Page 20 of His Arranged Duchess
That wasn’t entirely true. Frances realized, to her chagrin, that shehadbegun to think of their relationship as a sort of courtship. Well, that was silly. It was not a courtship, and she was grateful—yes,grateful-toLucien for reminding her of that.
“Of course I know that,” Frances responded, a little more snappishly than perhaps was necessary. She ate the jam tart in several large bites. She would have to eat the lemon cake too, as it had been made for her, and he would only laugh at her if she left any. Doggedly, Frances dug her fork into the cake. Itwasdelicious, but she found that she wasn’t particularly hungry anymore.
When she risked a glance upwards, Lucien was watching her, his expression unreadable.
The wretched man. If only I knew what he was thinking. I daresay he thinks it’s a great joke to flirt with me and then remind me that we are in no danger of falling in love.
“I am going out after breakfast,” Frances said at last, once the silence had dragged out a little longer than she felt comfortable with. It was clear thathewas not going to break it first. “I assume that’s allowed?”
He lifted his eyebrows. “You’re a duchess, my dear. You can do as you like. However, considering that you have a reputation as a wallflower, I have a feeling that you already do as you like.”
“My Mama is very indulgent, if you must know. So is Uncle Cass.”
At once, Frances regretted mentioning Uncle Cassian. Lucien pursed his lips, tilting his head.
“Your mother seems to have a great deal to do with the Duke of Clapton. If I were the Duchess of Clapton, I might look askance on such a friendship.”
Frances said nothing. She knew quite well that some members of Society considered that Mama and Uncle Cass were too close, but of course, they simply did not know the truth. Mama and Uncle Cass were connected by a person they both had loved and lost—her father, Matthew, Uncle Cassian’s brother. But that was a dire secret that could never be shared. In fact, now that she was a duchess, the secret must be more carefully guarded than ever.
Frances carefully avoided Lucien’s gaze, as if he might pry the secret out of her by simply staring into her eyes.
“I shall be sure to mention it to Mama when I visit her today,” she answered crisply. “That is where I am going, by the way. We’re taking tea together, and I shall ask Mama for her advice on how to run a household. She was a baroness, not a duchess, but I imagine that the principles are the same.”
Lucien said nothing, only nodded, smiling wryly. He gave the impression of knowing a juicy secret that he had no intention of sharing. It was infuriating. That was the only reason for her annoyance, Frances reminded herself, and it had nothing to do with how his sharp reminder had made her feel.
It’s a marriage of convenience. Nothing more, nothing less. And that suits me. It really does.
She finished the last bite of lemon cake and rose to her feet.
“Well, I shall see you later, I imagine.”
Lucien did not rise—which was rather rude, staying seated when a lady was on her feet—but his eyes did not leave her for an instant.
“Yes,” he responded thoughtfully. “I imagine that you shall.”
CHAPTER 8
“Gunter’s is entirely too fashionable these days,” Mama groused. “One can barely get a table.”
This wasn’t entirely true. The tea shop wasquitefull, but the waiter had been able to get the two of them a table quite easily. Uncle Cassian and Aunt Emily were meant to be joining them, and Frances found herself looking forward to seeing her uncle more than anything. Unfortunately, they’d sent a note making their excuses, and so she would have to wait a little longer to see them.
It was Aunt Emily, however, that she’d most wanted to speak to. Aunt Emily had found herself abruptly thrust into the position of duchess with little training, andshehad managed extremely well. Frances was sure that Aunt Emily, at the very least, ought to be able to tell her how best to act and live as a duchess.
After all, the whole world was watching Frances at the moment. Or so it seemed.
How will I manage? I couldn’t even handle being stared at during parties.
The memories of her disastrous Season were not something Frances wanted to relive. Ever. She’d always assumed that socialising and moving through Society would come easily to her. She was wrong. It was agonising, and she had made more mistakes than she could count.
Enough of that.
“Frances? Are you listening to me?” Mama said, frowning over her coffee.
“Hm? Yes, of course. I’m sorry, Mama, I’m just a little tired this morning.”
Mama’s gaze sharpened. “Oh? Frances, I do hope you’ll be honest with me when I ask about your marriage.Areyou happy? Are things going well?”
“Yes, yes, well enough. You don’t have to fret about me, Mama. He’s as good a husband as I could have hoped for.”
