Page 89 of From Unwanted to Duchess
“And he has carried the guilt with him ever since,” Frances sighed. “He thinks it was his fault because he lost his temper and fought his father. If he hadn’t fought his father, perhaps none of this would have happened.”
“That foolish boy.” Aunt Eugenia shook her head. “Well, we’re going to have to do something about this. We cannot let him throw away your marriage.”
“No,” Frances said. “Even if he came today and asked for me back, I would not go. He has wounded me beyond bearing. He has hurt me once too often. I would be a fool to go back to him.”
“Are you certain?” Marianne asked. “But you love him.”
“I am, and I do, but he has cast me off like yesterday’s news, discarded me as though I were nothing. Thrown me aside like a broken toy. And I will not have it. I have always been treated as though I were less than, made to feel inferior, beneath notice, and it will not happen anymore. I will make my own fortune. Carve out my own path. I will make my own way.”
Aunt Eugenia patted Frances’s hand. “That is a good plan, my dear. A foolhardy scheme, one that is born of stubbornness, sprung from wounded pride and the belief that he will not come crawling back to you anyhow, but a plan nonetheless.”
Frances looked at her, eyebrows drawn together. “I mean it.”
“You say you will not take him back,” Aunt Eugenia said carefully, “but what if he truly changes? What if he comes to his senses?”
“Then he should have come to them before he broke my heart,” Frances scoffed. “I will not be taken up and cast aside at his whim. I deserve better than that.”
“You do,” Marianne agreed quietly. “You deserve so much better.”
She and Aunt Eugenia exchanged a glance and said nothing further. However, Frances could tell that neither truly believed her.
Still, there was no time for further conversation because a knock sounded at the door, and a moment later, the butler entered with a letter.
Aunt Eugenia opened it and paled at once. “I am afraid it is ill tidings, Frances. Unwelcome intelligence.”
Frances sat up, bracing herself.
“Your father means to call on us.”
“When?” she asked, dreading the answer.
“Tomorrow,” Aunt Eugenia replied. “He will be here by noon.”
Frances felt her stomach sink. “Does he know? About James and me?”
“The letter does not say. But I suspect he has heard something. News travels fast among the ton.”
“He will be insufferable,” Frances said. “He will gloat. He will say I have gotten exactly what I deserve for reaching above my station.”
“Let him try,” Aunt Eugenia huffed. “This is my house, and I will not let him abuse you under my roof.”
“Thank you,” Frances whispered.
But even as she said it, she felt the familiar dread coiling in her gut. Her father was coming, and nothing good ever came of that.
