Page 16 of A Duke Of Her Own

The shock of those words was like a punch in Alexander’s gut. Instantly, he dismissed those assertions. He clenched his jaw tightly and did his damnedest to retain his composure. “She is not.”

“I tell you that she is!” James waved the sheaf of paper. “It is all here from what I have gathered. Read it.”

Alexander took the papers, but instead of looking through them, he tore them into several small pieces.

“What are you doing?”

“I should not have damn well asked you to pry into her life. Whatever is there is clearly painful, and I should have been more patient. I wanted to know her background, to see if she was suitable to be my wife, and that is why I foolishly asked you to have her investigated. I should have damn well waited and allowed for her to tell me what she wants me to know.”

“Most of what is there is all public knowledge,” James said tightly. “Her brother is the powerful Earl of Blade. Even with his influence, he has not been able to suppress the rumors and scandal attached to her name. You did nothing wrong, and now you know she cannot become your duchess. The rumor is that no one would have her, even with her brother’s connections.”

Now he understood the wistfulness, hunger, and sadness he saw in her eyes when she watched the children playing in the village square. Almost all young ladies of society entered the marriage mart to find a husband and build their own family. His sister Henrietta often dreamed about her debut in society and the match she would one day make. How it must have pained Francie’s heart to have that future ripped away in a cloud of scandal. Thetoncould be ridiculous in how they examined and dissected those they believed offended their sensibilities.

He recalled that she said a friend betrayed her, and Alexander suspected it had to do with her ruination. By God, how she must have been deeply wounded. A tight feeling twisted in his chest, and an odd sense of urgency pushed Alexander. “I need to return to London right away. There can be no delays.”

“By God, do not say you are still chasing her!” James said. “Who are you? Where is the cold, proud fellow that I know and love?”

Ignoring his brother, Alexander rushed inside to dress properly for the journey ahead. He did not care about her scandal. He only cared that he did not lose this woman from his life.

* * *

Only an hourafter reaching back to her cottage, Francie had asked for the carriage her brother provided for her use to be ready. After a hasty bath, she departed from the small, idyllic village she had been obscurely living in for almost two years. Her throat burning with unshed tears, she lowered the carriage curtains and stopped looking behind her. While her presence had been somewhat of a mystery to the residents, Francie had lived without undue scrutiny and speculation into her life. She had even formed a few odd friendships.

Francie had always kept back a part of herself, fearing to reveal she was the daughter of an earl and had powerful connections to high society.

Well, now he knows … and that I am considered a disgrace.

Several times she had grappled with telling Alexander and Mrs. Benton and a few others. It was likely that her neighbors would have grasped the circumstances of her situation, as it was a common practice for daughters of high society who had faced scandal to be exiled to the countryside until their indiscretions faded from public memory. Alternatively, they might regain their standing by marrying someone influential, compelling society to reluctantly overlook their past errors.

Perhaps she would never have told Alexander about the scandal. After all, they were not from the same world. She frowned. Then how had he learned about it? Francie leaned against the squabs, wondering why she felt so wretched and mortified that Alexander had learned about her past. Why did she feel this sense of betrayal that he had pried into her privacy? Worse, why did she feel so mortified that he knew she was ruined? She swiped the tears that ran down her cheeks, hating the sense of hollowness creeping through her heart.

Was I silly to run away without hearing his explanation? What if ….

Francie bit into her lower lip. What would be the use of wishing for things that were impossible? It was already a miracle the Earl of Beresford was willing to overlook her tarnished reputation. Her brother had expended great effort to restore the honor of the Blade title after the multiple scandals the previous earls created. Many had wagered among themselves that Tobias would also be a disgrace to the title. But he had surprised everyone, and soon their respect had grown.

It was Francie who had disappointed his hard work and created a scandal of such magnitude it felt as if she could never recover from it.

Oh, why had I been so foolish to elope?

CHAPTER8

The grand ballroom of Marchioness Darnley was a dazzling tableau of splendor and sophistication. A sea of glittering gowns and finely tailored suits filled the expansive space, moving in intricate patterns around the polished marble floor as couples danced. The evening would undoubtedly be hailed as a crowning success for the Marchioness. Her standing as a premier hostess would be cemented, and invitations to her future events would become even more coveted.

This was Francie’s first ball since her return to London. As she navigated through the throng of people, she couldn't help but feel overwhelmed by the sensory overload. The air had grown thick and oppressive, almost as if the atmosphere was saturated with the weight of luxury and excess. The mingling fragrances of lavender, rose, and bergamot. A dozen other scents swirled around her, each perfume vying for dominance in a battle that seemed to materialize at the back of her nostrils, threatening an imminent sneeze.

The press of bodies made the room uncomfortably warm, and she felt a thin layer of perspiration forming on her back and temples. Occasionally, she caught snippets of conversation that were as perfumed as the air—polite platitudes, social niceties, and rehearsed flattery that seldom veered toward genuine sentiment.

Francie stood on the sidelines, wishing she was back in Derbyshire with Alexander and Samson. At his cottage, she had felt unburdened by social pretense. She felt oddly disconnected amidst all the glamour and extravagance—like a spectator in a theatre, watching a grand spectacle unfold but not feeling part of it.

This was all a part of her mother’s plan to assimilate back into society’s fold. A place Francie had hungered to be since her reckless elopement was leaked to gossipmongers. Yet this life … it did not feel like it belonged to her anymore.

A good number of her erstwhile friends now conspicuously snubbed her, going out of their way to publicly display their disapproval to invite gossip from onlookers. The experience was both wearying and irksome, made all the more painful by the memory of how these women had once greeted her with genuine warmth, only to now turn their backs in frosty disdain.

“You are sad,” a soft voice murmured.

Smiling, Francie turned to face her sister-in-law, Lizzie, the Countess of Blade. She was resplendent in a dark golden gown, her red hair piled atop her head in a riot of becoming curls.

“Oh, Lizzie, I have missed you,” she murmured.