Chapter 3 #2
“Indeed, we can, and a very joyous occasion to be tonight as well. May I introduce my two, beautiful daughters?”
She stepped aside, gesturing to one girl with auburn hair in a gown that looked as though it shimmered as the sea itself. She was curvy, generously bosomed, and perhaps if she had not been pushed in his direction, she may have naturally caught his eye.
“Lady Belinda, ten-and-nine, who is most proficient at the flute.” She then gestured to her slightly shorter, thinner daughter, attired in a ruby gown that hugged her body. “And Lady Joanna, ten-and-seven, also proficient at music.”
The lack of specificity didn’t go unnoticed by Lucien, and Lady Joanna frowned, as if she had been expecting a higher introduction like her sister, before she quickly brightened her smile once more. In tandem, the two curtsied, demurely lifting their gazes to look at him from beneath their lashes.
Lucien had seen the gesture a thousand times, but he kept on smiling, taking both of their hands to kiss their knuckles.
“It is lovely to make your acquaintance, ladies,” he said. “And may I introduce His Grace, the Duke of Silverford, Dominic Barrow?”
Lady Belinda hummed in his direction as she curtsied, as if being polite but disinterested. Lady Joanna curtsied properly, her gaze lingering on Dominic.
“Lady Belinda has recently been praised for her musical proficiency,” Lady Morland boasted, nudging Lady Belinda forward.
“In fact, she performed at Lady Hayes’s musicale evening two weeks ago.
Heavens, we could scarcely leave afterwards for how many people wished to personally compliment her. Is that not right, darling?”
“It is.” Lady Belinda gave a high giggle that made Lucien tense.
He hated how grating the noise was, as if it were forced. Sometimes, he thought that there was no genuine woman in the ton, somebody who was simply themselves, and knew it would be enough for a man.
“I performed Mozart and Beethoven,” Lady Belinda went on, “Do you have a favorite symphony by any of them, Your Grace? Perhaps I can personally perform for you sometime.”
Lady Morland nodded behind her, as if pleased at the invitation.
“I do not,” he answered, trying to be polite about it. “Regretfully.”
Lady Belinda’s face fell, but she quickly composed herself. “Then, you must tell me what composer you do like, so I can play—”
“I do not really attend musicales, Lady Belinda,” he said hastily, glancing at Dominic, who tried to cover up his amusement.
He would already know that Lucien was trying to find ways to leave the conversation.
“What do you attend, then, Your Grace?” Lady Morland cut in. “Perhaps a gentleman’s club? My son, Baron Henleigh, is a frequent patron of St. Peter’s club. The two of you could become acquainted and then I shall invite you for dinner.”
Heavens, this woman is desperate, Lucien thought, withering.
“I do not really …” he trailed off, shrugging. “I enjoy the balls, of course, but not really quieter settings. Besides, I find myself sparse on time. The duchy is undergoing some … fixing.”
“That must be ever so tiring, Your Grace,” Lady Belinda pouted. “But your efforts are very commendable.”
What would you know of my efforts? he wanted to challenge, but he only nodded a silent thanks before clearing his throat, looking back at Dominic, hoping his friend would somehow get him out of this.
Dominic stepped forward, claiming the focus. “Speaking of your children, though, Lady Morland, I do believe you have a third daughter through your marriage to Lord Morland. Lady Elinor?” He made a show of looking around. “Is she not here tonight? I have seen you several times tonight, but not her.”
Lucien found it peculiar how Lady Morland’s face immediately soured, and she cleared her throat, shifting, as if uncomfortable.
“I do,” she affirmed. “But the poor darling could not make it tonight. She is ailed quite terribly. Her stomach is rather sensitive, you see.”
Lady Belinda covered her mouth, but Lucien caught the smirk before she covered it. When she noticed him looking at her, she only batted her eyelashes. He looked away.
“What a shame,” Dominic said. “I have heard she is rather interesting to speak with.”
The three ladies fell silent, with Lady Joanna nervously looking around herself, while Lady Belinda could not quite keep a sneer off her face for a moment.
Lady Morland’s face was just frozen in confusion before she laughed too loudly. “Heavens, she is. Yes. Interesting. Most interesting. All she ever does is speak. We can never get her silenced, can we, dear Belinda?”
“No,” she muttered, something bitter in her voice.
“We are ever so saddened that she is not with us tonight,” Lady Morland said. “She truly completes our family unit.”
Lucien was suspicious, trying to figure out why they were acting so strangely, why Lady Elinor’s mention seemed to throw them all off-guard.
“Your Grace, we were speaking about you and my son—”
He cleared his throat, cutting off Lady Morland as he spotted the orchestra about to start playing against the far-right wall. He did not want to leave himself vulnerable to having to ask one of the ladies to dance, knowing it would be improper not to, caught in this situation.
Quickly, he stepped back. “Do excuse me, Lady Morland. I must take my leave. Silverford, enjoy the rest of your night.” He gave Dominic a pointed look in Lady Joanna’s direction before he nodded at the group and walked away.
Dominic did not even try to call him back, and he was grateful.
Lucien’s carriage rattled through the streets of central London, going from the Morrow townhouse, through the wealthy neighborhoods, and then outward, towards the impoverished bowels of the city.
He had a destination, and he knew exactly why he was going.
Lord Knightly had struck a chord, one that had altered his entire night, and he knew it was why his mood had soured. He closed his eyes briefly, thinking about his Uncle Edgar, and those horrible, beady eyes that had often been bloodshot with too much ale.
He thought about the blows that sometimes didn’t even land, his uncle too drunk to aim. And then the shouting rose in his thoughts, the constant undermining.
This is what my brother provides as an heir? A foolish reed of a boy who can hardly call himself a man? He ought to be grateful that he is dead and does not have to live through you taking his title. It is only me left to endure this mess.
In Lucien’s mind, he fought back.
In his mind, he stood up better for himself in those earlier years, before his uncle’s cruelty became second nature.
The gambling, the drinking, the nights spent awake seeking opiates—it had all built in Lucien, who had just wanted the man gone.
He hadn’t even cared about inheriting the duchy, he had just wanted his uncle to finally fall to his demise through one of those vices.
And for Lord Knightly to dare suggest Lucien might be of the same indulgences …
It sickened him.
But what was worse was that Lucien’s uncle had, proudly, owned a workhouse, deep within these streets, and Lucien had not yet visited it in the months since he became the Duke of Fairmont. He really ought to, so he had made the decision as soon as he had left the ballroom.
He needed to be so far out of the ton, even just for a short while, to remind himself of what changes he was making.
The carriage took him to Fielding House, where several rooms glowed from low lights within. Weary of what he would find, Lucien exited the carriage, and went inside to find a grimy, awful place.
Voices floated down a rickety old staircase that Lucien thought would give out with too much weight on it, and he followed the sound.
“Very good, Angelica.” A female voice intrigued him, and he frowned, stalking towards the lit-up room up ahead.
But as he did, a woman came out of another door before that one, her eyes heavy with a lack of sleep.
Her hair was grayed at the temples, sweeping into the loose bun she wore at the nape of her neck. She stared at him for a moment, blinking.
“Good evening,” Lucien said, his focus flicking back to that closed door, but the woman’s voice continued with praise. “I am the Duke of Fairmont. I apologize that I have not yet visited as the new owner, but I have been rather busy. May I speak with the housekeeper?”
“That would be me, Your Grace.” The woman fell into a curtsey, her back moving stiffly. “I am Mrs. Agnes Neal. I work here. I’m also the closest thing we have to a housekeeper, I suppose.”
“I see.” He looked around, trying not to be too pointed at the thick layers of dirt and dust. “And that room up ahead, what is it?”
Without waiting for Mrs. Neal to answer, he strode on, anyway, intent on finding the owner of the soft voice.
Mrs. Neal quickly joined his side and opened the door, and Lucien immediately took in the crowded space filled with children who stared up at a blonde-haired woman as if enraptured.
“And that is all we have time for today, I am afraid and…” She looked up at the door opening, her smile already present for Mrs. Neal, but as soon as she saw Lucien, her face paled. Lucien regarded her, cocking his head.
“Well,” he said, curious. “What do we have here?”
It looked to be some sort of makeshift lesson, but the woman at the front of the room looked too pristine to belong to the workhouse, and teaching at all, really. It wasn’t very heard of, and that intrigued Lucien more.
Next to him, Mrs. Neal gave her an apologetic look, and even for that, he was confused.
The children all shuffled about, dropping slates and tiny pieces of chalk, their faces as pale as the woman’s, as if fearing his presence. One girl even scuttled back into her classmate, turning her face into the other child’s ragged shirt that hung far too loosely.
Some of them looked interested in his presence, however, and Lucien wondered if they knew a new owner would eventually come to visit.
How often had his uncle bothered to?