The Seduction of a Duke (39 page)

“Besides,” she added. “If we’re to cleanse the room of bad memories so as to make better ones, then the crest had to be removed.”

“My aunt is fit to be tied. She’s spoken of nothing else but your lack of respect and decorum all day.”

“Your aunt is angry because I’m here,” Fran said. “She’s not willing to let go of the reins.”

“Are you ready to take them?” he asked.

“I believe I am,” she responded, with conviction. Running a household was similar on both sides of the Atlantic. She knew her mother’s methods and standards by virtue of close observation. Consequently, she discovered she knew more than she had thought she would about managing staff and menus. Now that she felt a part of this household and not a visitor, she found it easy to take control.

“And my aunt?” he asked.

“She can stay here as long as she wishes, we certainly have enough room. During the months that we are not in residence, she can be mistress.”

“So you enjoy taking command?” he asked, a mischievous twinkle in his eye.

“It’s strange,” she admitted, “but I think I do.”

“Then,” he said, lifting her to settle on top of him, “show me.”

 

 

MOANING FROM THE GHOST FLOWED THROUGH THE walls every night on a consistent basis. The coat of arms was hung in the ballroom where it fit naturally as if it was meant to be there all along. The guest rooms had all been freshly painted and refurbished as much as time allowed. The cabriolet had been uncovered and cleaned to transport the party to Deerfeld to bring back the prince. The frantic pace of the prior week eased. William was still involved in designing projects for other areas including modernization of lighting, water closets, and heating issues, and thus closed off in his study or in consultation with others who knew the mechanics of such things.

Fran, though, was able to spend more time sketching with Nicholas, who seemed exceptionally pleased with her for some reason, telling stories to Sarah, and going for an occasional ride with Randolph. She introduced Randolph to Thackett and showed him the hives. They traveled as well into Deerfeld to purchase items for the abbey and to meet the villagers. She and Randolph fell back into the easy friendship that they’d enjoyed in Newport.

They laughed and talked, but now that she understood how it felt to love someone, truly love someone, she knew that what she had shared with Randolph was not love. In a way, her mother’s interference had saved her from what might have been a very unfortunate marriage.

Randolph could not make her weak in the knees the way William could with just a lift of an eyebrow. If Randolph should pout, he just looked silly. If William’s lower lip should protrude a mere fraction of an inch, she knew he was really posturing for a kiss, which she eagerly granted. She had, on one occasion, clasped Randolph’s forearm and chanced to note how it lacked the hard strength of William’s arms. If anything, her time with Randolph just made her all the more eager to return home to her husband.

She was happy, marvelously happy. The problems that did exist, like Lady Rosalyn’s tsk-tsking whenever she made the smallest change in the household, or Lady Mandrake’s snide comments, or the mysterious ailment that seemed to plague the Viscount’s health, well, they diminished in importance in face of the delight she’d discovered in her life with William and his family.

 

 

AT FIRST, LILY WAS EXTREMELY CAUTIOUS WITH HER search for the key to the safe. After all, the pathetic little heiress was installed in the room next door. Should Francesca hear any unusual noises through the walls, well, she might just have Rosalyn investigate. Rosalyn would change the room assignments if she suspected her sainted brother’s belongings were being rifled.

It didn’t help that the old Duke seemed to have an interest in collecting keys of all natures. She found room keys, keys for snuff boxes, keys for drawers, and keys that didn’t fit anything in the room—certainly not the safe.

The key to the door that connected to the Duchess’s room proved a fortuitous find. In hindsight, she should have realized that the Duchess was spending her nights with Bedford. Heaven knew that’s where Lily would be if the situations were reversed. She gritted her teeth, reminding herself the situation would be reversed if she could just find the bleeding safe key.

Knowing that Francesca was not actually in her room at night allowed Lily to be a bit more aggressive in her search. And, of course, she couldn’t resist exploring the Duchess’s room with no one the wiser. The chit was smart enough to lock up her jewels; that was a disappointment. Rumor had it that the heiress had diamonds the size of pigeon’s eggs, though she certainly didn’t wear them to the evening meals. She found a bottle of laudanum on the mantel, which she brought back to the old Duke’s room. It could prove handy. The duchess most likely wouldn’t even miss the painkiller; she didn’t seem to be in a great deal of pain. And if she did—Lily smiled—if would serve her right to not have the means to relieve it. She should have stayed on her side of the Atlantic. Her presence had certainly caused Lily enough suffering.

On the third night of searching, she found a locked box in the back of a drawer of gentlemen’s unmentionables. One of her earlier discoveries unlocked the box. Inside lay a key, a single key. She carried it to the safe and turned.

Click.

 

 

ALBERT EDWARD, THE PRINCE OF WALES, ARRIVED ON Thursday. With prayers and hopes that the rain would hold off until they returned home, the Duke and Duchess and their various guests took both the cabriolet and the brougham to Deerfeld for the welcoming ceremonies. Much to her surprise, Fran didn’t feel the need to disassociate herself from the crowd. Instead, she was able to greet many of the now-familiar faces.

When the Prince stepped onto the platform, and the spontaneous cheering and clapping subsided, William stepped forward to make introductions.

“Your Highness, allow me to introduce my wife, the Duchess of Bedford.”

Fran dropped into a curtsy.

“Francesca, it has been a very long time,” he said as she r ose.

“That it has,” she replied with a quick glance to her husband. His eyes widened, his lips separated, and she thought that if she weren’t careful, she’d knock him off the platform with the plume of her hat. Her smile deepened. She was afraid to check Lady Rosalyn’s reaction. “I’m surprised you remember,” she said to the Prince.

“You have met my wife before?” William finally managed.

“I believe we were rather young,” Fran said.

“You were a skinny, reclusive thing, as I recall.” The handsome barrel-chested Prince took her other hand and held her at arm’s length. “I see you have grown into a beautiful woman.”

She blushed. “Thank you, Your Highness.”

He leaned over and murmured in her ear. “It’s Bertie to my friends.” He stepped back. “I’m sorry we were unable to attend the nuptials.” He glanced at Bedford. “You have married one of our finest, Francesca.”

She smiled. “I believe I may have done just that.”

Bertie tucked her arm in his and advanced to receive the official welcome from the village dignitaries.

Fran was glad she had insisted that they take the open-air cabriolet so the Prince could wave and be seen by the village folk who had come en masse for his visit. Both he and William sat face forward while she and Nicholas’s family took the other seat. The Mandrakes, Lady Rosalyn, and Randolph were resigned to the brougham.

“How are your parents, Francesca?” Bertie turned to William. “Your mother-in-law enjoys a certain celebrity, as I recall.”

“I am greatly indebted to my mother-in-law,” William said, smiling at Fran. She had to admit she was feeling rather grateful to her mother these days as well. She’d have to ask Randolph to convey her great happiness to her mother when he returned to Newport next week. Letters simply couldn’t convey the wonder of the last month.

“I’m sorry your wife was not able to accompany you,” Fran said. “I would have enjoyed seeing her again as well.”

He gazed at her in appraisal. “She just didn’t feel well enough for a trip. My wife is something of a homebody these days.”

“Perhaps another time,” she said.

He glanced at William. “What kind of entertainments are in store this weekend, Bedford?”

“I’m afraid it’s likely to be somewhat quiet. But the stables are full so there’s riding and hunting, if you like. We’ve planned a ball in your honor on Saturday. We certainly have enough hands for a round of cards or two. Otherwise, it should be a restful time.”

“We have a ghost,” Nicholas inserted. “He’s been carrying on quite a bit lately. I’m not sure restful is the right word to describe a night at the abbey.”

Fran was tempted to stab his good foot with her parasol. Fortunately, Emma must have felt similarly as Nicholas jumped a bit in his seat. A well-applied pinch, she suspected.

“A ghost, you say?” Bertie smiled. “That might prove amusing.”

 

 

KNOWING HOW IMPORTANT THIS WEEKEND WAS TO William, Fran dressed to the nines in one of her Parisian acquisitions for dinner that evening. The blue satin cuirasse showed her form in very flattering lines. The neckline was low enough to tease William throughout dinner, but the modesty piece of shirred crepe and gauze fichu made a more demure statement. The skirts abounded with fringe and a garland of wild roses and leaves. This latest fashion called for back interest that fell from the hips so she could forgo the bustle this evening, but she would still be trailing yards of blue satin and trimmed gauze behind her. She wore a rose at the top of one of her puffed sleeves and in her hair, and acces sorized with a strand of perfectly matched pearls.

William came to her room so they could make an entrance together, however, the moment she saw him, she regretted the need to accompany him anywhere. If Mary had not been straightening the room after the dressing ritual, she’d have been tempted to simply close the door behind him and let the others enjoy their dinners without the hosts. Heavens, he was handsome, and even more attractive as she knew what lay beneath the waistcoat and cravat, the linen shirt, and the perfectly pressed trousers. Perhaps, he was thinking of her in the same way, as his eyes skimmed over her in a most appreciative way. He bit his lip.

“Franny, how well do you know Bertie?” he asked.

She laughed. “My father’s fortune opened many doors for us when we traveled. I believe I was about thirteen, and the Prince was already a married man. Otherwise my mother would have set her sights on him for me.” She slipped her hands beneath his jacket. “I’m glad that she did not.”

He kissed her quickly. “As am I, but . . . I just wanted to warn you that the Prince has a reputation for dallying with married women. I saw his gaze settle on you in the carriage.”

“You don’t think I’d consent to something like that?” she protested.

“No. Of course not. I just wanted to warn you that he might make overtures.”

She thought a minute. “In that case . . .” She exchanged her tussie-mussie of fragrant blossoms for her hand fan with the bone handles. “Now I’m prepared.”

 

 

FRANNY PUT THE REST OF THE WOMEN TO SHAME, William thought, entering the salon with his wife on his arm. As proud as he was to be her husband, he almost wished she didn’t look as delectable as she did this evening with both the eyes of Prince of Wales and that American fellow ogling her. He glanced toward his brother and noted that even his wife was surprisingly subdued in fashion this evening. Emma was a beautiful woman. Otherwise, he would never have so foolishly propositioned her so many years ago. His brother had achieved enough success with his artwork to keep her in the best of fashion, but tonight there was not an inch of exposed skin from her chin to the floor. Smart man, his brother.

Lily looked to make a play for the Prince based on her attire, and he wished her luck. Anything to draw Bertie’s attention from his wife.

His aunt seemed determined to remind Bertie of everything the old duke had said in his lifetime. Nicholas repeatedly called the group’s attention to the Canaletto and William’s generosity in letting him take the painting back with him. William smiled. It was the first bet he’d been pleased to lose.

The food was superb, the service superior. William could have burst his buttons with pride; everything was perfection. Then Lily began a conversation alluding to recent society scandals and the effect they’d had on the individuals involved. William would have been a bit more vocal in defending the need for honor and respectability in all facets of society, but Bertie seemed disconcerted by the topic. Probably because he’d been in the center of some of those scandals. Not necessarily named, of course, but most definitely involved.

He wasn’t sure how much Franny knew about the English aristocracy; she certainly didn’t participate in the conversation, but rather just listened intently. Perhaps she sensed the shift in temperament from the Prince who sat to her left as she promptly stood, leading the women out of the dining room.

“You’ve done well, Bedford. I knew you’d admirably fill the hole left by your father’s passing,” Bertie observed.

“My brother has been preparing for this role since birth,” Nicholas said. “With Francesca by his side, he will be an able steward for God and country.” He lifted his glass of port. “To William, the most able Duke of Bedford.”

All sipped from their glasses. They had barely returned them to the table when Randolph proposed another toast. “And to the amazing and lovely Francesca Winthrop, may she grace our lives and intellects for years to come.”

William narrowed his gaze. “You mean Francesca Chambers. I assure you she is well and truly married.”

Nicholas laughed. “It appears Americans have difficulty holding on to both memories and port simultaneously.” He extended his glass. “To Francesca Chambers, the Duchess of Bedford.”