It was curiosity wrapped in condemnation.
And Frances did not flinch.
Lady Brunsford greeted them first, her jeweled headdress catching every drop of candlelight like a crown. “Your Grace,” she said, curtsying with the kind of precision one used when dealing with dangerous creatures. “And Lady Frances. Or perhaps… Duchess?”
Frances smiled. “Whatever you prefer. I answer to both.”
Lady Brunsford blinked, then gave a sharp little laugh. “Delightful. Come. The drawing room is eager.”
They were paraded through the reception like rare animals, stopping at each knot of society to nod and offer pleasantries. But Frances noticed the looks: the women whispering behind lace fans, the men raising their brows, the younger debutantes gaping with barely veiled admiration.
They were not shunning her.
They were watching to see if she faltered.
And Frances Seton—Duchesse Hargate—did not falter.
“I heard Lady Morton has not been seen since,” someone whispered behind a fan. “Imagine, her own mother?—“
“She sent flowers,” another voice murmured. “To their graces. No card, but… everyone knows.”
Frances’s spine stiffened at the mention of her mother, and her heart fluttered. Just once.
When Lady Milford approached with a haughty smile and said, “My dear, you have caused such a stir. Jilting Cranford at the altar, a duel, an elopement—one might think you were trying to end up in the scandal pages.”
Frances raised her teacup in mild salute.
“Lady Milford,” she said sweetly, “if I wanted to end up in the scandal pages, I would have married your cousin instead.”
The nearby ladies erupted in laughter. Lady Milford’s expression stiffened.
Johnathan leaned in close, murmuring, “That was cruel.”
Frances sipped her tea. “She will be fine. She thrives on barbed remarks.”
He chuckled, eyes gleaming. “You are terrifying.”
“I am your wife.”
“Exactly my point.”
But it was not all snubs and veiled insults.
A young girl—barely more than a debutante—approached her near the refreshments with wide eyes and trembling hands.
“I just wanted to say,” she whispered, “I think what you did was brave. No one ever tells us we can say no.”
Frances blinked.
Then she reached out and took the girl’s hand. “You can. You always can.”
The girl nodded, then slipped away into the crowd.
Frances turned toward Johnathan, who had witnessed the exchange. His expression was unreadable.
She arched a brow. “What?”
He shook his head, voice low. “You are changing the world, and you do not even know it.”
