Page 71 of From Unwanted to Duchess
CHAPTER 23
Frances
Later that day, Frances waited in the entrance hall, where the painting now hung. It looked majestic and was the true focal point.
She smiled. She had sent a message to James telling him to check the gallery before he came down for dinner, which he intended to take with her. It was from that direction his footsteps came now.
“Frances, you hung the paintings. I am so glad. I could not stand the empty spots and—” He stopped and looked up. “What is this?”
“Another painting I had hung. I found it in the storage room when I was looking for the ones to hang back in the gallery, and I thought it would look wonderful here.”
“This used to be its place.”
“Really?” Her lips curved. “Well then, it is wonderful that it is back where it should be.”
“No,” James said, his voice suddenly hard. Cold as ice, sharp as steel. “It cannot hang there. I will not have it. This man…” He pointed at the painting. “He has no place in this house. I will not have him staring down at me from these walls. Frances, how could you? Without asking me first?”
“I did not ask you if I could hang the other paintings back in the gallery, and you were happy about them. How should I have known that you would be unhappy about this one?”
She had meant well. How could good intentions go so awry?
“How would you like it if I hung a portrait of your father, stepmother, and half-sister in your chamber so that you have to look at it every single day?”
She paused. She would not like that at all. But then again, she hadn’t known. She had had good intentions.
Why was he so angry?
“I understand you do not care for your father, but your brother is in the painting. I thought that you would be pleased to see a painting of your brother there.”
“I would not,” he said. “For it only reminds me of… Frances, you do not understand. But then again, how could you? I have never told you the truth.”
He paced back and forth, his fingers fidgeting. Agitated beyond measure.
“What is it, James? Why are you so angry? Please forgive me.”
He rounded on her. “It is not you I am upset with. I am upset with… with myself. With him.” He pointed at the painting. “Even with my brother.”
“Don’t you think it is about time that you told me what truly happened? I cannot understand if you refuse to tell me.”
He took a breath and then placed one hand on the small of her back. “Come with me,” he said. “Come to the parlor. I will tell you the truth.”
Frances followed him, her heart thundering as uncertainty gripped her. Her mouth went dry.
Had she done the wrong thing? Or would he finally tell her the whole truth?
And as he closed the parlor door, another thought came to her. What if she couldn’t handle whatever he was about to tell her?
“Frances,” James began. “I will tell you the truth of what really happened. I have not told anyone in a very long time. Not even Aunt Eugenia. Only Gideon knows. But I think you need to know so that you can understand me.”
“Yes,” she said. “Please go on. Tell me the truth.”
He stepped to the fireplace and stared into the flames. “My brother did not die because of the duel. Well, I suppose in a way he did, but not truly.”
He wetted his lips. “I know I mentioned my father once or twice in passing and you may have some idea that all was not well between us. You see, my father always considered me less than. I was the spare, nothing more. The unwanted second son, always in Marcus’s shadow. I was not the heir. I was too much like my mother. He did not care for her either,” he added. “She died when I was but a boy. I think he blamed me for that, too.”
He took a deep breath, smelling the cedarwood emanating from the fireplace. It soothed him.
“The truth is,” he continued, “my father never loved me. He loved Marcus. He was his golden child. But I always knew this, and it did not bother me too much. Marcus and I were close.”
