Page 51 of From Unwanted to Duchess
CHAPTER 17
Frances
“Give James some time. The country seat is where his brother died in that horrible duel, so it always puts him in a terrible mood. The memories haunt him still, I fear,”Mariannehad written.
Frances sat up. She hadn’t even considered this.
Of course, it is more difficult for himto be here than in London. What a lack of understanding I have shown. How utterly insensible I have been.
She took a deep breath, focusing on the letter in front of her.
“I think the best you can do is occupy yourself with meaningful pursuits. When I am at our country seat, I find it very useful to speak to the tenants and learn about their needs. That way, I can help Lucien. Sometimes he does not have the time to speakto everybody, so Henry and I ride out or go for walks, speak to people, and then relay information to Lucien. I am certain James would appreciate it.”
Frances set the letter aside. This was a good idea. She had to find a way to fill her time, and she had really enjoyed speaking to the tenants the last time she had gone riding with James almost a week ago.
Had it really been a week since she had arrived here? Time had flown by and yet dragged. She had taken to eating in her chamber because she found it uncomfortable to sit at a table across from him. Their conversation was either conducted by shouting so they could hear one another or not at all. They were living as strangers under one roof, keeping the merest civility.
They saw one another at breakfast, which was taken in the breakfast room at the other side of the estate. They would speak briefly, exchange pleasantries, but then she would be on her own. He did not make much of an effort to show her the estate, beyond showing her where the tenants lived, or tell her anything she might need to know.
Frances hadn’t been quite sure what to do, but Marianne’s letter gave her an idea. She would build her own life here. She would go and meet all the tenants she had not met already and make sure that they had someone they could trust in her.
By now, she understood that James was not the uncaring, unfeeling man she had thought him to be when they had firstmet. But she still doubted that he truly understood the needs of those under his care.
But she did. She had grown up among them.
And thus that morning, Frances set out to ride through the estate. She paused and said good morning to many of the tenants she had already met and found that they were pleased to see her. Many were excited to learn that she, a gentleman’s daughter, had grown up on an estate with many other farmers.
As the morning went on, she felt herself grow lighter. She rode with her back straight and her head held high. She was the Duchess of Somerset, and people were seeing her as such.
For the first time since arriving, she felt she had a purpose. She was beginning to find her place here, to carve out a role for herself.
By mid-morning, she came upon a most unusual sight: a woman and child laboring alone in the field. In another field off to the right, she saw a woman pulling an ox by its lead, a young boy behind pushing the plow. Both human and beast were straining. She could hear them grunting from the road.
“Is something the matter?” she asked and dismounted. She took her horse by the reins and walked over to the woman.
The woman turned to her. “That foolish plow is stuck in the mud. I’ve been yanking and pulling, and the ox has done its verybest, but we cannot dislodge it. My husband is a fool and is at home because he was malt above water last night and couldn’t get up to do the work. Useless fool that he is. Good-for-nothing wastrel.”
“I can help,” Frances offered.
The woman looked at her. “I don’t know you. Are you from one of these farms? You look mighty fancy to be a farmer’s wife.”
Frances smiled. “Well, I have just moved into Ellery Hall.”
The woman gasped and dipped into the deepest curtsy Frances had ever seen. She looked as though she might faint dead away.
“Your Grace,” she said. “Forgive me. I did not mean to be rude.”
“Please, there is no need. I grew up in a place just like this. I am not used to all the pomp and circumstance. All that bowing and scraping makes me quite uncomfortable. Now, may I help you?”
“No, no, you cannot. You are the Duchess. I will not have you pushing a plow or pulling an ox.”
“Nonsense.” Frances waved a hand. “There is no reason why I shouldn’t. I have done it more than once. Many times, in fact. I am no stranger to hard work. I may be a duchess now, but I have not forgotten how to work. Now, how about I help your boy push and you continue to maneuver the ox?”
The woman looked at her with wide green eyes, wringing her hands. “You cannot be serious, Your Grace.”
“I am perfectly serious.” Frances got behind the plow next to the boy. “Now, on three. One, two, three—heave!”
She and the boy, who could have been no more than ten years old, pushed the plow. The ox strained, and the woman pulled, and the plow moved a little.
