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

F rances was sure that her eyes bulged from her head as she stared up at Blackstone Abbey.

“Why do they call it an Abbey ?” she breathed. “It’s a castle .”

She could feel Lucien’s eyes on her, boring into her skin. He hadn’t said a word since they’d spoken last, since that strange and unsatisfying conversation about his father and the man’s ultimate fate.

He said it was an accident, she thought. Not that he was innocent.

“It was an abbey, once,” he responded, after a pause. “And then it was emptied and given to my ancestors. You’re right, though. It is very much like a castle. The towers do it, I think.”

Frances bit her lip, peering up at the huge structure. Four towers loomed up from the main structure, made of dark stone and horribly Gothic. The front of the building appeared to have been modernised a little; however, as they got closer, more and more things seemed wrong .

The marble steps, for instance, were green and slippery with algae.

One of the decorative pillars was cracked, one window boarded up, and the rest thick with dirt and cobwebs.

Roof slats were missing, and green moss and old, dead leaves crawled over the pathway.

There was a circular courtyard in front of the house, with thick weeds and grass sprouting between the cracks.

“The place seems… untidy,” Frances ventured at last.

Lucien grimaced. “Yes, it was left to rot for two years after James died. Nobody could find me, and so it all started to crumble. I’ve already begun to put things in order.

More staff have been hired, and a few of the usable rooms have been opened for use.

The garden will be cared for again, repairs done, and the rooms redecorated. ”

Frances shot him a look. “With my dowry.”

“Yes,” he said equably. “But since it is your money putting the place to rights, you can have full creative control over the redecoration. How does that sound?”

Frances paused. She had never had access to her own dowry, of course, and Mama had such a particular idea of how rooms should be arranged. She’d never been permitted to do more than choose the wallpaper for her own bedroom and rearrange the furniture.

Decorating a whole house – her house – sounded rather intriguing.

“Well, I suppose so,” she said at last, sitting back.

The carriage finally rolled to a halt, and an old man dressed in black appeared at the top of the steps, limping his way down. Lucien did not wait for him to get there; shouldering open the door himself and climbing out. He turned, holding out a hand to escort Frances.

Before she knew what she was doing, she had taken his hand. His fingers were rough and calloused, not soft like other gentlemen’s hands she’d encountered. There was a strength to his fingers that surprised her, too.

Then the moment was past; she was deposited on her feet on the gravel.

The old man in black reached them, smiling widely. He made a ducking bow to them both.

“Your Graces, what a pleasure to have you home,” he breathed. “Duchess, welcome to Blackstone Abbey. A servant has been dispatched for your things, and a maid will be found for you, too. If I may be so bold, my granddaughter has been trained in waiting upon ladies.”

“It’s good to see you, Gray,” Lucien said, smiling more sincerely than Frances could have imagined. He clapped the old man on the shoulder.

“Is her Grace’s room ready?”

“Yes, we chose the largest bedroom that was still usable,” Gray glanced over at Frances and bowed again. “My daughter is working in the kitchen, as is my wife, and they personally prepared your room. I hope you’ll find it to your liking, but if not, we will of course change it.”

“I’m sure it will be fine,” Frances managed. “Thank you.”

The old man seemed pleased. “We’ve prepared some food for you. Nothing too rich or complicated, but my wife has procured some recipe books from the library, and I’m sure…”

“Library?” Frances interrupted, brightening. “There’s a library here?”

“Yes, and you can thank Gray for its preservation,” Lucien remarked wryly. “He packed up the books to keep them safe from the damp. They haven’t been unpacked yet, so I suppose we don’t have a library at the moment, just a very large room full of empty shelves and boxes of books.”

“Can I see?” Frances asked eagerly. Before Gray could respond, Lucien spoke up.

“Her Grace will have a tour soon enough, I hope. First, she and I will speak in private. Could tea be brought to the small parlour, Gray?”

“Of course, your Grace.”

“Good. Come along, Duchess.” Lucien offered his elbow, and Frances, out of pure reflex, took it.

She found herself led up the steps and into a cavernous, musty-smelling hallway. It was clean, at least, having been recently swept, although a few strands of cobwebs still hung here and there. There were fresh flowers in vases, too.

“As you can see, some work is needed,” Lucien explained, “but this place has great potential. More of the rooms are usable than Gray and I thought, and some only really need freshening up.”

Before she could respond to this, Frances was hustled into a small, square room, painted white, smelling fresh, and neatly arranged with a few pieces of simple furniture, including a pair of velvet armchairs with a low table between them.

“I thought that this could be your private parlour, if you like,” Lucien commented, flinging himself into one of the armchairs and stretching out his boots. “Now, while we wait for Gray to bring along the tea, let us talk about more serious matters.”

Frances paced over to the tall windows set deep in the wall, kneeling on a padded window seat to peer out into the overgrown gardens. The windows had been recently washed--she could see streaks of soapy water left in the corners--but other than that, the room was impeccable.

Judging by the state of the rest of the abbey, she thought, the servants must have worked exceptionally hard to get it looking so nice.

“What do you mean, serious matters ?” she echoed. “The difficult part is done. We’re married. You have my dowry. What more is there to say?”

He chuckled, low in his throat. “That’s not all of it, of course. The estate needs a duchess, after all.”

“And you need an heir, I suppose?”

Frances was not quite sure how or why she had decided to say those words.

As soon as they were out of her mouth, she felt herself begin to redden, heat starting up deep in her gut and making its way up her body.

She didn’t dare turn around to look at Lucien, but he had all of a sudden gone very quiet.

“Why, Duchess?” he murmured. “Are you offering to give me one so soon?”

This, Frances thought wildly, is just like that story, Cecilia’s Trials .

Cecilia’s Trials was one of the books Frances had kept hidden from her mother.

A young woman, Cecilia, fights hard to keep her virtue from various villainous men who seek to seduce her.

One nobleman in particular, Lord Malevonte, tried his hardest to seduce her, even going so far as to trick her with a sham wedding, and begged her to share his bed.

Cecilia, however, was not fooled and stood firm against his machinations.

Frances had felt exceptionally odd when reading that scene.

Lord Malevonte was described to be very handsome, and a good deal more interesting than the bland John Croft fellow, whom Cecilia was meant to be waiting for.

She’d only met the wretched man, the so-called hero, once, and Lord Malevonte was…

well, it was hard to explain just what was so compelling about the man, only that Frances’s heart fluttered a little when he appeared on the page.

The author clearly did not mean for readers to like the man so much, but Frances had spoken with other young women who had read the same book. They all agreed--Lord Malevonte was fascinating, and not very evil, when one came to it, as he wanted to marry Cecilia properly.

Enough of this nonsense! This isn’t a story; this is real life.

She rounded on Lucien.

“No, I am not offering to give you an heir. We may be married, but I am quite firm on this. I won’t lie with you until I trust you.”

Lucien leaned forward, eyes narrowing.

“I see. And how long might that take?”

“Well, how should I know? That rather depends on you, doesn’t it? But you had better impress me, Your Grace. And so far, this is not a good start.”

Lucien ran a tongue over his teeth. “On the contrary, I think we are doing exceptionally well. We had a pretty good start when I stole you from that dullard of a viscount you almost married.”

Taken by surprise, Frances gave a huff of laughter, hastily smothered.

Lucien’s eyebrows flickered. Abruptly, he shifted positions, leaning forward to rest an elbow on his knee.

“Since we are setting conditions in place, here are mine. Firstly, I do not wish to discuss my past, especially my father, ever again. We can converse on any subject you wish, but not on that one. Secondly, you must give me an heir. Eventually, that is.”

Frances bit her lip. “What if I can’t? Some women don’t have many children, or any. Mama only had me.”

Lucien considered this. “If we try to produce an heir and fail, then that is that. But we must try. Do you understand?”

Frances had never thought much about children. She liked children, like many young ladies; although babies made her feel faintly sick. Her own babies might be different, naturally. However, marriage and children went hand in hand, and she had always imagined herself with children one day. A family.

“Agreed,” she said, nodding.

“Good. Now, for the third and final condition, this one is exceptionally important. You are never to go to the east tower.”

Frances paused, frowning. “The east tower?”

“Yes. There are four towers, as you saw: North, South, West, and East. The library is in the North tower, and the other two you may wander at will. But not the East. Do you understand?”