Page 12 of His Arranged Duchess
“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 theovergrown 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?”
