The Seduction of a Duke (28 page)

William smiled. It wasn’t that he necessarily wanted a portrait of his father, but the man was entitled to having a portrait hang at the abbey. It was William’s responsibility to see that legacy fulfilled.

“Agreed,” he said. They shook hands. “However, I’d like your advice on the redesign of the western façade. Let’s talk in the library . . .”

 

 

SHE WAS LOST. SHE HADN’T INTENDED TO TAKE A TOUR of Deerfeld Abbey, but she must have taken a wrong turn. The long, drafty hallways looked remarkably alike. She’d discovered the abbey was laid out in the form of a great rectangle with a courtyard in the center. She’d opened a massive wooden door and discovered a breezeway whose arched openings opened to the courtyard. One could well imagine garbed monks hurrying through the passage on their way to chapel. A large scaffolding erected along the opposite wall supported a number of noisy workers, while even more worked on the ground. This must be the swarming mentioned by Lady Rosalyn. Fran shrank back, hesitant to make her presence known among the strangers.

Another hallway held the silence of undisturbed dust. Narrow wooden doors stood on each side of the stone corridor. Most of the doors were locked, but some were so narrow as to support only a small pallet and chair if furnished. A tiny window high on the wall gave the room the appearance of a prison cell. She shuddered. Fortunately, William hadn’t mentioned that particular use in the abbey’s history.

She’d gained access to several rooms along a third hallway, but the dust coverings spread over the furnishings suggested they were not used. By her estimation, Deerfeld Abbey could house the entire village of Deerfeld if pressed. It was unfortunate that none of that vast army of servants she’d noted yesterday seemed to service these far wings of the house. Her steps echoed in the silence of the unused corridors.

She recalled her hope that she’d be able to find some solitude at the abbey so as to work on her translations. Given the vast number of empty rooms, solitude should be easy to produce. Sufficient lighting by which to read, however, might prove challenging. The centuries-old abbey was constructed long before the invention of gas lighting—the method used to light the rooms of her homes in Newport and New York. Rumors abounded of a new form of lighting—electrical lighting—that was being employed in various businesses. Her father thought that soon this modern invention would eventually make its way to city residences. However, she imagined years could pass before that technology would find its way here.

She negotiated around a full suit of armor standing guard over empty unused hallways. Apparently, that was the last technological development that had made it to the abbey.

She heard laughter, a child’s laugh. The sound urged her forward looking for the source. She hurried down the hall turning the corner to what appeared to be the utilized wing of the house. The laughter slipped through the opening of a door that stood slightly ajar. She peeked in.

“Find me now, Mama. Find me.”

A beautiful little girl with soft brown curls stood barely hidden between a dollhouse twice her size and a chest of drawers. The woman she’d called mama stood a few feet away, her back turned to the child. She said in a loud voice, “Where can she be? Where can my dear Sarah be? Could she be under the table?”

The little girl couldn’t contain her laughter. “No, no. I’m not there.”

Fran opened the door the least little bit more, but the wincing shriek of hinges in need of oil betrayed her presence. The mother turned and smiled. “You found us.”

Emma! The woman who had seemed so at ease around Lady Rosalyn. Fran hesitantly advanced. “I didn’t mean to interrupt. I’m afraid I’m lost. If—”

“Sarah, come out and meet your new aunt,” Emma said.

Fran’s eyes widened with delight. She was an aunt? The little girl dutifully left her hiding place and dipped in a hastily executed curtsy. She glanced up at Fran with impossibly huge blue eyes. A jolt of awareness startled her as she realized she was gazing into Bedford’s eyes. Though his were rarely crinkled with laughter, more likely they were narrowed in accusation. She hadn’t seen Bedford laugh since—

“Can I touch your tail?” the little girl asked.

“Sarah!” Emma reprimanded the child before she shifted a shy glance to Fran and nodded to the jacket trim. “She means your sable tails.”

“Oh, of course.” Fran slipped out of the jacket and held it, tails up, toward Sarah. The little girl soothed a tiny perfect hand over the gray fur. “Soft.”

“We didn’t mean to bother you,” Emma said. “The governess will be back in just a moment and I’ll help you find your way. I just wanted to enjoy my little Sarah for a few moments.”

“Do you know any stories?” Sarah asked. Her nose scrunched up in an otherwise earnest-looking face.

Fran wasn’t sure exactly what about the little girl touched her heart, but her request for a story placed her securely there.

“I do indeed.” Fran stooped down so she would be on an even level with those wide eyes. “I even know a story about a fox with a tail as soft as this.”

Sarah clapped her hands. “Tell me, tell me.”

“Not now, Sarah.” Emma winked at Fran. “I’m sure Her Grace has more important things to do than tell stories to small, impertinent children.”

Fran would have loved to stay and tell this angel fairy tale after fairy tale. Did she have more important things to do? She honestly didn’t know. If there was something more important, she doubted it could be more pleasant. She had no desire to leave the confines of this bright, laughter-filled room to return to the gloomy staterooms of the abbey, or their equally gloomy occupants.

“Tell me the fox, please?” Sarah pleaded. “Just one.”

Emma glanced to Fran. “Nicholas says we spoil her by indulging her whims, but he does little better at refusing her. Would it be an imposition?”

“Not at all. I would love to share a story.” Fran spied an adult chair and settled herself there. Sarah sat at her feet, while Emma stood with her back to the door, watching them both.

 

 

WILLIAM PAUSED OUTSIDE OF THE DOOR OF THE MAKE-SHIFT nursery. Was that Franny’s voice? He had supposed she was with his aunt going through the litany of commandments for properly taking her place at the head of the household. Instead, she was telling a story—he peeked in the slightly ajar door—to Nicholas’s daughter. The scene he beheld brought a smile to his lips. She was so involved in the fairy tale, she didn’t see him standing there. All her attention centered on the child that sat enraptured at her feet. William felt a familiar pang of jealousy, wishing again that he could enjoy Nicholas’s success in family and accomplishment.

Or was it the attention Franny gave the child that fueled his jealousy? He remembered the intimacy they had shared discussing the story of
The Frog King
. He had purposively avoided being alone with her so as not to be tempted to advance that intimacy, but he missed hearing her simple stories. That thought set him back. He was a grown man, a grown duke. Surely a duke shouldn’t be jealous of the attention granted a child. Still, he yearned to be at Franny’s feet listening to her passionate retelling of some child’s tale, watching her face contort with delight at the stories of magical animals and wishes granted.

Had he ever been entertained in such a manner? Even as a child, he couldn’t recall an indulgent moment when he was allowed to think of anything but the task before him and the need to excel at it. To do any less brought repercussions, painful repercussions.

His finger circled a spot on his shoulder. He shouldn’t dally here. He had much to do before Bertie’s visit. Franny had much to do as well, but for now . . . he left the nostalgic scene with an unexplained despondency.

 

 

EMMA HELPED FRAN FIND HER WAY BACK TO HER ROOM. She noted a portrait of a rather stern-looking woman, a former duchess she assumed, hung outside of her door. She entered to find Mary setting the few personal items she’d brought from Newport about the room.

Mary cocked a critical eye. “Couldn’t the maids here press out a summer dress? You look as if you’re about to melt into a puddle.”

“Mary, I’m so glad to see you. Come. Sit on the bed and tell me about your trip.”

Mary accepted the offer of a seat on the bed, but glanced nervously about. “There’s not much to tell, miss. It was a long trip and I’m glad to have arrived, but that housekeeper, Mrs. Tuberville, gave me a long list of chores and duties. I don’t think I can stay and talk to you right now.”

“Yes. Of course.” Fran drew back, her enthusiasm checked. “I wish to change out of this velvet into something appropriate for the season.”

“I know just the dress. Give me a moment to find it.” Mary disappeared through a door that blended seamlessly into the wall. Already Mary seemed to know the house better than she did.

SHE HAD TO ADMIT, SHE WAS A BIT BRAZEN AT DINNER that evening. But what choice did she have? With the exception of that unsuspected kiss in the hallway, Bedford seemed to be keeping his distance. The rude behavior of the aunt just solidified her reasons for wanting to return home. To do that, she needed to become pregnant. To become pregnant, she had to seduce the Duke, so she really had no other choice.

Her neckline was low, but not so low that she couldn’t wear her unforgettable corset. She instructed Mary to wind scarlet and tan ribbons in her hair, just so Bedford would know what waited beneath. Her green and beige satin gown pulled tight at her hips, clearly defining her silhouette, then piled about on her bustle to exaggerate the sway of her hips when she walked.

She wore Bedford’s locket, but adjusted the chain so that the gold fob would sit above her neckline in a sufficient manner to call attention to her chest. Finally, she carried a feather plume fan so that she could direct attention to any part of her person. The journal had taught her the importance of directing a man’s eye to a woman’s assets. Tonight, she had all her weapons at her disposal for doing just that. All she needed was the man.

Lady Rosalyn, Emma, and Nicholas had gathered in the blue salon. Between Lady Rosalyn’s black and Emma’s attractive but demure brown, Fran wore the only spot of color in the room. Had she not already been conspicuous by her speech and background, it appeared her fashion set her apart as well. She would have preferred to blend in, but she doubted she’d attract Bedford’s eye if she dressed as did Emma.

Nicholas admired a new handsome horse sculpture cast in bronze that sat on the mantel. “I see my brother has already put your dowry to work refurbishing the house.”

“Nonsense,” Lady Rosalyn said. “Boxes and crates arrived weeks before the nuptials. I’m sure William found the necessary finances in the estate’s coffers. I can’t imagine her dowry could accommodate all the new purchases.”

Nicholas lifted a brow, but did not respond to his aunt’s opinion.

“Emma tells me Sarah begged a marvelous story earlier. I hope you didn’t find her too tiring.”

“Your daughter is an adorable child. I did not find her tiring at all.” She glanced about the room. “Finding my way about this house though . . .”

“It helps if you know about the secret passageways,” Nicholas said.

“There’s no such thing,” Lady Rosalyn intervened. “If there were, I would have found them long ago.”

Nicholas just smiled. Between the two of them, Fran would have bet her dowry that Nicholas was right. She could see it there on his face, in the pull of his lips. He so much resembled William that when she had first entered the room, she thought it was Bedford standing by the mantel. However, Nicholas was more relaxed, more open with his expression. William kept his thoughts and emotions locked tight, much like herself, she realized.

Nicholas depended on his walking stick. Although, she was curious as to his malady, proper etiquette required she ignore its existence. William’s malady was hidden, burned into his shoulder. Again, one open and one not.

William entered the salon looking every inch the aristocrat in his finely tailored dinner jacket. All eyes turned his way. He caught her gaze for just a moment, then turned away to speak to his aunt and sister-in-law.

“You’ve captured my brother’s fancy, you know.” Nicholas dropped his voice so the comments would remain private as they watched William’s progress about the room.

“How can you tell?” she asked, using the plumes of her fan to mask her words.

Nicholas stiffened slightly, then turned toward her. He took her hand in his and lifted it to his lips. His mischievous gaze caught hers over the arch of her hand.

“Watch.”

William was by her side in an instant. He lifted her hand from Nicholas’s light grasp, then lowered it to waist height. His thumb lightly stroked her hand, much as it had other parts of her person. Those parts immediately lifted in response. She waved her fan to stir a cooling current, but the silky plumes just settled on her chest. A slight lift of his eyelid confirmed he recognized the power of his touch.