Fran sighed. “There is that.”
To all, they must seem the perfect couple, and in a sense they were. However, in a most important sense they still weren’t. The marriage had not yet been consummated and she still hadn’t been able to convince Bedford of her lack of experience.
“Bully for you, Bedford. Your new duchess is a beauty, she is. Getting heirs on her won’t be a hardship.” The viscount laughed at his own wit. Bedford’s smile tightened.
Fran glanced over her shoulder. “I believe they’ve lowered the ramp. Perhaps—”
“By all means,” the Viscount interrupted. “Never been so sick on a crossing. Can’t leave this steamer too soon. Come along, dear.” He pulled on his wife’s arm.
But she firmly stood her ground. “I’m so pleased we had occasion to meet again,” she cooed to Bedford. “I’m sure we shall see you and your lovely American wife soon.”
Fran had the impression that she’d just been insulted. The woman made her nationality sound distasteful, perhaps much the same way her father made British sound fastidious.
Fortunately, the Viscount won the tug of war and both Mandrakes departed. Bedford watched after them, or was he watching the pronounced sway of Lady Mandrakes’s bustle? A trace of discomfort stirred Fran’s brain.
“Are you similarly as anxious as the Mandrakes to leave this confounded ship?” he asked, a brow raised.
“Yes,” Fran replied, frowning at the audacious bow draped across Lady Mandrake’s derriere. She stifled an urge to use the point of her fashionable parasol in an inappropriate manner. “But let’s wait a little bit.”
EVEN THOUGH THEY TRAVELED RESERVED CLASS ON THE train, it was not the luxurious conditions they had experienced in the private car in America. William could see that the lengthy trip to Deerfeld was taking a toll on Franny. Guilt burrowed in his gut. They could have stayed over in Southampton. While there was an inherent urgency to return to Deerfeld Abbey, a day’s delay would not have mattered. The lure of a stable bed sat heavy with him, but that was part of the problem.
To maintain appearances of a newly married couple he would have had to reserve one room for both Franny and himself to share. After a week of fantasizing over striped corsets and ginger-coated breasts, he was likely to make that bed rock with a need fueled by her sensitive smile and engaging laughter. His resistance was wearing thin and in need of the discipline of separate bedrooms.
So they endured a hurried transition from ocean steamer to train, leaving much of their luggage behind for Mary and Hodgins to oversee and arrange delivery. Upon their arrival at Deerfeld’s train station, they found the village had turned out with flowers and speeches from local dignitaries. He was beginning to recognize the signs of Franny’s transition into her aloof public visage. He smiled, feeling privileged in his knowledge that the private woman was nothing like this cold, distant public apparition that smiled vacantly and nodded at the villagers.
He recalled her hesitation when she first saw the family crest on the carriage that was to deliver them to the abbey. Did it spring from a hesitancy to continue on in the tiring journey, or did it spark a memory and revulsion of his scar? Bedford mentally cursed his father once again for his drunken cruelty, but this curse, like the many that had gone before, would not change the past. He’d long ago resigned himself to the existence of the brand. In time, he hoped Franny would as well.
Franny had fallen asleep in the coach, her head nodding against his shoulder with the rhythmic gait of the horses. He was hesitant to wake her, but they were drawing near to the abbey.
“Franny, we’re almost there,” he said, gently prodding her awake. “I’d have liked for you to make your first sighting of the abbey in daylight, but it can be a welcoming sight in the light of a full moon.”
She blinked rapidly before pulling herself upright and away from his shoulder. His aching shoulder registered relief at the removed weight, but he would have gladly suffered additional hours of the strain. It was unlikely he’d have the pleasure of Franny’s sleeping head on his shoulder anytime in the near future.
“Where are we?” she asked with a yawn.
“Do you remember how I told you that Deerfeld Abbey was built atop the foundation of a twelfth-century Cistercian monastery?”
She nodded. “King Henry VIII confiscated the monastery after the abbot was found guilty of treason.”
“Very good.” He smiled his approval before pointing at the window. “We’re on the lane approaching the gate. Do you see that oak tree?”
She followed the path of his finger, past the dark silhouettes of trees and hedges to one tree that stood a bit taller than the rest. She nodded.
“It’s said that’s where the abbot, Robert Hughes, is ru mored to have hanged.”
It seemed a tree like all the others, but suddenly took on a sinister bent. “Is the abbey haunted?” she asked.
“I suppose that depends on who you ask.”
The iron gate was drawn back, indicating their arrival was anticipated. The carriage followed the dirt path that wove past some farm buildings and what appeared to be a stable. The carriage rolled effortlessly across a wooden bridge. Bedford smiled, obviously pleased to be home.
The ground was flat and grassy, dotted with trees and—she squinted—deer, some of which lifted great racks of antlers, curious, no doubt, about the evening interlopers. The great Palladian mansion, bleached white in the moonlight, loomed before them. Though torches flared near the doorway, and a few rooms within emitted a muted light through the windows, the building seemed cold and unwelcoming. She shivered more from the ominous sight than from the temperature.
“Will we live here year-round?” she asked hoping that this abbey, like her Newport cottage, would be utilized only a few months of the year.
“We have a London house,” he said, “that I use in the winter.” The carriage slowed and began a slow turn in front of the entrance. A door opened and uniformed staff poured out.
She noted the transition from “we” to “I” without comment. Her father often lived away from her mother and herself, presumably for business purposes, but there had been whispered rumors as well. Did Bedford maintain his London house as a vehicle for pleasure or commerce, or both? An unease settled over her as she remembered Lady Mandrake’s question on the
Republic
and the awareness she saw flash between them. Was he planning to stow Frosty Franny at this country estate, while he satisfied his urges in London?
She winced. Perhaps she put away her courtesan’s journal too soon.
The household staff had formed a double line that extended from the carriage to the doorway. Good Lord, there must be forty men and women standing in those two lines. What could they all possibly do?
“They should be in bed,” Fran said, firmly ensconced in the comforting confinement of the carriage. “Their day starts earlier than ours. What are they doing?”
An older man made his way toward the carriage door. “They wanted to show respect for their new mistress,” Bedford said, apparently surprised at her question. He took her hand. “Franny, don’t be afraid. Trust me.”
Those two words again. She fought her immediate instinct to recoil.
“Just think of it as meeting one person, for one moment, then another. You can meet one new person, can’t you? I’ll be there by your side.”
Their driver opened the carriage door then pulled down the steps. Bedford exited first, then turned to assist Fran from the carriage. Ducking so her ostrich plumes could clear the doorway, she stepped out to meet her new household staff.
There were so many of them! As one they began to clap. What an odd tableaux they must make for the deer, standing and clapping in the moonlight.
“Carruthers,” Bedford turned to the older gentleman, “allow me to present the new Duchess of Bedford.”
“Your Grace,” the butler bowed. “It shall be my pleasure to serve you at Deerfeld Abbey.”
“My brother?” Bedford asked.
“He arrived yesterday, sir, and awaits your pleasure in the library. Lady Rosalyn, however, has retired for the evening. She has asked me to convey her regrets and disappointment that you did not arrive during the daylight hours. She says she will meet your bride in the morning, sir.”
She noted Bedford’s quick frown. She wasn’t sure why he’d be disappointed that at least one person had the good sense to retire.
Carruthers led them forward and one by one the servants bowed or curtsied and wished her welcome. Fran’s discomfort dissipated by the second greeting. She glanced back at Bedford and he nodded her forward. He was correct. As long as she approached each person as an individual, she managed without having to convince herself she was elsewhere.
They entered into a spacious foyer. Moonlight from windows on the upper level illuminated a wide staircase. Many paintings in gilded frames covered the walls. These must be the faces that accompanied the names she’d studied on the
Republic
. She’d have liked to study them, but Bedford was quickly leading her down a hallway.
“William!” An almost exact duplicate of her husband rested a hip on a George IV library table while he poured an amber liquid into a glass, a duplicate of a similarly filled glass by his side. She guessed by the walls of books that this was the library. She’d have to be careful marking the way back so she could find her way here again.
Bedford stood, tall and straight, a smile pulled at his lips. “Francesca, I’d like to present my brother, Lord Nicholas Chambers.”
“It is indeed a pleasure to meet you, Your Grace.” He straightened and offered a curt bow. “Allow me to welcome you to the Chambers family.”
Fran curtsied, amazingly comfortable in this man’s presence. There was something about his easy charm that put her instantly at ease. “I’m most pleased to make your acquaintance, sir. Your reputation precedes you.”
He looked startled. For a moment, she thought she had inadvertently insulted him.
“As an artist, Nick. She’s familiar with your paintings,” William explained.
“That’s reassuring.” Chambers’s lips curled into a lazy smile that reminded her so much of William she felt a bit giddy. “I was afraid Emma would have my head, otherwise.”
“Emma came?” William asked. “I thought she might still be avoiding me after that . . . er . . . misunderstanding.”
“Yes, she’s here. She wanted to welcome the new Duchess properly but when I caught her nodding off to sleep I suggested she find her bed. As to her forgiveness,” he said, sipping from his glass, “I suspect she also wished to offer condolences to your dear wife.”
She looked to William for an explanation, noticing his smile faltered every so slightly. There was a story there, but she would not ferret it out tonight. She was just too tired.
A groan issued from the vicinity of the fireplace. She thought at first she’d discovered the answer to her question about ghosts. William smiled. “And that would be Spotted Dick, my dog.”
She peeked around a chair and noted a long brown/gray beast covered with spots like freckles lying before the cold hearth. Like a lion to a kitten, this dog was to her mother’s Pomeranians. The beast lifted its head, thumped its long, thin tail on the ground, then lay back down. “That’s a dog?”
“Dick is a mastiff, an old mastiff.” William patted his leg and the dog reluctantly pulled its body from the hearth and slowly advanced toward Fran. He was so tall, she could scratch between his ears without bending, and did so. The dog’s jowl dropped and he panted in contentment.
“I believe your wife, Lord Chambers, has the most sense of the lot of us,” Fran said. “I would gladly leave you to your brandy if I knew the way to my room.”
William tugged on a tasseled cord. The butler appeared at the door moments later.
“Could you show the Duchess to her room, Carruthers? My brother and I have some concerns to discuss.”
“Certainly, sir. Perhaps Her Grace would enjoy a hot bath after a long day of travel?”
“It’s not too late? I shouldn’t want to trouble anyone,” Fran said, thinking of how wonderful a hot soak would be.
Carruthers frowned. “Serving you is to be our pleasure, madam. Do not think another second about it.”
She turned to Nicholas. “It was a pleasure meeting you, sir. Perhaps we can improve upon our acquaintance tomorrow.”
“I shall look forward to it.”
William brushed his lips across her brow. “Sleep well, my dear. Tomorrow I’ll introduce you to your new home.”
With that she followed the butler down the wide hallway, hopefully to a hot bath and a stationary bed. Spotted Dick ambled slowly behind her.
NICHOLAS HANDED THE WAITING GLASS OF BRANDY TO his brother. “Congratulations. You’ve done well. You’ve found a wife who is both beautiful and wealthy. I bow before your magnificence,” he said with great flourish.
“It’s true that I expected someone of a different nature.” William sipped the brandy, letting it warm the back of his throat before burning a path down his throat.
“What were you expecting?” Nicholas asked.
“I was prepared for Francesca to be plain, but as you can see she is not.”
“No, she certainly isn’t plain,” Nicholas agreed. “Her portrait will be a welcome addition to the family gallery.”
William concentrated on the swirl of liquid in his glass. “You plan to paint her portrait?”
“You believe I’m not capable?” Nicholas challenged.
“It’s not that. I just . . . I would just insist that Emma be present when you do the painting.”
A wolfish grin spread across Nicholas’s face. “Once Emma meets the new Duchess, she’ll insist on being present. You have no need to worry, Brother. I’m a happily married man and I plan to remain so. Your duchess will be fully clothed for her portrait.”
William had to admit, he felt a bit foolish for making Nicholas state his intentions. However, he’d noted Franny’s reaction to Nicholas’s smile. Blast his brother! When properly motivated, Nicholas could charm the habit off a nun. He’d not have Franny become another of his conquests. He took another sip of the brandy.