Page 18 of His Arranged Duchess (Regency Wedding Crashers #5)

P romenading, as everybody knew, had little to do with fresh air or exercise. None at all, some might say.

The point of promenading in any of the fashionable parks was to be seen . And to see, of course. One might encounter friends, enemies, or a combination of both. One might hear the latest gossip or inadvertently create some.

A new duke, for example, should certainly take his new duchess promenading as soon as humanly possible. Society would want to see her, after all.

Lucien did not much enjoy being looked at, but he supposed that he would have to get used to it.

Almost immediately after they had entered the park—Hyde Park, naturally—he was aware of eyes on him.

Clusters of ladies and gentlemen moved around in twos and threes, whispering behind hands and fans, eyes lingering as Lucien strode by with Frances on his arm.

Their gazes seemed to rest most critically on Frances, assessing her hair, her dress, her manner, everything.

Did Frances notice their intrusive stares? He hoped not. Still, her gloved hand seemed to tighten on his arm as they walked. He glanced down at her, hoping to see her face. However, she had her head bowed, and he found himself looking only at her silk-covered bonnet.

“You should keep your head up,” he murmured. “A duchess doesn’t walk with her eyes on her feet.”

Frances flinched at that but determinedly lifted her head until her chin was level with the ground.

“Like that?” she murmured.

“Exactly like that. Very well done.”

She shot him a wry, grateful little smile, and Lucien was not sure what to do with the wave of affection that came over him.

It was tempered with baser emotions, too, a rather shameful desire to wrench off that blasted bonnet so that he could see her face, pull her tight against him and kiss those soft little lips right here in the middle of Hyde Park.

Oh, wouldn’t that put Society in a flutter? he thought, grinning. A couple of newlyweds engaging in such a passionate display in broad daylight. Hearts would flutter in bosoms, to be sure.

Speaking of bosoms, he found his gaze sliding down to Frances’s, highlighted by a tight blue gown fringed with impeccable lace. There were buttons on the front of the bodice, and he imagined himself undoing them, one by one, until the creamy curve of her breasts was revealed.

Swallowing thickly, Lucien dragged his gaze away from his wife and focused on the road ahead.

Thankfully, nobody seemed to be in their path.

They could promenade to the end of the Park and back.

The previously delightful blue sky had darkened a little, a few clouds scudding across the sun.

There would be rain later, Lucien guessed.

He hoped they would get back to their carriage before it hit.

All the rain would plaster her dress to her shape. How terrible.

“I think I’d like to order dresses of my own,” Frances said abruptly, taking Lucien a little by surprise.

“Oh?” he remarked, lifting his eyebrows. “Well, of course. Be sure not to skimp on the styles and materials. A duchess must dress well. I thought that my sister’s dresses would not be to your taste.”

“They were very pretty, but the dresses cut in too much around the waist.”

Lucien’s smile faded. “Ah. That would be my father’s influence.”

Frances frowned up at him. “Your father? What business did he have with your sister’s dresses?”

Lucien shook his head. “Papa approved of thin women. I suppose what I really mean to say is that he disapproved of women who enjoyed anything like food and drink. He would always insist on Mary-Jane eating half portions at the dinner table. She was never permitted to take more than a few pieces of fruit at breakfast, and no luncheon at all. He insisted that her dresses be cut tighter around the waist to prevent her from eating too much at parties. Forgive me for eating what he believed to be too much for a lady at parties.”

“Oh,” Frances said, her voice small. “What a horrid man.”

“Yes, he was horrid. That memory escaped me until just now. I’d forgotten about the corsets and the dresses, or else I would not have given you the dresses. I hope you haven’t been too uncomfortable.”

“No, but I found that… oh, heavens. Is that Katherine ?”

Before Lucien could ask any foolish questions, such as who is Katherine , he happened to glance over to his right. There was no path there, but that small fact was not stopping the woman currently striding towards them.

She was tall and rather stocky, with a mane of vivid red hair streaming out behind her, some of it coming out of a rather sloppily pinned knot at the back of her head.

She wore a bright green pelisse over a white gown with a muddy hem, and a pair of well-worn boots poked out underneath.

She wore round spectacles, which caught the sun as she hurried towards them.

“Frances!” the woman shouted, waving an arm in the air. She had a loud voice that carried easily, and several other promenaders glared at her in disapproval. She did not seem to notice.

She reached the path with a sigh of relief and wasted no time before enveloping Frances in her arms.

“Frances, darling, I am simply thrilled to see you,” the woman said breathlessly.

“I had no idea you were back in England,” Frances responded, laughing. “Weren’t you visiting some islands or other? Your last letter had an account of an almost-shipwreck. I was quite on the edge of my seat reading it.”

“I was, but we’re back now,” Katherine responded. “Only yesterday. I heard of your marriage—and the almost-marriage—almost as soon as I set foot off the ship. What a terrible state of affairs! I’m quite mad with worry.”

There was an awkward pause, during which Frances glanced guiltily up at Lucien.

“Yes, I… I am married, Katherine. This is my husband, Lucien Russell, Duke of Blackstone. Lucien, this is Miss Katherine Luton.”

Katherine turned a frank and unapologetic stare onto Lucien.

She had an even-featured face, nothing as breathtakingly beautiful as Frances’s, but she was pretty enough, if one did not mind her stature.

Lucien knew a good many gentlemen of short stature in Society, men who seemed to view tall women as a personal insult.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss Luton,” Lucien responded smoothly, bowing. “Any friend of Frances’s is a friend of mine.”

That was not strictly true, of course, but it was the kind of thing that people seemed to expect gentlemen to say. Katherine narrowed her eyes at him, as if she were not fooled.

“We shall see about that,” she responded.

At that moment, something moved on her shoulder, crawling out from under a stray lock of hair. Before Lucien could say anything, Frances gave a strangled squeak.

“Katherine! What is that?”

“Hm? Oh, the little chap has escaped, I see. I kept him in my reticule, but it was too cramped for him. Besides, you know how often I drop my reticule.”

Katherine reached up and plucked the thing off her shoulder.

It appeared to be a lizard, or a reptile of some sort.

The creature splayed itself over her gloved hand, tilted back its head, and surveyed them both through yellow, slitted eyes.

The little creature was sandy-colored, with an odd pattern which seemed almost to shift as Lucien stared at it.

He imagined that the creature might flatten itself against a rock and blend in so perfectly as to almost disappear.

“What is it?” Frances whispered, her voice hushed.

“It’s a gecko,” Katherine responded, sounding proud.

“I forget which type. It came from one of the islands and must have snuck onto the boat in a box of fruit or something, and by the time we realized it was too late to do much about it. I shall have to take care of him, and he will be the most well-travelled gecko in the world. I call him Henry.”

“A fine name for a lizard,” Lucien murmured.

Katherine fixed him with a steely glare. “A gecko .”

He placed a hand over his chest. “Forgive me. A gecko.”

He caught Frances smiling up at him and dropped her a quick, steady wink. She flushed abruptly, turning away, and he felt strangely that he had done something wrong.

Katherine paused, glancing over her shoulder, and sighed.

“Oh, lord. Papa is coming. I daresay I’m in trouble.”

Sure enough, a short, round-bodied gentleman with a perfectly bald head like an egg was puffing towards them.

“Katherine,” he stuttered severely as he approached, “I do hope you are not bothering the Duke and Duchess of Blackstone.”

“I am only greeting my friend, Papa. I haven’t seen Frances in an age. We haven’t seen each other since school, have we, Frances?”

Before Frances could answer, Katherine hastily introduced her father.

Lucien knew the man by name, if nothing else.

He was Lord Edmund Luton, Earl of Tockton.

He seemed to be a genial, portly sort of man who looked upon the world with unending optimism, and on his spinster daughter with a sort of tired, resigned love.

“It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Your Grace,” Lord Tockton said, withdrawing a handkerchief and mopping his brow. “My daughter and I travel a great deal, and it’s quite a relief to return to England at last. I hope we’ll stay home longer this time.”

Glancing over at Katherine, Lucien saw that the corners of her mouth turned down a little at this. She bent her head, fussing with Henry the gecko.

Perhaps she is not as keen for English society as her father, he thought, but was careful not to let any of it show on his face.

“Well, you must come and visit me at home, Katherine,” Frances said firmly. “I’ve missed you a great deal, and now I have a home of my own, I can properly receive you. You can bring Henry, too, if you like.”

Katherine brightened. “Can I also bring Margaret?”

Frances bit her lip. “I suppose there is no chance that Margaret is in fact a lady’s maid?”

“A tarantula.”

“Perhaps you might leave Margaret at home.”