Page 100 of From Unwanted to Duchess
I know that you do not wish to talk to me or see me, but I know your mind, and it is ever keen. And I figured if you do not wish to see me in order to have lively debates with me about all manner of things, perhaps these newspapers will keep your mind occupied. And I hope that you do not mind, but I have written a few of my opinions within the margins and attached notes to various articles that I thought might interest you.
Yours always,
James.
She laughed. The first time she had really laughed since that awful day.
“What is it?” Marianne asked, confused.
“It is a stack of newspapers. And he has written his own opinions on the pages, with notes attached to various articles.”
“You should read them,” Aunt Eugenia urged. “It might remind you of when you first met, when you would debate with one another.”
“Perhaps,” Frances murmured.
Although she also understood that by allowing James back into her life, even in a small way, it might open the door to something she wasn’t ready for.
That afternoon, she sat in her chamber by the window and read. James hadn’t written too many messages, but there were several. And she read them all eagerly, hungrily even.
She found that in most cases, they agreed. And even in the ones where they didn’t, he had made good arguments. It reminded her of the first time they had quarreled, back when they barely knew one another.
She could almost hear his voice as she read his words.
On the matter of the window tax, he had attached a note that read:
Is it not most ridiculous that most gentlemen would rather brick up a window to save a few shillings rather than consider keeping, perhaps, one less carriage that is entirely unnecessary? And have you noticed that it is usually the servants’ windows that are bricked up? It is a crime. I am positive of it.
She smiled. They had discussed this very thing once, early in their marriage.
To an article about bachelors paying more tax for their male servants, he had added another note:
I always thought it rather scandalous that we are expected to pay more for a male servant than a female servant. It suggests that a male servant is worth more than a female servant, which is utter nonsense. I would never trust Franklin to do any of the chores my housekeeper or my cook does. But it is the bachelor who is punished, not the logic.
And to an article about the state of workhouses:
This is unconscionable. That we treat our most vulnerable citizens in such a manner is a stain on our nation. Something must be done.
On and on it went. He had written notes on almost every edition of the newspapers, commenting on one or two articles in each. Some of them made her laugh. Some of them made her angry. Some of them made her want to reach for a quill and immediately write a response to him.
But what they all did was stir longing for his company.
She missed him. She truly did.
Perhaps he had changed. Sometimes one had to come to an awakening before one could truly understand the error of one’s ways.
It had taken her being discarded by her father, being pushed into a position as a companion by her aunt, and then being talked into marriage by James before she decided that she had to stand up for herself. That she could not rely on others to speak for her.
Perhaps the lesson she had to learn in life had been much smaller than the one James had to learn, but it seemed that even he had learned it.
She sat up, and before she knew it, she had dressed herself and called for a carriage to be prepared. She put on her pelisse and her bonnet and rushed downstairs.
Marianne had returned home by then, but Aunt Eugenia was sitting in the drawing room, smiling at her knowingly.
“Do you have somewhere to be?” she asked.
“Yes,” Frances replied, although she wasn’t quite sure what she was going to do when she arrived at her destination.
In any case, she climbed into the carriage, and it rolled down the busy streets of London until they arrived outside James’s townhouse.
