Page 58 of From Unwanted to Duchess
CHAPTER 19
Frances
Once in the dining room, James pulled out a chair for her. He had never shown her such courtesy before.
She sat as he slipped into the seat beside her.
“You impressed me when you spoke to Morrison,” he admitted. “You handled yourself admirably.”
“I did not seek to impress you,” she said. “I was making sure that Mr. Sweeting was not hurt. And the farmers.”
“I expected no less from you. You are a country girl, after all. A true daughter of the soil.”
“Do you suppose he’s going to implement the suggestions we made?”
“He is going to because I have instructed him to,” James said with absolute confidence. “He has to consult with Mr. Sweeting on everything, and before he makes major decisions, I want to be involved in them. Our previous steward was a little too high-handed. I will make sure that things go better with this one.”
“Are you afraid for your head?”
He looked at her, frowning. “What do you mean?”
She shrugged. “It is something that Lord Blatt said to me. He said that if commoners ever realized that they far outnumber the nobility, all of our heads would be in danger of going the same way as Marie Antoinette’s. To the guillotine, heads in baskets and all.”
He rolled his eyes. “Wentworth would say such utter fustian.”
“Is it silly because the idea is silly, or is it silly because you do not like the man?”
He looked at her and let out a sound that was between a laugh and a sigh. “I suppose both. I do not care for Wentworth, but his statement is wrong, even if I dislike him. They know that they outnumber us. But we have such a tight grip on them, and we control the economy. Even if they wanted to rise up, it would all come to nothing. Revolutions never do. Think of it this way—what happened after the French Revolution? Not much, not until there was another revolution.”
She nodded. “Why do you not like Wentworth?”
“He is a babbling fool, and I?—”
The butler appeared, interrupting him.
“Excuse me, Your Grace, but your friend has arrived.”
“James!” a cheerful voice boomed, filling the room.
A tall, dark-haired gentleman entered. James didn’t even have a chance to get up before the man wrapped his arms around him.
“Good to see you, old friend.”
“This is my friend, Gideon,” James explained.
Without waiting for him to answer, the man slipped into the empty chair and spread a napkin over his lap.
“Late as always, I see,” James said after a glance at his watch.
“Fashionably late. You know what they say, to be on time is to be early. Better late than never.”
“Not in this house.”
“Of course not. It is my fault for not remembering that you have your… peculiarities, shall we say. Your rigid adherence to schedules and such.”
James rolled his eyes and turned to Frances. “Frances, allow me to introduce my friend, Gideon Marsh. The Viscount Ashford, if I have to be formal. Though he never stands on ceremony.”
Frances looked up. Gideon smirked at her as a servant started bringing in bowls of soup.
