The Seduction of a Duke (30 page)

“You’re still not going to tell me what you’re up to?” Mary handed her an apron, and a bonnet, the sort used by the housemaids.

“It’s a secret. But I’ll be back here to change before dinner.”

 

 

FRAN JOINED NICHOLAS IN THE ROOM HE’D ESTABLISHED as a studio while at Deerfeld Abbey. He waited with two lit candles secured behind glass chimneys.

“Are you sure you want to explore the passageways?” he asked. “I doubt anyone has been through them in decades.”

“It will be like climbing through a honeycomb,” she replied, slipping her arms beneath the apron straps. Nicholas tied the garment behind her while she tried to tuck as much of her hair in the protective bonnet as possible. “Besides, one never knows when I’ll find need of an escape from Lady Rosalyn.”

Nicholas offered a sympathetic smile. “Not every room is connected to the passageway. Perhaps they once were, but renovations and changes through the years have most likely eliminated the hidden mechanisms. You might have noted the elaborate molding surrounding the doors.” He pointed to the beautiful wooden fruit and leaf carvings on the studio door frame.

“Yes.” Fran nodded. “The craftsmanship and artistry are one aspect of the abbey that I’ve truly admired.”

“Craftsmanship indeed. If the room has a portal to the passageway, it’ll also have a grape cluster right here.” He indicated a wooden carving of grapes about shoulder high on the right of the door. He pressed the trailing grape in the cluster and a doorway slid open on the adjacent wall. “I chose this room to use as my studio because it has a working passageway.” He smiled. “As you indicated, you never know when one will find need of escaping Lady Rosalyn.”

He handed her a lamp and led the way into the narrow passageway.

“How did you discover this?” Fran asked in awe.

“Quite innocently. As children, we found our own entertainment on dismal rainy days when our studies were done and the governess worn out. William liked to play King of the Hill, with himself as King, naturally.”

“Of course,” Fran said, imagining the haughty Duke as a child.

Once they both were through, Nicholas pressed a button on the passageway side of the door. The secret door slid shut, plunging them into a darkness that was only broken by their lit candles.

After an initial burst of panic of being trapped between interior walls, Fran discovered her curiosity banished her fear. Moving through the centuries-old passageway made her feel as if she was moving through history. Nicholas’s walking stick proved invaluable for clearing the cobwebs that had formed in the years since he and William had roamed the passageway. Her fan cleared the ones his stick missed.

“William had placed a chair by the door frame to be his throne and stood on it so his head would be the highest,” Nicholas said as they walked.

Fran tried unsuccessfully to stifle a laugh, remembering that she once thought that William would have included a similar clause in the marriage contract.

“It just so happened that he picked a doorway with a grape cluster and his head was of sufficient height to activate the mechanism. After that . . . well, we were fairly thorough explorers.”

They came to a doorway. Nicholas felt along the side of the wall, then smiled. “It’s still here. William insisted on marking the doorways so we’d know which door led to which room. According to the code, this door opens to the ballroom, which means the steps to the second floor should be just ahead.”

“What kind of code?” Fran asked.

“It was something William devised. He was always doing things like that—taking charge, setting the rules. We used a picture code based on the room’s function and letters for the bedrooms.” Nicholas glanced over his shoulder at her. “I thought we could just draw the pictures on the backside of the door, but William insisted we carve them in the wood with our penknives so they could be discovered without benefit of light.” He turned back forward. “He was right. I doubt my chalk renderings would have lasted this long.”

They found the steps and climbed while Nicholas rattled off the picture renderings, a ball for the ballroom, a drum-stick for the dining room, a chair for one salon, a table for the other. The third salon had no passageway. He explained that many doors weren’t marked because they weren’t used. Even in the days of their youth, Deerfeld Abbey was too large for one family to fill.

“This was my sister’s room, Arianne. Can you feel the marking?”

Fran ran her fingers along the wood, instantly recognizing the crude carving of the letter
A
. “Where is Arianne?”

“She’s wandering somewhere around Europe. William would know. He keeps track of her. He’s the responsible one—always has been.” Nicholas turned a lever and the door opened. As in the studio, one exited the passageway by virtue of the carved wooden panel next to the fireplace. Dust cloths covered what appeared to be a bed by the large shape, a table, and two chairs. The rugs had been rolled up and dust motes danced in the light from the windows.

“Did William keep track of you, as well?”

Nicholas laughed. “If you mean, did he interfere when his involvement was not appreciated? I would have to say, yes.” He glanced out the window at the gardens beyond. “William was the family man, more so than my father. He was the one trying to keep us all together, but when I knew it was my time to go, he didn’t stop me. He’s never stopped trying to bring me back, though.”

And he paid the price, Fran thought, recalling his scar. She could understand his desire to keep his siblings together, especially as she knew the loneliness that comes with having none. If only he had a similar desire to keep her close. Not having seen him for three days was taking a toll.

“Can we see his room?”

“His room as a boy, or his room as a duke?”

She recognized her faux pas as soon as she said it. As a wife, she should be familiar with his room as a duke, yet Nicholas did not seem surprised by her question.

“As a boy, please.”

“This way.”

They went past an unmarked doorway that Nicholas speculated was Lady Rosalyn’s room by its location, turned a corner and found the doorway with a
W
. Nicholas pulled the lever and Fran pushed through the exposed opening.

She had expected to see dust cloths and rolled rugs; instead it was obvious that the room was currently occupied. Nicholas followed behind her.

“That’s odd. From the looks of things, he never moved into the Duke’s master bedroom,” he said.

In spite of her curiosity, Fran had the uncomfortable feeling that she shouldn’t be here—not now. As much as she wished to see William, she had the distinct feeling that he wouldn’t approve of her spying in this manner. “We need to leave.”

“Aren’t you curious? Not much has changed since we were boys. William is still fastidious.” Nicholas enjoyed this surprising discovery too much. He poked around some papers neatly stacked on a desk. “He’s working on designs for the eastern façade.” He looked back at Fran. “Between dry rot and porous stone, maintaining the ancestral home is a tedious and expensive project at best.”

“Come, we should leave.” Fran slipped back through the narrow opening into the passage. At least now she understood why the book never toppled from the ever locked door, but why hadn’t he assumed the master’s bedroom?

She was too rattled by their discovery to continue so Nicholas led her back to the workroom. She removed the apron and cap, and returned to her room. Once inside she checked the doorway. A set of grape clusters hung shoulder high. She had obviously set her trap on the wrong door. Tonight, she would rectify that mistake.

 

 

“WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN?” MARY ASKED THE MOMENT she came in to help Fran dress for dinner. “Lady Rosalyn had everyone searching for you and Lord Nicholas. Visitors arrived earlier and neither of you were available to welcome them.”

Fran felt a moment of guilt at not meeting her proper duties as the hostess of Deerfeld Abbey, but as she had not personally invited anyone, she wasn’t sure how she could be held accountable for being absent upon their arrival. “Who has come?” she asked, expecting the answer to be a neighbor who decided not to wait till the official ball to meet the new duchess.

“I believe it may be that woman from the SS
Republic
and her husband. The one you mentioned that knew the Duke.”

Lily Mandrake. Yes, Fran knew exactly who Mary alluded to. But why would she be here? Fran hadn’t invited her.

“At least their arrival should insure the Duke’s presence at dinner this evening,” Fran said. How unfortunate that it took another woman’s arrival for her to get a chance to see her own husband. Jealously twisted in her stomach. “For dinner this evening, I wish to look the part of a perfect hostess. I wish to be alluring, elegant, and refined, but not overbearing.”

Mary smiled. “I know just the dress.”

Two hours later, Fran descended the steps confident that she resembled a perfectly attired Newport hostess in her reception gown. The deceptively simple dropped-sleeve gown made a perfect foil for her diamond collar necklace. Black accents against the white faille brought interest to all the desired places, particularly the high bustle on her backside. Black plumes set in her chignon and a black lace fan completed the ensemble.

She stepped into the salon and all heads turned her way. Lady Rosalyn appeared appalled, Lady Mandrake smirked, and Fran immediately realized that Newport appropriateness equated to overdressed by English country estate standards.

Her confidence depleted, she searched the room for William. He stood in the corner with Emma and appeared momentarily stunned. Then he crossed to her, an appreciative look in his eye. “Francesca, my dear, you quite take my breath away.”

He took her hand in his. “You recall, of course, Viscount and Lady Mandrake from the SS
Republic
?”

“Of course.” Fran smiled in what she hoped appeared a sincere expression. “How lovely to see you again.”

“Your Grace.” Lady Mandrake curtsied. The Viscount inclined his head. “I can’t tell you how delighted we were to receive Lady Rosalyn’s invitation to stay at Deerfeld Abbey. I’m sure the welcoming ball will be the most memorable event this season.”

“I thought it wise to invite Lady Mandrake so our American heiress could observe how a true English gentlewoman behaves,” Lady Rosalyn said.

“Oh, how thoughtful,” Fran improvised. “I had thought I could learn all I needed to know by observing your behavior, Lady Rosalyn. Thank you for providing yet another example,” she managed, all the while seething inside. As if the Winthrops had not been already received by most of the royalty on the continent. If the height of correct behavior meant to publicly embarrass another, then Lady Rosalyn could keep her gentlewoman lessons.

“We had hoped, of course, to convey our appreciation to the hostess as soon as we arrived this afternoon,” Lady Mandrake said, sliding a sideways glance toward Emma before returning her gaze to Fran. “But I understand that you were not available.”

What was this woman implying? Fran glanced toward Emma for an answer but found none. Drawing on her mother’s advice, Fran softened her smile. “Had I been aware that you and your husband were arriving, I would certainly have not been otherwise indisposed.”

Lady Mandrake’s eyes widened slightly as if in acknowledgment that the invitation had not come from the Duchess, but another. Her lips tightened in one corner before she turned her gaze to William. She lightly slapped her hand fan in one palm. “I wonder, Bedford, if you could tell me the history behind that amusing painting over on the far wall?”

“I’m sure my brother could—”

“But your brother is not in attendance at the moment,” Lady Mandrake interrupted, using the closed fan to push some of her dark hair away from her pale ivory face.

William squeezed Fran’s hand briefly, she supposed by way of an apology. “If you’ll excuse us . . .” He led Lady Mandrake to the painting in question. The Viscount involved Lady Rosalyn in conversation, leaving Fran and Emma alone.

“I can’t believe Lady Rosalyn invited her here,” Emma said, her voice barely above a whisper.

“I suppose she meant well,” Fran said. “She didn’t know what to expect when William left for America. She must have sent the invitation before our return.”

“But why would she invite his former mistress?” Emma said, her gaze trained on the couple admiring the painting. “If she truly felt an example was needed, why that woman?”

Shocked, Fran’s voice caught. “His mistress?”

“It was fairly general knowledge at the time. I suppose even the Viscount was aware of the arrangement.” She glanced up toward Fran, and her expression withered. “Oh, dear. You didn’t know? I thought that as you both had been on the same ship on the return . . .”

Fran bit her lip. “William and I had a brief discussion about such matters. He did mention something about appetites; I just hadn’t recognized his personal taste.”

“Nicholas assures me that the arrangement is all in the past. William’s not the sort to maintain a mistress while he has a wife.”

Fran didn’t comment. At this moment, she wasn’t sure what label she could place on the marriage she shared with William. He certainly had not come to her for the sort of favor one would expect from a wife. Perhaps Emma was incorrect in her assertions about his character. Fran’s father had enjoyed a mistress while married, yet he was a prominent and respected figure in society, wasn’t he?

She watched the two whispering in front of the painting. This woman had captured William’s interest in the past in a way Fran had yet to experience. Perhaps Lady Rosalyn was right. Lady Mandrake was a woman to be carefully observed and perhaps emulated—though not for the purposes Lady Rosalyn thought.

“I cannot believe the audacity of that woman,” Emma said beside her. “Look at her.”