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 amthe 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 theworkhouse, 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?
“I …” The woman paused, and he could see how her chest rose and fell quickly, like she had been caught out.
Hadhe caught her out?
He was more concerned about how many children were fit into the room than anything.