but I think he does. Most dukes I know are very reserved, and James is the most reserved of them all.”
Frances would’ve laughed if it hadn’t sounded so strange. “Yes, indeed, he is very reserved. I suppose this is why he never married.”
“No, it is because of the incident with his brother and the duel,” Marianne said. “He has been determined to never fall in love because of it. He thinks his brother was killed because he was foolish and in love, fighting for the love of a woman who didn’t want him.”
Frances rolled her eyes. “Well, that is foolish. Just because his brother chose an unsuitable lady doesn’t mean that every woman would be like that.”
“Yes.” Marianne nodded. “I have told him that, as have Charlotte, Evelyn, and Aunt Eugenia. He will not listen. In fact, I think this is the perfect arrangement for him. A loveless marriage, based on practicality, that will give both of you what you desire. Him, a wife he can show off to Somerset Trust, and you, the freedom you want. Although, as I said, I noticed some interest in his interactions with you.”
“Marianne…” Frances rubbed her forehead. “You confuse me. One moment, you tell me that he has sworn never to love and never to marry because he thinks love is foolish; the next, you tell me that you think there is something between us.”
“Well,” Marianne raised her hands, “I am only telling you the facts as I know them, and I’m telling you how I feel. They do not need to be the same. But tell me the truth—is there no part of you that feels attracted to him?”
Frances felt her cheeks flush, and she looked away.
Marianne laughed. “The answer is written all over your face. You do like him.”
“Not enough to marry him,” Frances countered. “In any case, if I agree to this, it will only be for practical reasons, as you said. For the financial benefit and the freedom. Nothing more. I am not such a green girl as to believe in fairytales.”
“That is often how marriage starts,” Marianne said, and finished her tea. “Anyhow, when do you have to give him your answer?”
“Three and a half hours from now.”
In fact, Frances had glanced at the clock every now and then, for the hour would be upon them soon.
She knew that James was already here, sitting in the upstairs drawing room with her aunt. Of course, Aunt Eugenia had been informed of his proposal and had strongly nudged her into agreeing.
And while she sat there, staring at the tea that had long since grown cold, Frances already knew the answer. In fact, part of her had known the answer the moment James had explained himself.
She knew what he wanted and needed, but she knew what she needed too. It was just bringing herself to accept that this would be her life that took her some time.
But as Marianne left, and the minutes ticked by, she knew what she had to do: she had to accept. There was no other choice.