Page 75 of His Arranged Duchess
“Yes, we are.”
“Well, I’m glad to hear it. He’s a fine man.”
“Yes, he is,” Frances murmured, feeling color rush to her cheeks. When she risked a glance up, she found Benjamin staring at her,unsmiling. As soon as their eyes met, however, his expression changed, the coldness vanishing.
“I think you are a woman in a million, Your Grace,” he stated, crossing one leg over the other. “So many modern women would disapprove heartily of Lucien’s activities. Or rather, his past. Of course, you know all about that.”
Frances blinked, missing a beat.Modern womenwas clearly meant to be an insult, but she still felt as though there was some joke at her expense, something she was missing.
“Of course,” she echoed.
“I knew the old duke, just a little,” Benjamin sniffed, picking imaginary lint off the knee of his breeches. “He was a vile man. Cruel to his sons, cruel to his daughter. He deserved what he got.”
“I concur,” Frances agreed cautiously. “But I feel that if people knew the truth, thefactsof what that man was like, then surely…”
“I don’t mean about the murder itself,” Benjamin interrupted. “No, I believe that most people understood that the old duke deserved what he got. No, I mean the lie. Lying is a serious business, and to keep up such a solid lie for so long… well. Lucien has done well. I’m not sure I could have donethatto my own reputation, for all these years.”
There was a long silence between them. Frances could hear her blood pounding in her ears.
“I don’t understand,” she managed at last.
Benjamin drew his eyebrows together. “Why, I’m talking about the murder. It was never Lucien who pushed his father down that staircase. No, it was his brother. It was James.”
Frances blinked.I must have misheard.
“What?”
Benjamin sucked in a breath, eyes widening. “Oh, heavens. Youdidn’tknow, after all. Oh, I am sorry. I never meant… I presumed…”
“This… This is a good thing, I suppose,” Frances managed at last, her voice wobbling. “It means that Lucien is not a murderer. And no matter how much he deserved it, killing one’s father is a weighty sin indeed.”
Benjamin’s eyes lingered on her. “You are a remarkable woman, Duchess. Remarkable indeed. Anyone else would assume that a man capable of keeping such a secret from his wife—endangering her reputation as well as his own—would be capable of really anything. Of course, I’ve known the truth all along, but I think that if I had just learned it here and now, I would never be able to trust Lucien ever again.”
The curtained walls seemed to be shifting and moving around Frances. She felt ever so slightly ill, with nausea roiling in her gut.
I’m just a plaything to him. Of course, he would never trust me with anything important. Here I was, thinking that I meant something to him…
“I think I would like some air,” Frances stuttered, rising unsteadily to her feet. Benjamin watched her with glittering eyes.
“You don’t look well, Your Grace. Should I call someone?”
At that precise moment, the curtain swept back, revealing Lucien with a basket of oranges over his arm.
“Here are our treats,” he announced. His smile faded when his gaze fell on Frances, white-faced, and Benjamin sitting demurely in his seat. “What is it?”
“Excuse me,” Frances muttered, and pushed past her husband.
She half-expected to be followed, and she was not disappointed. After the vibrant glow of the theatre just beyond the opera-box, the hallways were dark and dingy. She heard Lucien’s padded footsteps coming after her, hurrying to catch up.
“Frances, whatever is the matter?”
She rounded on him. “Is it true? Did you lie about killing your father? Was your brother James really the one who did it?”
Lucien blinked, eyes wide, and missed several beats.
“You have to understand,” he said at last, “James was going to be the next duke. I was simply the spare son. James’ reputation was paramount. And with the added motive of inheriting the dukedom…” he trailed off, shaking his head. “I was afraid that I would see my brother hanged. At the time, I was prepared to hang for the murder myself. I never admitted to anything, but I never… never denied it, either. My father was hated enough for people to turn a blind eye.”
Frances passed a hand over her face. “You never thought to tell me.”
