Page 37 of The Misfortune of Lady Lucianna

Luci would not allow herself to be fooled into a false sense of security based on her friends being near and Roderick being just outside the window. That was exactly what had happened to Tilda. The duke had presented himself as an honorable, kind, and worthy lord when he held none of those traits.

If she were utterly honest, the man might have duped any of them into marriage.

A shiver went down her spine to think it could have been her lying at the bottom of those stairs—or Ophelia, who would have been even less likely to defend herself than Tilda.

No, Abercorn would not remain free to harm another woman, especially Luci.

She would take Lord Torrington’s suggestion and run off to Gretna Green before she’d allow her name to be forever linked to Abercorn. Though wasn’t it already? She’d caused the scene at the duke’s country manor, demanding the magistrate investigate Tilda’s fall and pointing the finger at her friend’s new husband.

Luci crossed her arms in defiance. She would sound the alarm again without a second thought—only this time, she would protest louder…and longer. Until Abercorn was removed from polite society and never given another opportunity to harm someone.

Tears stung her eyes.

Poor Tilda.

Again, they should have noted something not quite right about her bridegroom.

But Luci hadn’t…and her friend had suffered the consequences.

“Lady Lucianna, my dear. What a charming surprise.”

She pivoted in time to see Abercorn enter the room and close the door behind himself.

“And Ladies Edith and Ophelia?” He paused, his stare widening on the women sitting close to the window. “I must say, this is very unexpected—but in a good way, nonetheless.”

“Your Grace,” Luci said, dipping into a curtsey. “My father spoke of your betrothal offer, and I thought it time I pay you a social visit.”

Both Edith and Ophelia sprang to their feet and dipped low in greeting. Luci couldn’t help but notice the duke’s eyes stray to Edith’s bosom as she curtseyed.

“No matter the reason.” He waved his hand, dismissing her words. “It is a pleasure to have you all in my home. I know there is much in our past; however, I am certain it can all be discussed with time—and a measure of patience. Please, do have a seat.”

Edith and Ophelia looked to Luci with hesitation, but she nodded, and the pair regained their seats by the window. She noted Edith glance toward Torrington with a weak smile. Blessedly, Abercorn seemed preoccupied and didn’t appear to notice Edith’s fascination with the landscape beyond the windowpane.

Luci followed suit and sat upon the lounge, facing her friends and hoping the duke would take the seat across from her. That would put his back to the window and allow her friends’ attention to go unnoticed.

She crossed her feet at the ankles and arranged her skirts, biding some time before it became necessary to speak. The cushion crackled with disuse beneath her when she shifted to tuck her feet under the lounge.

“Your home…” Luci paused, debating how to continue. She was loath to insult Abercorn before he’d even begun speaking. “It is very antiquated.”

Outdated and in need of renovation was what she’d been thinking; however, antiquated was the best she could do.

“Yes, well,” Abercorn sighed. “My mother renovated this townhouse, selecting every piece from the wall sconces to the rugs, even hand-stitching the pillows in this room, and I am hesitant to undo all her hard work.” He glanced around the room, obviously attached to the yellow and royal blue trimmings with many years of fond memories. Finally, he returned to the present. “Of course, once I take a wife, she will have control over the entire household, and an unlimited purse to make any changes she deems necessary to make this her home.”

Abercorn sat a bit straighter in his chair as if expecting her to applaud his generosity and kind nature. His lips pulled back in a wide grin, showing off his stained teeth, yellowed almost to match the furniture his mother had selected decades before. Could she have guessed what the man would be reduced to in his old age?

“It would please me greatly if you’d accept my courtship, Lady Lucianna—or may I call you Lucianna? Mayhap Luci, as Tilda was fond of calling you?” The man appeared a hound waiting for a well-deserved treat.

A pain stabbed deep at her middle, as if the man had used his words to stake her. The duke did not deserve to utter Tilda’s name—not today and not ever.

Abercorn would receive no reward from her. “Lady Lucianna will do fine.”

“Very well, but you have leave to call me Francis.” Reclining in his seat, the duke glanced at the door. “My apologies for my staff’s inadequacies. I thought tea would have been delivered long before now. You all must be parched.” He stood, pulling the servants’ bell cord several times. “Another item my wife will be charged with rectifying.”

“Tea is not necessary, Your Grace,” Ophelia chimed in from her seat by the window.

“Of course, tea is necessary, far more than that, it is expected.” He tugged at the cord several more times before returning to his seat, avoiding her wrinkled nose and pinched lips. “It will not be long now.”

The charade was wearing thin on Luci, and the tension was growing thick—it seemed only Abercorn hadn’t noticed the unease in the room.