Page 46 of His Arranged Duchess (Regency Wedding Crashers #5)

TWO YEARS LATER

‘ T imon seized Eleanor about the waist, ” Lucien read aloud, “ and hauled her into his arms. He kissed her fiercely, one hand sliding tantalizingly up her ribs towards the swell of her breast .’ Heavens, Frances, this is strong stuff.”

Frances blushed. “The publishers adored it, although I will have to publish anonymously. What do you think? Is it too much?”

“Too much? Not enough, I’d say. It’s well-written, all of it.”

Eleanor rolled onto her back and sighed. “I cannot believe it has taken me a full two years to finish my book.”

The two of them were lounging in the middle of the East Tower Library—which was strictly off-limits to everybody but Frances and Lucien, of course—on the wide chaise longue, the new one.

The old chaise was entirely too narrow for two, and Lucien had kept rolling off and landing with a thump on the floor, which of course made Frances laugh and put a stop to any amorous activities.

Outside the walls of the Abbey, Frances was vaguely aware that life was going on.

Seasons came and went, marriages and engagements were contracted, balls were attended, and so on.

During these social triumphs, a good deal of gossip was exchanged, and a favorite story was of the infamous Frances Knight, a bastard girl who became a duchess.

Frances did not much care. The business of facing down Society was not easy, but with a pair of dukes at her side – Uncle Cassian and her Lucien, not to mention Aunt Emily, the famous Anon – the scandal seemed to melt away rather faster than the scandal sheets had predicted.

Some people still seemed to quietly disapprove, but who cared what they thought?

Her true friends had only grown closer to her.

In fact, for every person who haughtily turned their backs on her, there seemed to be two more people who sought her out deliberately, fascinated by her celebrity.

“I think you are too hard on yourself,” Lucien said decisively, reaching over Frances’s bare shoulder to the table beside the chaise, where grapes, wine, and pastries were laden.

He picked up a glass of wine and took a long sip.

“You’ve published several short stories—by the way, the pseudonym A.

Knight is fooling nobody—and you took a rather significant break to carry and give birth to our child, my darling.

To get it all finished in two years, considering all of that, is quite an achievement. ”

Frances allowed herself a pleased smile. “I must say, I am proud of my book, but little Matthew makes me much prouder.”

Their baby boy was one year old and already had the marks of a little scholar. Books fascinated him, and there was a kind of serious, weighty manner about him that was most amusing to see in a child.

His godfather, Benjamin, was most determined to “teach the little man to have some fun,” and Frances was so glad that their son had so many people to love him so much.

And she was glad things between her husband and his best friend had worked out.

It had only taken a few awkward meetings before they became as close as ever.

Only now Frances was included in their little company.

When they announced to Benjamin that she was with child, he was extremely happy.

He asked if he could become the baby’s godfather, and he was determined to set a good example, growing more mature and sweet by the day.

Of course, he still liked to have some fun, and he was the only person who could get little Matthew to play.

Her sweet boy. He was not with them today, having gone to visit his grandmother.

Mama visited frequently, of course, as did Aunt Emily and Uncle Cassian. Mama lived in the house she’d been so proud of and happily ignored the cruel rumors about her.

The rumors were, after all, mostly true.

One piece of gossip claimed that the infamous Baroness Rawdon had begun to sing again. Just at small, intimate gatherings, but still. She was singing . Frances desperately hoped that it was true.

“I felt as though I wrote my best work when I was with child,” Frances observed thoughtfully, reaching out to pluck a couple of grapes from the bowl beside her. “I think perhaps that state would suit me again.”

Lucien’s eyes darkened. “Oh? How interesting. Perhaps we should read on, then? At the end of Eleanor’s Path, the titular heroine is with child, is she not? Now, where were we? Ah, yes. Timon was about to touch Eleanor…”

Trailing off, he slid his hand up Frances’s naked side, inching towards her breast. Frances sucked in a breath, feeling desire peak once again.

I will never be tired of this man. I can never get enough of him.

Then somebody knocked on the door to the East Tower stairwell. Eleanor gave a squeak, snatching up her robe to cover herself.

Lucien sat upright, frowning.

“Who is it?”

“Only me, Your Graces,” Gray called, his voice muffled. “Don’t fret, I am not coming up. I came to tell you that she is here.”

Frances sucked in a breath, eyes wide, and glanced at Lucien. “Already?”

Lucien’s face was very white, his jaw set.

“Thank you, Gray,” he answered at last, his voice cool. “We’ll be down momentarily.”

“Very good, your Grace.”

They heard the shuffle of Gray’s footsteps retreating. Lucien bounded up from the chaise, snatching up his clothes and dressing hurriedly.

Frances sat up, watching him dress, and nibbled her lower lip.

“You have nothing to be nervous about, Lucien. She's your sister. She'll be happy to see you.”

“You don’t know that,” he murmured. “Things have changed. I… I don’t know what to expect.”

Frances climbed up from the chaise and positioned herself in front of her husband. Placing her hands on his shoulders, she forced him to look at her.

“Whatever happens,” she said, her voice cool and firm, “We’ll face it together. You and I. That, at least, I can promise you.”

Some of the anxiety faded from his eyes. Lucien smiled, reaching forward to cup her cheek with his palm.

“I do not deserve you,” he murmured. “Not one bit.”

She dimpled. “Why, of course not. Now, let’s get dressed and go downstairs, shall we?”

Lucien’s heart thumped painfully in his chest. Since the day he had left England, he’d made a point to banish all anxiety from his life. His father had made him anxious enough for a lifetime.

Now, however, anxiety came rushing back in, forcing him to constantly calm himself down.

Having Frances by his side helped more than he could ever have imagined. Her cool, strong presence was like a rock he could cling to in times of need.

I am the luckiest man on earth.

She was immaculately dressed, as always, in a plain green silk gown, her hair artlessly but becomingly pinned up on top of her hair. Nobody would imagine that they’d been energetically making love a mere hour ago.

He paused before the closed parlour door, breathing in deeply. Frances squeezed his hand.

“Ready?” she whispered.

He nodded. “I am ready.”

Pushing open the door, he stepped inside.

A woman and a man sat side by side on a sofa. The man, clearly ill at ease, leaped to his feet. The woman rose more slowly, eyeing Lucien squarely.

“Lucien,” she stated. “You’re here.”

He nodded. “Yes. It is good to see you, Mary-Jane. You have changed.”

An eyebrow flickered. “You have not.”

While James and Lucien had resembled each other strongly, Mary-Jane was something else. She was fair-haired and blue-eyed, with pale skin and a petite, delicate frame.

The eyes and hair were the same, but she was so changed that Lucien could scarcely recognize her.

She was stronger-looking, with stockier limbs and tanned skin from working outside.

She wore a plain grey dress, almost a peasant’s gown, and there were rough patches on her hands from manual labour.

There were lines at the sides of her mouth, too.

Smile lines, he realized. Mary-Jane had been smiling and laughing a good deal over the past few years.

Before he could speak again, the man stepped grimly forward. He was tall, well-built, with dark hair, dark eyes, and a well-kept beard.

“I am not sure you remember me. I am Thomas Baker,” he said firmly, and Lucien noticed that he clutched Mary-Jane’s hand as if clutching a lifeline. “Mary-Jane and I are married.”

“Yes, so I heard,” Lucien responded coolly. “And of course I remember you, Thomas. We’ve met when you worked in the stables, isn’t that right?”

Thomas flushed. “I’m no stable boy now. We own our own farm and work it ourselves. It’s very profitable.”

“You make my sister work on a farm?”

“No, Lucien, I choose to work on a farm,” Mary-Jane spoke up. There were traces of her soft, genteel accent, but her voice was different to what he remembered, too. “I work on the farm, and I take care of our children. Twins, four years old.”

Lucien bit his lip, nodding. “Well, I’m glad to see you. You took a great deal of finding, you know.”

Mary-Jane had the grace to look embarrassed. “I wanted to leave it all behind. A fresh start, you know. If I’d known that you were back in England, I would have come to see you. But we live out in the country, and we don’t hear what goes on in London. I like it that way.”

“I’m glad.”

An awkward silence spread between them, the four of them looking uncertainly at each other.

At that moment, the door opened, and Gray bustled in, beaming, bearing a tea-tray.

“I took the liberty of bringing tea and cake, Your Graces,” he explained, happiness radiating from him. “To celebrate Lady M… Forgive me, to celebrate Mrs. Baker’s return.”

“You must call me Mary-Jane, Gray,” Mary-Jane said, laughing. “I think I have missed you more than my brothers.”

Gray beamed. He set down the tray and left, closing the door behind him. Lucien cleared his throat, taking a step towards his sister. Frances followed at his side, and he noticed that Thomas Baker stuck to Mary-Jane’s side in a similar way.

He truly loves her, he thought. Well, he must do, as she wouldn’t have received a penny of our money. Whatever they have, they’ve built on their own.

“You were here, then, when James died?” Lucien murmured.

A flash of pain crossed Mary-Jane’s face, and she nodded tightly. “Yes, I was. I shall tell you about it one day, but not today. It was a riding accident, and more sudden than we could have expected.”

Having stepped closer, he could see a small scar on the tip of Mary-Jane’s chin. It was a memento of that last terrible beating their father had given her, requiring stitches and careful dressing.

As if sensing his eyes on her, Mary-Jane lifted her hand to the scar, running her fingertip over the raised line.

“I was always too weak for him, wasn’t I?” she remarked meditatively. “James was the one he was most proud of. If he was proud of any of us, that is. I think it was most fitting that he met his end in the way that he did.”

Lucien gave a wry smile. “I agree. And as to being too weak, well. You are not weak, Mary-Jane.”

“He said I was. Society said I was, too.”

He snorted. “Let me introduce you to my wife, Mary-Jane. This is Frances. Society called her a wallflower, too. They called her weak. I have learned the hard way that she is nothing of the sort. People are wrong about all sorts of things, Sister.”

Mary-Jane glanced at Frances, faintly curious.

“Ah, yes, your new wife. I hear there’s some sort of scandal attached to you two, and I cannot wait to hear it.”

Frances smiled, stepped forward and extended her hand.

“Then you shall hear it,” she responded. “I always wanted a sister, you know. I suppose you are the closest thing I will have to one, if you wish it.”

Mary-Jane’s gaze sharpened, and she glanced between Frances and Lucien.

Perhaps my sister is just now realising that I am in love, just as I suddenly realized that she was in love.

“I should love to hear your scandal, Sister,” Mary-Jane said at last, flashing a tentative smile and seizing Frances’s hand in hers. “We should all sit down and enjoy the delicious tea Gray has made for us. As a family.”

“I couldn’t agree more,” Lucien said, smiling. He glanced at Thomas and lifted his eyebrows. “All of us should sit down, as we are all a family.”

Something like relief crossed Thomas’ face, and Mary-Jane shot him a quick, happy look.

They sat, and Frances took it upon herself to begin pouring out the tea. Thomas said something about the weather.

It would take time, of course, to build up his relationship with his sister and to get to know his new brother-in-law. Lucien sat quietly, letting Frances and Thomas exchange polite small talk.

But we have time, he realized, catching his sister’s eye and smiling. We have all the time in the world.

When a pause came in the conversation, Lucien cleared his throat and leaned forward, catching Mary-Jane’s eye.

“Are you still fond of reading, sister?”

“I am,” she answered, taking a sip of her tea. “I don’t have much time to read, but when I can, I enjoy a good novel. I still like romances, too.”

“Excellent,” Lucien smiled broadly. “Then you simply must read the book that Frances has written.”

Beside him, Frances choked on her tea.

“No, you must not!” she yelped.

Mary-Jane chuckled, leaning over to talk to her husband. Lucien rose, moving over to the sideboard, and Frances hurried after him.

“Don’t mention my book to your sister, you wretch!” she whispered, narrowing her eyes. “And don’t smile when I’m scolding you!”

Lucien slid his arm around her waist, pulling her close.

“I love your book as much as I love you, my darling,” he murmured, and Frances broke into a smile. She stood up on her tiptoes, pressing her lips chastely to his.

“Then I shall forgive you,” she whispered, his breath tickling her nose.

“What a great benevolence our contract was, my dear duchess,” Lucien responded softly. “I count my blessings daily.”

The End?