Page 87 of His Arranged Duchess
Katherine’s eyes widened. “He knew, then. About his brother’s child?”
She nodded. “I call him Uncle Cassian when there's nobody to hear. I suppose that will come out, too.”
Katherine bit her lip, clearly wanting to say something but not quite ready to do so. At last, she spoke.
“What about the duke, your husband?” she asked carefully. “How will he… How will he react?”
Frances shrugged. “He already knows my parentage.”
Katherine flinched, clearly surprised, then let out a long sigh of relief. “Well, that isexcellentnews, isn’t it? You have nothing to fret about if he already knows!”
Frances gave a short laugh. “Well, he never minded, but now that my sordid little secret is splattered all over the papers, he might decide that it would be the perfect excuse to apply for a divorce or an annulment. Who would blame him, under these circumstances? I’m certainly not the wife he expected. This could be the perfect opportunity for him.”
Katherine frowned. “That can’t be right, Frances. Surely he wouldn’t do such a thing.”
Frances stared into the middle distance, her eyes glazing over. She could almost imagine the gasps of delighted shock and scandal all over London, as people who knew her, liked her, or envied her read about her downfall.
This is it,she thought bleakly.It’s over. This is what Mama had feared all along. I suppose it was inevitable, in the end. I was never going to be able to escape my fate.
Katherine was talking, no doubt offering some practical advice, but Frances barely heard her. The words were a muffled buzzing in her head.
I’m so tired,Frances thought wearily.I don’t even have the strength to care about what comes next. I am tired of the lies.
Oh, Lucien. I am sorry. I accused you of hiding things from me, and now it will be revealed that the greatest deception here is mine.
CHAPTER 28
Lucien flung open the carriage door before the vehicle had even stopped moving.
“Your Grace, have a care!” the coachman yelped, horrified, but Lucien barely heard him.
They had come to a rougher area of London, where the houses were less fine and the streets noticeably dirtier. A few shifty-looking men wandered around, and grubby urchins darted here and there, most probably up to no good. Women in decidedly unrespectable clothing lounged on the corners. They weren’t ladies of the night, not at this time of day, but Lucien imagined that for the right price, they might be as obliging as one would want.
So, this is where Benjamin finds his company,he thought grimly.
He knew the place he was looking for, although his friend had not suggested that they spend time here.
And why would we? What would be the use in coming here, when he had my home at his disposal?
Rage surged up inside Lucien, hot and seething. He swallowed thickly, forcing himself to be calm. For now, at least.
A tall, thin building loomed in front of him. The plaster on the outside of the place was cracked and chipping away, and there was a pool of something murky and foul-smelling directly in front of the high doorstep. Hopping over the slimy puddle, Lucien stepped inside.
A musty, stale scent met him, mixed with the smell of decay and disrepair. The hallway was narrow, like the building, with a low ceiling and peeling paper on the walls. A spiral staircase with chipped steps curled up into the ceiling, and a woman of around sixty sat on the lowest step, filling a pipe with tobacco.
She glanced up at Lucien, unimpressed.
“Don’t you knock?”
He clenched his jaw. “I am looking for Benjamin Holton.”
The woman held a lighted taper to the pipe and sucked the stem as if her life depended upon it. The pipe caught, the bowl glowingfaintly from within, and the heavy stench of tobacco gradually seeped into the air.
“This is his residence. And I’m his landlady, not hishousekeeper, so what are you telling me for?” the woman snapped. “If you want to see him, go on up. Second floor, it’s the green door by the window. The cleanest one there, since the uppity gent tends to scrub it himself once a week. Keep the noise down and don’t make a mess, I’ve got a nasty headache. Wipe your feet before you go up.”
A little surprised—he’d expected more resistance—Lucien obliged, although frankly, he thought he might need to wipe his feet when he exited the filthy place, too.
The landlady did not move aside, leaving him to step awkwardly around her before going up the stairs.
