Page 99 of From Unwanted to Duchess
CHAPTER 32
Frances
“Hot cross buns again?” Marianne asked the following Sunday as she joined them for breakfast.
“Yes, he has sent them every single day for the last week, along with an assortment of wildflowers,” Aunt Eugenia said as she stirred her tea.
“And what is this?” Marianne asked, pointing at a wrapped item sitting beside Frances’s plate.
“It came with the hot cross buns and the flowers this morning,” Frances replied. “I have not looked at it yet.”
“Why not? If a gentleman gives you a gift, you want to at least see what it is,” Marianne urged.
“I do not want to see his gifts. I never asked him for anything other than to treat me with respect. That is what I wanted from him. Not hot cross buns, or flowers, or gifts.”
Marianne and Aunt Eugenia looked at one another for a moment.
“What?” Frances prompted.
“Don’t you think that perhaps this is his way of showing you that he has changed?” Aunt Eugenia suggested gently.
“How can I believe that, when he’s warm one moment and cold the next?” Frances scoffed. “How can I believe that he has truly changed this time?”
Marianne smiled. “I know something of gentlemen whose tempers shift with the hour, who will shower you with affection one day and be cold the next. Lucien was just the same. It took almost losing me for him to understand that love deserves a chance.”
“James is not Lucien,” Frances pointed out, staring down into her teacup.
“No, but that doesn’t mean he is beyond redemption,” Marianne said. “If anything, you could say that the two of them are very much alike. Lucien was the way he was because he married a woman he thought he loved, but who did not love him. She was unfaithful to him and then took off in the middle of the night ina carriage that crashed. He continued to blame himself for years afterward, vowing never to marry again because he thought that any woman he loved would meet the same fate.”
Frances swallowed hard. That sounded very familiar. Although James was not worried about a woman being unfaithful to him, they both had the same fear—losing someone they loved because of their own actions.
“Why is it,” she asked, “that gentlemen must carry burdens that are not theirs to carry? It is infuriating.”
“Indeed, it is,” Aunt Eugenia agreed. “It seems to be something that afflicts a great many men. I was fortunate that my Frederick never did, but I have seen it many times throughout my life.”
“I understand why you are angry, Frances,” Marianne said, “and you have every right to be. But if James has truly changed, perhaps you should give him another chance. He has never declared himself in such a way.”
“Gideon and I scolded him most severely for his foolishness,” Aunt Eugenia added. “The moment I told him that your father was coming, he declared that he wished to protect you. Do not say you do not need his protection. We live in the real world, and as proud as I am of you for standing up to your father, you can never be sure that he will not try some scheme or other inspired by his wife. And in this world, unfortunately, we do require protection, and there is only so much I can do.”
“That is true.” Marianne nodded. “But that is not why you should give him another chance. You should give him a chance only because you truly wish to, because you truly love him. Which I think you do.”
Frances shrugged and turned the hot cross bun she had picked up earlier on her plate. Her fingers dug into the soft edges as she turned it repeatedly.
There was something so soothing about the motion. It kept her hands busy, allowing her mind to wander.
She did love James. She had loved him for some time now. And he had proved before that he cared. He had rescued her from a rainstorm, after all. He had sat with her all night when she was ill. He had stood up for her before.
She cringed as she remembered the time she had spoken to her father and had declared that she was going to be as miserable as her mother, thanks to him. For a man who feared losing those he loved, those words must have been devastating.
But James had understood once she explained, hadn’t he? And who was she to judge someone for how they reacted to such terrible devastation in their lives?
Yet there was that pain. That horrible pain that had cut so very deep into her soul when he had told her that he did not want to see her, that he wanted to annul the marriage. She didn’t know if she could ever get past that.
To distract herself, she opened the gift he had sent. He had sent an assortment of gifts every day, along with the hot cross buns and flowers. Theatre tickets one day. A stack of magazines discussing architecture the next, because she had once mentioned in passing that such things interested her. Yesterday, he had sent an entire plum cake.
As she unwrapped the brown paper, she found a stack of newspapers—theTimes, theMorning Post, theGazette—all recent editions. On top was a note in his familiar handwriting.
Frances,
