Chapter 21
Frances
“Well, it was a pleasure to meet you, Your Grace,” Gideon said two days later as he stood to board his carriage. He kissed Frances’s hand, and she smiled.
The last two days had been lighter than usual. James still insisted on speaking to her only when he deemed it necessary.
Yes, when Gideon had been with them, he had relaxed. He had even bantered with her. It was almost as if he needed his friend to be a buffer between the two of them, but why? She did not understand.
It was so odd, so much so that she almost wished Gideon had stayed longer. Perhaps his continued presence would soften James further, but it was too late now.
“I do hope we will see you again soon.”
“I am certain that you will.” Gideon then turned to James and bowed. “James. As always, a pleasure. Do not be a stranger now. The two of you will come to London soon?”
“We will,” Frances replied. “Next week.”
“We are?” James said, sounding surprised.
“Yes. I told you, my cousin Marianne is hosting a ball in honor of Lucien’s birthday.”
“Oh yes.” He nodded, but it was clear that he had entirely forgotten.
Typical of him to let such matters slip from his mind. Frances glared at him.
Gideon snickered. “Well, I should leave the two of you to marital bliss.” He bowed once more, climbed into his carriage, and then he was away.
Frances rounded on him at once. “I told you at dinner yesterday.”
“I beg your pardon,” James said. “I did not mean to ignore you. I must have forgotten.”
“It seems you have,” she said and walked past him.
This was getting beyond ridiculous. She was quite at the end of her tether. She was quite tired of all of this.
Yes, it was true that she now had her work ahead of her. The tenants were joining forces, but it was somewhat difficult. With such things, egos tended to rise, and it had fallen to her to ensure it did not get in the way of the good work they could all be doing together.
But that wasn’t enough. Yes, she had the company of the tenants, and they often treated her almost as if she were one of them, but she knew she wasn’t.
She had no friends here. She was lonely. Not a soul to confide in, not a friend to call her own. There was not much to do in Somerset beyond going to the market or the park.
But how often could one go to the park on one’s own? If she had a husband who enjoyed walking with her, simply being with her, she might have found it quite different. But she didn’t. Her husband merely ignored her.
“Frances,” James called, and she turned.
“Yes?”
“I will not be home for dinner tonight,” he announced. “I am going into the village with Morrison.”
“So I am to dine on my own again. I understand,” she said. “As always.”
She added nothing further. Instead, she made her way into the house.
This is absolutely ridiculous.
She took a deep breath. There was nothing on her agenda for today.
Mr. Sweeting had called for a meeting of the tenants, but her presence was not required.
She had read all the books she wanted to read so far, and the latest one she had picked, a tome by Mary Shelley, held no interest for her today.
She spent an hour pacing her chamber and thinking of what she might do when she decided she had to take the air.
She called for Lizette, who helped her dress, and then she set out into the afternoon.
The air was fresh and clear, and as she walked, she felt her anxiety lift somewhat. At least it was beautiful here. At least she could say that she was the duchess of a grand estate. At least she had no worries about money.
And yet the loneliness in her soul spread further and further every day.
She had walked for what felt like several hours when her feet began to hurt. She curled her toes against the tight material, about to take off her shoe to allow her toes the freedom to wiggle as they wished, when a rumble nearby caught her attention.
She looked up and gasped. To the west, the sky was entirely black. Pitch black. A flash was visible in the distance, and she knew that soon, she would be entirely soaked if she did not go back home.
She turned and scanned the area. If she cut through the woods, she would make it back to the house quicker. She was sure of it.
Truthfully, she had never walked that direction before, but it seemed the reasonable thing to do. She had often walked the woods in Bedfordshire and could generally spot a shortcut whenever she saw one.
Confident in her abilities, she strode forward and made her way through the woods.
Alas, within thirty minutes, with the thunder growing loud behind her, she understood that she had made a mistake.
This was no shortcut. In fact, it wasn’t even a path. What had seemed like a path soon ended at a stream. She had tried to walk forward, still thinking she could make it out the other side, when she realized she was utterly lost. Quite turned around, with no notion of which way to go.
“Perdition! What have I done? If I had gone back the way I had come, I would be halfway home by now. Now, I do not even know where I am.”
The rumble had grown louder and nearer. She heard the sound of animals dashing away, seeking shelter.
Raindrops began falling on her head, thick and heavy as they landed on her face. She lifted the hem of her dress and walked on. There would have to be a cabin somewhere here, some kind of underbrush that she could hide under, should she not make it out. She would catch her death out here.
The wind picked up, rustling the trees and throwing the leaves around. The sound of wood creaking sent a chill through her.
What had she done?
Frances dashed forward, branches snapping beneath her as the raindrops turned into a steady stream. The heavens opened, as if in judgment, and then the rain pelted her seemingly from every direction, even below.
Within moments, she was drenched to the bone. Her carefully arranged hair came loose, plastered to her face and neck. She could scarcely see through the sheets of rain.
There was no shelter nearby, and within minutes, her gown was clinging to her as she walked forward.
The added weight from the water impeded her progress.
Her sodden skirts weighed her down like an anchor.
Her energy drained rapidly. The ground beneath her turned to mud, making walking even more challenging.
A thick oak tree with branches that appeared to provide a canopy stood ahead of her, and she remembered one of the few lessons her father had taught her—never stand beneath a tree during a storm, for it might attract lightning.
She didn’t know how he knew such things because he was not a well-read man, but she knew she ought to heed his warning.
Except she was in a forest and there were trees all around her. To add to her mounting problems, it was getting dark. She had forgotten how quickly night could fall in these parts, and she wasn’t certain anymore that the darkness was due to the storm or because of the late hour.
She paced back and forth and eventually found a small bridge that went across a narrow path of what might’ve been a creek at some point but had dried up.
She went down the small embankment and pushed herself underneath what was left of the bridge.
At least down here, she would be safe from the weather somewhat.
She bent forward, resting her head on her knees, when she felt a raindrop fall onto the back of her neck. It ran down her spine, and she shuddered.
Somehow, that one singular raindrop that had invaded her shelter was worse than the pelting outside. A cruel reminder that there was no true escape.
“What have I done?” she mumbled. “I should never have married him. I should’ve stayed in London and asked Aunt Eugenia to allow me to be her companion forever. Better a life of genteel servitude than this wretched isolation.”
This is how it ends. Alone, cold, forgotten.
Perhaps it was fitting. She had been alone her whole life, after all. Why should the end be any different?
But there was no point in lamenting. She was stuck where she was right now, and there was no escaping, neither from her present situation nor from the trap she had wandered into.
“What do you mean she has not yet returned?” James demanded that evening when he returned from dinner.
Franklin shrugged. “She went out for a walk four hours ago and never returned. I’ve already spoken to some of the servants, and none of them know where she went. Her lady’s maid said she simply told her she wished to go for a walk and then she would take dinner in her chambers.”
“I shall speak to the tenants,” Morrison said and turned out into the weather.
“I will come with you.” James followed him. Before he got to the door, he turned back. “Franklin, if she is not back within half an hour, organize a search party. This weather is treacherous, and she does not know the area. How foolish of her to have gone outside. How utterly reckless!”
“In fairness to Her Grace,” Franklin said, “the weather was perfectly fine when she set off. You know how quickly these storms come upon us. No one could have anticipated such a turn in the weather.”
“Yes, yes, I know,” James relented. “But she does not. In fact, do not bother waiting. Organize a search party now. I want the estate searched. The woods, every inch of the grounds.”
“Yes, Your Grace,” Franklin said and hastened away.
James and Morrison mounted their horses and rode through the weather. Thunder ripped overhead. Lightning struck somewhere nearby, and a big tree split apart and fell. They would have to tend to that in the morning.
“I daresay, Your Grace, the weather is terrible in these parts.”
“It is,” he said. “It always has been. Positively hellish when storms come upon us.”
James had never been fond of storms such as this. Especially not since his brother had died on a night very similar to this one.
That night haunted him still, would haunt him until his dying day. Of course, Marcus’s death was not related to the weather, but still, this atmosphere always reminded James of that night.
His stomach was in knots. He wasn’t going to lose somebody else like this.
This was all his fault. He had kept his distance from Frances. He had pushed her away. With his determination to keep her at arm’s length, he had pushed her into walking these parts alone.
Of course, she was going to get lost. She didn’t know her way around. How foolish he had been. What a blackguard. What a complete and utter fool.
“Sweeting!” Morrison called as they arrived at the Sweeting farm.
Mr. Sweeting was already outside, holding a towel over his head to keep dry. Of course, it was a futile effort.
“The Duchess is missing,” James shouted. “She went for a walk and did not return. We are starting a search party. Every able-bodied man will be called upon. Have you seen her?”
“I saw her three hours ago, walking,” Mr. Sweeting replied, pointing to the paddocks and the woods beyond.
“But not since. Let me fetch my horse, and I will join the search. I will also alert the other farmers. We were just discussing an incident like this one, where we might alert one another to come help.”
“Good,” James said, pleased that Frances’s idea could help save her life.
The three men debated on who would go search where, and then they split up. Sweeting and Morrison were going to organize a search party of farmers, while Franklin was going to organize one of servants.
Leaving them all behind, James rode hard through the storm and toward the last location she had been seen.
“Frances!” he shouted into the rain. He knew the words would not carry, but it made him feel better to at least try. “Frances! I am here. Call out!”
But there was no answer. The only sounds were those of the storm. The wind whipping, thunder and lightning filling the air with their horrific concert. Nature’s fury unleashed in full force.
“Frances!” he roared into the wind, his voice raw. “For God’s sake, answer me!”
Still, there was nothing.
He called again, and then he realized something. He was crying. The fear of losing her in such horrendous weather had brought him to tears. He, who prided himself on control, was undone.
He was losing her. He hadn’t ever truly had her, to begin with. But now he was losing her, and there would never be a chance… There would never be a chance for them to be anything.
Why hadn’t he allowed them to become something?
He had known that he cared for her ever since that night at the theatre.
But no, he had been so determined to keep his heart closed so that it would not stoke his temper.
He had wished to protect her and himself, and now what had he done?
And in doing so, he had driven her away. Driven her to this.
“James?” a voice called from somewhere to his right.
He could barely see through the rain, but there was a figure stumbling.
“Frances!” he shouted and leaped off the horse.
He ran toward her and leaped forward just in time, as she collapsed into his arms.
“Thank God. Thank merciful God,” he breathed. “Frances…”
He stroked her face, but she was unconscious. Pale as death, cold to the touch. Her hair clung to her face, and her dress stuck to her curves. He placed an arm under her knees and one arm behind her back, before lifting her.
She was here. She was real. She was in his arms. But would she live? Would she open her eyes and speak to him again? Or had his coldness, his damned pride, cost him the one person who had broken through his walls?
He lowered her into the saddle and climbed behind her, then steered his horse around and dashed back to the house, hoping that it wasn’t too late.
Please, God, let her be well. Do not take her from me.