Page 16 of His Arranged Duchess (Regency Wedding Crashers #5)

L ucien woke with a jolt, sweat sticking to his skin along with tangled bedsheets. Sunlight streamed in through the curtains he had forgotten to close, the light sharp and blinding.

What time is it? Past my usual hour, to be sure.

He sat up groggily, wiping sleep from his eyes.

Lucien’s last memory was stumbling into his bedroom after wandering the Great Hall last night, collapsing into bed, and falling instantly into a dreamless sleep.

The bottoms of his feet were dirty from walking about barefoot, and he had gone to sleep bare-chested, with only a tight pair of breeches which now seemed stuck to his skin.

A quick glance at the clock on the mantelpiece informed him that it was half past ten, over two hours later than Lucien’s usual rising hour.

Why wasn’t I woken?

He stumbled out of bed, splashed the remaining water in his washbowl on his face, and dressed quickly. He didn’t bother ringing for help to get dressed. He had no valet on his travels, which had rather shocked Gray.

Lucien supposed that a duke ought to have a valet, whereas an impoverished young man, the second son of a duke, wandering the Continent, did not need a valet. He would have to choose one soon, but for now, he preferred to dress himself. His clothes were not so complicated.

He had noticed that Frances wore one of Mary-Jane’s dresses yesterday. He hoped that she would soon buy her own dresses. It would be better, he thought. She could choose something that suited her.

Once he was dressed and washed, Lucien stood in front of his bedroom door and stared at it.

Don’t be a fool. Go out and face the day.

No, that wasn’t it. Scenes from last night played before Lucien’s eyes.

Frances, her eyes closed and her head tilted back, her fingers gripping his shoulders.

The scent of her skin, the softness of her throat at his lips.

The startled little gasp she’d given the first time he let his teeth brush her skin.

Lucien closed his eyes.

Enough. Stop. You must remain in control. She is a nervous young woman learning to grow into her new role. Both of you have a great deal to adjust to. This is not love. This is not courtship. This is business, plain and simple.

If he played his cards correctly, they could both get what they wanted without compromising or enduring any discomfort. Assuming, of course, that he remained composed and in control.

Come, now. You’ve had a lifetime of being in control.

He pushed open the bedroom door and strode down the hallway.

Almost at once, he was greeted by commotion. A trio of young women, dressed in crisply starched maid’s uniforms, scuttled past him in the Great Hall, casting nervous glances up at him. An unfamiliar footman stood at attention in the foyer, eyes riveted firmly ahead of himself.

The front door was open, and a couple of men entered, carrying buckets of flowers. One man he recognised as a gardener, recently hired, but the other two were unfamiliar.

Lucien stopped, confused, as the three men hurried around him.

What is going on? Where is Gray?

Voices drifted from the open drawing room door, and he hurried towards it.

“Frances?” he called. “Is that you? What’s going on?”

He stepped through the door and paused. There was a woman in the middle of the drawing room, talking to Mrs. Gray. Frances was nowhere to be seen.

“Your Grace,” Lucien murmured. “I had no idea I would be entertaining the Duchess of Clapton so early in the morning.”

The Duchess of Clapton turned to face him, her eyes sharp and missing nothing.

“I’m sorry to disturb you,” she murmured coolly. “I don’t believe that we were able to talk much at Frances’s wedding. You must call me Emily, please. We are close friends of the family.”

He nodded slowly. “Then you must call me Lucien.”

The duchess smiled faintly but said nothing. Lucien wondered whether she would call him that or not.

“I had hoped to meet you immediately,” Emily continued, choosing her words carefully, “but I was told you were asleep.”

Lucien grimaced. It was just his luck that on the one day he accidentally slept in, he was made to look like an absolute fool in front of a woman who clearly meant a lot to Frances.

He knew of the Duchess of Clapton, of course.

She had once been Miss Emily Belmont, one of the famous Belmont girls, all of whom had snagged dukes in one way or another.

They were known for their scandals, especially when it came to marriage and engagements.

Emily Belmont, too, was the famous Anon , the painter that everybody in London knew.

Lucien privately coveted one of her paintings; it didn’t matter which one.

Lucien did not know the Duke of Clapton personally, but he’d heard of the man’s reputation. He sounded like a man Lucien would prefer to be friends with. He had come back to England to set matters straight, not to cause trouble and start fights.

Although trouble seems to follow me regardless, Lucien thought belatedly, as Emily took a careful step towards him, eyes narrowed.

“Are you making a study of me, Emily?” he managed at last, trying to sound light-hearted.

“Well, of course I am,” Emily responded coolly. “You have married our dear Frances. She’s like a niece to my husband and me. We adore her. I am glad she had married a duke; although, I would have preferred a less impoverished one.”

He shrugged. “And I would have preferred not to snatch my bride away from the altar and the arms of another man.”

To his surprise, Emily’s face relaxed into a smile. “I shouldn’t worry. Lord Easton was never to be her soulmate. Whether you will make a better husband remains to be seen. And I will be watching, Duke. Make no mistake.”

He swallowed. “I see. Thank you for your candour, Emily.”

She gave a frosty smile. “I shouldn’t thank me yet.”

“Perhaps you can tell me why my house is in such upheaval?” Lucien added, hoping to change the subject.

The air in the drawing room had gone very quiet and still, and the duchess did not seem to blink at all when she looked at him.

Lucien was beginning to feel something like a prey animal, cornered by a deceptively dangerous predator.

In the blink of an eye, Emily’s demeanour changed.

“Ah, yes. Well, you have far too few servants to manage a house of this size. I imagine you know this already. Frances sent me a note early this morning asking for advice. As you can imagine, she is struggling a great deal with the burden of being a duchess. I know how that feels, as I was in that situation myself. So, I decided to come straight here to offer my advice in person. I hope you don’t mind. We shan’t get in your way.”

This was offered in a careful, pointed sort of way, which managed to tell Lucien that while Emily did not wish to embarrass him in his own home, she also did not intend to leave.

“Oh, think nothing of it,” Lucien responded with a wry smile. “I have told Frances that her friends and relatives are welcome here whenever she likes.”

For an instant, he imagined Frances inviting over handsome young men, laughing and dancing with them. The familiarly sharp sting of jealousy shot through him, and he was obliged to clench his jaw to control himself.

No wonder she was so angry to find me with Benjamin and those women. I think perhaps I understand a little better now.

However, this brought on a new, worrying angle to the situation.

Did Frances really feel jealous, then? If she did, that meant that they were both feeling jealous of each other.

That was not a good start. Jealousy in a marriage of convenience was a bad idea, and one that would never end well.

He had better nip it in the bud quickly, before things could get out of hand.

Stay in control, Lucien. You know the importance of this.

He glanced back down at Emily, who was watching him intently. He told himself that there was no way she could understand what he was thinking, but he did not feel particularly reassured either way.

She will be watching me. She cares for Frances, and she does not trust me one bit.

It is hard to blame her, I suppose.

“Aunt Emily, I hoped to talk to you about… oh,” Frances came bursting into the room, clutching a small stack of papers. She skidded to a halt when she saw Lucien, a red flush creeping across her face. “Good morning, husband.”

He bowed. “Good morning, wife. I beg your pardon for not meeting you at breakfast. I slept in rather late.”

“Yes, Gray said that you were sleeping late,” Frances ventured. “He was going to wake you up, but I thought you might be tired and that you should get some sleep. I hope you don’t mind.”

Lucien gave a wry smile. “Not at all.”

Was she thinking about last night? He was sure that she was. He was thinking about it.

Are her lips redder than last night? They look softer and distinctly more kissable.

He tried at once to banish this train of thought. Emily broke the silence, speaking up briskly.

“I shall go and check on the flowers, if you don’t mind. I shall see you soon, Lucien.”

Without waiting for a response, she turned on her heel and hurried out of the room, leaving Frances and Lucien alone.

Frances cleared her throat, setting aside the papers. “I probably should have told you about… about this,” she made a vague gesture, encompassing the entire house. There was a crash from somewhere and a yelp. Frances winced.

“I asked them to move some furniture about,” she murmured dubiously. “I wanted to hire more staff, you see, and with my dowry, we can afford it. There are repairs to be done, and I’ve asked Gray to make a list of what needs doing most. I have it here.”

She dived onto the papers, snatching up a single sheet, and handed it to Lucien.

He stared down at the list. It was a long one, to be sure, ranging from rotten floorboards in the attics to peeling wallpaper in the morning-room.

“The repairs for the gardens and outbuildings are written on the back,” Frances pointed out helpfully.

Lucien turned it over and grimaced. “So I see. This will be expensive.”

“Yes, but Gray suggests that we complete the repairs bit by bit, over a period of time. I can’t imagine that we’ll be ready to entertain this Season, but there’s no reason why we can’t invite close family and friends.”

Lucien nodded slowly. “I think you are right. Your dowry is more than enough to cover all of this and to get the estate back in working order. Once that is taken care of, we’ll have a steady flow of income once again.”

Frances seemed to relax a little bit. “You aren’t angry, then?”

He blinked. “Angry? Why should I be angry?”

“Well, I did all of this without your permission. I’ve already hired a couple of servants on Gray’s recommendation, but I plan to interview the rest. We’ll need upper servants; a valet for you, more footmen, and some proper housemaids.

We have a groom already; Gray has secured us one from the village, and of course, Mrs. Gray is acting as housekeeper.

However, she isn’t actually being paid a wage, so I suppose we shall have to deal with that. What do you think?”

“I think you have the matter firmly in hand,” Lucien responded. “Well done. You may have free rein as to the decoration choices, as I don’t much care. I don’t expect to spend much time in the house, not once we are all settled.”

She blinked, seeming surprised. Lucien allowed himself a grin.

“You appear a little shocked, Frances. Why is that?”

She shrugged. “Well, I suppose I thought you’d be annoyed that I started all of this without asking you.”

“Asking me? My dear duchess, I’m not a cad. All of this is being accomplished with your money. I would be a dreadful scoundrel to object to what you did with it. However, I must reiterate my request for you to leave the East Tower alone.”

She blinked, frowning a little. He guessed that she had forgotten all about the tower and his prohibition of it. Naturally, the tower would now be even more alluring. Forbidden things always were.

The memory of last night remained fixed in his head, however. He had not gone back to the door to see if there were still gouges clawed into the wood. He imagined that they would be. He had been lucky to escape without nightmares last night, and it did not seem wise to push his luck.

Perhaps my father’s influence is at last fading. With Frances’s redecoration plans, perhaps I can finally root the vile man out of the house once and for all.

Of course, he did not say any of this. He merely smiled faintly down at Frances and waited for her response.

“Of course I shall leave the East Tower alone,” Frances said at last, somewhat lamely. “Can I at least ask what is up there?”

“No, you may not. It is nothing interesting, and certainly nothing to concern you. I suppose that your favourite tower will be the North one, where the books are kept. Think of that, my dear.”

She smiled faintly. “Of course. Well, I am glad you are being so accommodating. I shall try not to bother you unduly. For now, I am interviewing candidates for the position of…” she paused, glancing at the topmost paper. “... Head Housemaid. Aunt Emily says that it’s a crucial role.”

Lucien cocked his head to one side. “It’s odd that you call her Aunt Emily, is it not? She isn’t your real aunt, is she?”

It was clear that Frances believed she’d made a misstep. Reddening, she snatched up the papers again, clearing her throat.

“An old habit, I suppose. They’ve always been close to Mama, and I love them both dearly. They are a little like an uncle and aunt, I suppose.”

“Hm. How sweet. We must invite them to dine, and your mother, too.”

Frances glanced up at him. “I should like that very much. Lucien, I wonder…” she trailed off, hesitating. There was something adorable in her nervousness, and Lucien bit back a smile.

“Yes, Duchess?”

She breathed in, steeling herself. “I should like you to join me in interviewing the candidates. They are your servants as well as mine, and I should like you to have a say in who we choose.”

Of course, Lucien did not want to do such a thing.

He was hungry, and groggy from oversleeping, and interviewing servants seemed extremely dull.

He intended to say no. Then Frances looked at him, her face bright and open and hopeful, and his chest clenched tightly, almost squeezing the air out of his lungs.

“I should love to,” he heard himself say.