The Courtship Dance (10 page)

Perhaps they could be friends again now, she thought, when he had returned her to her house. She
went to the window of the drawing room, which looked out onto the street, and watched him climb back up onto the high seat of the phaeton. She found her eyes lingering on his long, leanly muscled legs and on his strong hands, masterfully taking up the reins again.

There could be more afternoons like this, more conversation and laughter, now that the barriers of the past had fallen. She no longer carried the hurt of his betrayal, and he—well, he must have lost most of his anger, coming back to her and apologizing as he had done today.

They could work together on finding him a wife, she told herself. And when she had done that, she would have rid herself of the guilt she felt. She would have helped him find happiness. He would have a wife and children. And she would have his friendship.

Then why, she wondered, as she watched him drive away, did she feel such a strange emptiness inside?

F
RANCESCA WAS VERY
busy during the course of the next week, helping Harriet with her wardrobe and planning for the party. She had decided to throw a small soiree. Nothing too grand, where everyone would get lost in the crowd, nor too elegant, where everyone would feel stiff. The guest list was the major consideration. She must invite women important enough to ease Harriet’s way in Society, but none so rigid that they would disapprove of the girl’s frank and open manner. The party itself, of course, must be both enjoyable and memorable, not only for Harriet’s sake, but also for her own reputation as a hostess. On the other hand, she could not allow it to overshadow Harriet.

As far as Rochford went, at least, little would be required. She had no doubt that anyone she invited would attend, and no eligible young woman would balk at being put in the duke’s company.

The following day Francesca threw off the odd, rather unsettling sense of sadness that had befallen her the evening before. She was in her element planning a party, and it was doubly enjoyable when there was no
need to consider the expense. She was soon ensconced at her desk, making lists and menus.

She broke off that afternoon to go shopping with Harriet, another occupation that was among her favorites. Having been given free rein by Sir Alan, she was able to plunge into the search for clothes without any qualms.

They spent much of the afternoon at her favorite modiste’s, and by the time they left, Harriet had acquired three new evening gowns, four day dresses and a walking dress, as well as a charming new pelisse. And since
Mlle.
du Plessis, her eyes shining with delight at the large order, suggested to Francesca that she might have the sea-green gown she had been considering for an even lower price, Francesca had been unable to resist purchasing the evening gown for herself, as well.

She did, however, refrain from buying a new bonnet when they visited the millinery shop, even though she found a delightful chip straw hat with a blue lining that brought out the dark blue of her eyes. Her maid had redecorated her bonnet from last year with a different satin ribbon and a clump of bright red cherries, and it would do well enough for this summer. Still, she could not keep from casting a last wistful look back at the hat as they left the store.

However, it was almost as much fun to shop for another as for herself, and Francesca threw herself into acquiring the remainder of the items necessary for Harriet’s transformation. Next stop was the shoe
maker’s, for the slippers necessary for two of Harriet’s new evening gowns, as well as a pair of half boots. They followed their shoe purchases with a trip to Grafton’s, where they could acquire a new kerseymere shawl to replace the rather outdated one given Harriet by her grandmother, as well as other such necessary items as handkerchiefs, gloves and accessories for the girl’s hair. Francesca was also pleased to find a satin band precisely the same color as the sea-green gown she had just purchased, which would make a perfect fillet for her hair. She might even, she thought, add a few false pearls to it.

They finished up their expedition with a trip to Gunter’s for a lemon ice before they returned, weary and well-pleased with themselves, to Francesca’s house, the boxes from Grafton’s and the milliner’s piled onto the seats of the carriage. The shoes and dresses, of course, would not be ready for several days, though
Mlle.
du Plessis had promised that one of Harriet’s evening gowns would be given utmost priority, so she could have it by the day of Francesca’s party the next week.

“I hope your father will not mind the bills when they arrive,” Francesca commented, a trifle worried that perhaps she had been too extravagant on Harriet’s behalf. Sir Alan had seemed quite unconcerned about the cost, but she was not entirely sure that a gentleman accustomed to living in the country was fully aware of the sort of expenses they would be running up.

“Oh, no,” Harriet assured her. “He isn’t at all close
fisted. Particularly about the expenses for my Season. He did not turn a hair at what Grandmama spent, even though I must say I thought the dresses were vastly overpriced, considering the way they looked. They seemed dowdy to me, and when I saw the other girls at the parties, I knew that I had the right of it.”

“I am sure your grandmother is accustomed to an older style.”

Harriet nodded. “I don’t mean to speak badly of her, my lady. She is good-hearted. But she tires easily, and she finds shopping and parties exhausting. Also, I fear the mantua-maker she uses is simply not as talented as Mademoiselle du Plessis. And more expensive, as well. I could tell that even Papa was a bit disappointed in how I looked in my wardrobe—though, of course, he is far too good to say anything.”

“I think he will be pleased when he sees these dresses on you.”

Harriet smiled. “Good. I should enjoy not feeling like such a wallflower. Do you think it is possible that I will get asked to dance next time when we go to a ball?
Will
we go to a ball?”

“Of course. A number of them. There are several weeks left in the Season. And once my friends Sir Lucien and the Duke of Rochford have asked you to dance, I do not think that you will remain a wallflower.”

“The duke!” Harriet exclaimed, paling, her eyes opening wide. “You think the duke will dance with me?”

“I shall make sure that he does.”

“Oh, no, my lady, I daren’t dance with someone like him. I shall be sure to trip or step on his foot, and then I shall just drop from embarrassment.”

“Nonsense. The duke is an excellent dancer. He will make certain you do not.”

“It is not him I am worried about,” the girl told her earnestly. “What If I make a fool of myself? I haven’t the least idea how to speak to a duke. I would be in jitters, I am sure.”

“You will have a chance to converse with him at my party, and after that he will not seem so fearsome.”

Harriet looked unconvinced. “He is so well-bred. I’ve never seen any man who looked half as elegant, no matter what he wore.”

“That is true,” Francesca allowed. Even in a jacket of blue superfine and fawn trousers, Rochford would outshine any man in a formal black coat and breeches. There was simply something about the way he carried himself.

“And he’s dreadfully handsome,” Harriet went on. “Like Lucifer himself, I thought, with that black hair and those black eyes. Don’t you think so, Lady Haughston?”

“Yes. He is a very attractive man.”

“And a
duke
…I am sure he is not accustomed to listening to someone like me.”

“But he isn’t at all high in the instep,” Francesca assured her. “He treats everyone with respect. I have seen him talk to his tenants and servants with great civility. He is not arrogant or unkind. Ask your father.”

“Papa thinks him an admirable gentleman. He told me so when he came back from Tattersall’s that day. It was the duke who recommended to Papa that he come see you.”

“Really?” Francesca turned, startled. “He did not mention that to me.”

“Oh, yes. Papa could not believe how generous he was, especially given that he had only just met him.”

“The duke is quite generous—and he is an excellent judge of character. I am sure he took your father’s measure instantly and decided that he was worthy of his friendship.”

Despite her words of assurance to Harriet, Francesca could not help but be taken aback by the duke’s directing Sir Alan her way. She supposed Sir Alan must have brought up the matter of his daughter’s lack of success, although it seemed a rather peculiar topic for two gentlemen at Tattersall’s. But even if they were discussing the matter, she was surprised that the duke would even think to tell the man to ask her for her help.

She was glad he had, of course—but she could not rid herself of the notion that it almost seemed as though Rochford had been going out of his way to help her in her endeavors.

But no, surely not. He did not know about her financial straits. No one did. She had done her utmost to hide her struggles with money all these years. Besides, even if Rochford had somehow guessed that she was skirting
the edge of poverty and had also realized that she was using her skills to stave off that threat, there was no reason for him to try to help her.

No. The idea was absurd. It must be that Sir Alan had raised the subject in some manner, and Rochford had simply mentioned her because of what she had done for his cousin Gideon. No more than that.

To change the subject from the vaguely disquieting one of Rochford, Francesca asked, “What do you hope to achieve this Season?”

“I’m not sure what you mean.” Harriet frowned. “I would like to enjoy it. And I would like for Papa to be happy. He so wants me to have a good Season.”

“Are you hoping to find a husband?” Sir Alan had told her that marriage was not the goal of their efforts, but Francesca was not sure that the father knew the extent of his daughter’s wishes in the matter.

A blush stained the girl’s cheekbones. “Oh, no, Lady Haughston. I do not care—That is…well, I do not think I am the sort to marry a lord or anyone like that. I have no desire to live in London or to—to participate in the social whirl of the
ton.
I am a country girl at heart. I enjoy the Assemblies and calling on the people I know there. Taking baskets to Papa’s tenants when they are sick. Asking after people’s children and grandchildren. That is the sort of life I like. It is what I am suited for. I have little desire to leave Papa. And…” She hesitated, her blush deepening. “There is a boy—the squire’s son. They live not far away. I
know Papa likes him, although he tells me I could look higher.”

“Ah, I see.” Francesca nodded. “But you don’t wish to look higher.”

Harriet nodded, grateful for the sophisticated woman’s understanding. “That is it, exactly. His name is Tom, and I have known him all my life. He used to be—oh, such a nuisance, teasing me and telling ghost stories to frighten me. But last year, the first time I went to the Assembly, we danced—and it was entirely different. He is ever so much nicer, and when he comes to call, we talk about all sorts of things, and I cannot wait until the next time he comes. It is so odd. I know him well, and yet he is like someone I’ve just met. Do you know what I mean?”

“Yes,” Francesca told her, and her smile was bittersweet. “I know just what you mean.”

F
RANCESCA WAS AT
her desk in the morning room the next day, planning the decorations for her soiree, when her butler stepped into the room. He carried a small silver tray, and on it rested a white calling card.

“There is a…person to see you, my lady,” he began, and Francesca knew immediately from his carefully blank face and the choice of his words that the visitor was not someone of whom the butler approved. “Mr. Galen Perkins.”

“Perkins!”
Whatever was he doing here?
“Tell him I am not receiving.”

“What? You would treat an old friend like that?” Perkins stepped into view behind the butler.

Francesca rose to her feet, her back straight. “I do not believe that we were ever friends, Mr. Perkins.”

Fenton cast a look of dislike at the man and turned back to Francesca, his tone frosty as he asked, “Shall I escort Mr. Perkins to the door, my lady?”

Perkins flashed a wicked grin of amusement. “I should like to see you try.”

“No, it’s all right, Fenton.” Francesca had little doubt that Perkins would not go willingly, and she feared he might hurt the old man. “I will talk to Mr. Perkins.”

“Very well.” Fenton executed a little bow, adding, “I shall be right outside, if you need me.”

The butler stepped around Perkins and ostentatiously took up a position in the hallway opposite the door.

Perkins sauntered into the room, remarking, “What a faithful knight you have, dear lady. No doubt he protects you from all dangers.”

“Why are you here, Mr. Perkins?” Francesca asked crisply. “What do you hope to accomplish by forcing your way in to see me?”

“Why, surely it is appropriate to offer my respects to the widow of my old friend,” Perkins commented, the amused smirk lingering on his face.

“You offered your condolences the other night at the theater,” Francesca reminded him. “So I scarcely think a visit is necessary.”

He came around the side of the desk. He was closer
than Francesca would have liked, but she refused to back up, for she knew that he would take the gesture as fear. He ran his pale eyes insolently down her.

“A man can hardly be blamed for wanting to renew his acquaintance with so lovely as woman as yourself,” he told her.

Francesca’s fingers curled into her palm. She would have liked very much to slap him, so insolent and insinuating was his tone.

“It must get very lonely,” he went on, “being a widow. Living alone as you do.”

“I would never be lonely enough to seek your company,” she assured him.

He shrugged. “Very well, then. Let us get down to business.”

“Business?” Francesca looked at him in surprise. “What business? I have no business with you.”

“I am afraid that I must differ.” He smiled in the same annoyingly amused way, the lines of dissipation crinkling around his eyes.

Reaching into his jacket, he pulled out a piece of paper, which he unfolded. “Andrew and I played cards a short while before I had to leave for the Continent—”

“You mean before you killed a man.”

He shrugged, his flat gaze showing no remorse. “A man must defend his honor.”

“If he has any.”

“Your husband lost heavily,” Perkins continued, ignoring her remark. “As he so often did, I’m afraid. He
ran out of funds, and he’d already thrown in his cuff links and stickpin. I could hardly take a voucher from him, as he so rarely paid them. So, on the final hand, he threw in his house. Sad to say, but not unexpectedly, he lost.”

Francesca stared at him blankly. Her stomach felt as if it had dropped to the floor, and for a moment she could not move, could not speak. Finally she said, her voice rasping a little, “What do you mean? What house? Haughston Hall? It is entailed.”

“I am aware of that,” he replied, watching her. “I’m not a fool, whatever the company I kept. That is why I told him that it must be this house that he wagered.”