Page 11 of His Arranged Duchess
Mary-Jane screaming.
Lucien squeezed his eyes closed, biting the inside of his cheek.
“Lucien?” Frances hazarded. When he opened his eyes, she was looking at him, frowning. “You seem upset.”
He flashed a smile. “Even dukes aren’t immune to motion sickness, my dear. The rocking of this carriage is making me feel quite queasy.”
“Oh. I’m sorry to hear that. I’m sure we’re nearly there.”
“Another hour, I think. But please, I would like to avoid discussing such unpleasant topics on our wedding day.”
Frances tipped her head to one side. “Topics such as your father?”
He flashed a brittle smile. “As I said. Unpleasant.”
They continued in silence until, at long last, through the veil of rain, Blackstone Abbey lurched into view.
CHAPTER 5
Frances was sure that her eyes bulged from her head as she stared up at Blackstone Abbey.
“Why do they call it anAbbey?” she breathed. “It’s acastle.”
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 andhorribly Gothic. The front of the building appeared to have been modernised a little; however, as they got closer, more and more things seemedwrong.
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. “Withmydowry.”
“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 –herhouse – 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.
