Engaged in Passion (A Bridal Favors Novella) (13 page)

They were more than jealous, Francine thought. They were threatened by the sudden stir she was making. It didn't matter that the stir came from all the wrong sort of gentlemen. She was getting attention, and the women were angry about it. But then she'd already learned that the women of the
ton
would never be her friends.

She never would have managed if it weren't for Anthony. He was there beside her, shooting her a smile when she most needed it or stepping in to defend her when some gentlemen began to leer at little too obviously. He did not push himself forward, which both surprised and frustrated her. She wanted to him ask her to dance, but he remained stubbornly in the background, keeping a careful eye on every man and woman nearby. Then she chanced to catch his expression. Not the one he directed at her, but outward at the glittering
ton.

He was furious. When he looked at her, he maintained a slightly awkward urbanity. Just a pleasant gentleman who whispered that she was beautiful every time he had the opportunity. But then he would look out at the crowd, and his smile would falter. Before long, he would be glaring at the girl who said "tart" a little too loudly. The tipsy gentlemen got glares. The lecherous ones found a firm wall of Anthony standing right before them, which was funny because he wasn't a large man. Tall, yes, but not so broad, and certainly not excessively muscular.

But that was because she was used to seeing him among laborers and footmen who lifted and carried for their living. Here among the lazy
ton
, Anthony was a bulwark of muscle. In fact, he'd never looked more handsome to her than when he grabbed one very drunk man by the wrist, bent it at a dangerous angle, and walked him right out onto the terrace. Francine had no idea what words were exchanged then, but she never saw the man again.

And all that happened before the dancing even began. Once the music started, things got even more complicated. For the first time ever, her dance card was mostly full. "But not quite full," she commented loudly so that Anthony could hear. She was hoping he would ask for a dance, but he remained obstinately in the background. And then the first man came to claim her for the set.

So she joined the set, put her dancing instruction to the test as she'd never managed before, and she didn't even worry about the sweat. She'd confessed her problem to Mrs. Mortimer, and now she had extra padding in certain key places of her dress to absorb the moisture. She even had spare pads in her reticule for later in the evening if needed. She could switch them out in the retiring room.

In truth, the dancing was nice. Even if the women still stared at her coldly, the men were looking at her. She was participating in the evening, whereas before she would have been sitting and staring. But as much fun as dancing was, her partners were highly disappointing. They didn't speak to her unless it was to say something insultingly salacious. Before her time with Anthony, she wouldn't even have understood half of what they said. As it was now, they only gave her ideas of what she wanted to do... with Anthony.

She tried to steer the conversation in other directions. Her mother had drilled her for years on what to say to gentlemen. First she started out with a lie: Oh, you look so handsome in that coat. Then she moved to a question about their interests: Please tell me what you do to keep such a muscular aspect. By the time the first set was done, she'd pulled up every silly question and flattering remark she'd ever thought of. And she'd never hated it more.

She'd never realized before how very stupid all that polite chatter was. She couldn't help comparing it to her conversations with Anthony. The two of them laughed about all manner of things. They'd spoken of their secrets and their hopes. They'd talked seriously about the things in their lives. And they'd talked about nothing at all, and it had all been wonderful. By comparison, these gentlemen were nothing but boors.

How she wished Anthony would ask her to dance. Just once, she wanted to spin about the room in his arms. But he never did, and by the time the bell rang for the midnight supper, she was desperate for a respite. So when her current dance partner—a second son without a feather to fly with—asked to lead her into the table, she declined as politely as she could. She lied and said she'd promised herself to another. Then she turned around and sent a silent, desperate plea to Anthony.

He saw it, of course. He was standing beside her mother making polite chatter there. He never danced, never responded, even when a few debutantes tried to practice their wiles on him. But he responded to her, moving quickly to her side.

"Thank you," she whispered, and without more explanation, he extended his arm and escorted her. Ten minutes later she was sitting down to an indifferent meal, while inside, her resolve grew.

She'd experienced her first ball as a popular girl, and it only served to show her how much she hated the
ton
. She had no desire to join them as a married woman, no wish to spend even five minutes more with them. In short, she'd made her decision.

It was time to act on it.

Chapter 11

They were just leaving the midnight buffet when Francine said the words that Anthony had been dreading all night.

"I am nearly ready to leave, but I would like a dance with you first. If you would?"

He could see the cost to her pride that she had to ask him. In truth, it was unforgivable that he had forced her to ask him. He should have just told her the truth at the beginning.

"I'm so sorry, Francine. I don't know how to dance."

She blinked, obviously startled. "But you asked me to dance that first night. At Amelia's party."

He sighed, looking out to the musicians and beyond to where the set would soon form. "That wasn't dancing," he said softly. "It wasn't even really music. It was two friends sawing on violins, and one beating the table with his hands. Many of the men there were as hopeless as I. Dancing there did not reflect badly on you. Here..." He sighed and shook his head. "I would not do anything to detract from this night for you."

She touched his arm, and he felt the heat of her all the way to his soul. "You haven't. In fact, if it were not for you, I think tonight would have been a disaster."

He placed his hand over hers, needing to hold her to him for just a little bit longer. "But you have danced every set. Finally, you are causing a stir."

She nodded, and her gaze traveled across the glittering ballroom and the equally dazzling attendees. "This was never my world. I cannot understand why I spent so long trying to be part of it."

"You didn't. It was your father."

She shrugged. "I wanted it too. For the longest time, I yearned for it."

"And now?"

"Now I yearn for something else." Then she looked into his eyes, and his breath caught. She didn't say the words, but he felt her desire. Or perhaps that was him yearning for what he couldn't have.

"Francine..." he murmured. Nothing more. Just her name filled with all the wishes he had for them.

She smiled and squeezed his arm. There was something in her eyes. Some inner happiness that made her eyes sparkle and her step light.

"What are you thinking?" he asked. After all their talks together, he knew when something had struck her fancy. But this was deeper. This was as if she had an inner knowledge. Of what, he had no clue, and he was equal parts intrigued and terrified. Meanwhile, her smile widened as she turned toward her mother.

"Mama, I think it's time we went home. I find I have had enough of balls."

Her mother's eyes widened, and she looked back and forth between her daughter and Anthony. "So soon? But you have been doing so well."

Francine smiled. "It has been... enlightening, Mama. But now I'm ready to leave."

Her mother may not have heard the note of finality in Francine's voice, but Anthony certainly did. She wasn't just saying good-bye for the night. She meant she was done with the fashionable round forever. And given how every event for the last five years must have been torture, he heartily agreed with the sentiment. The
ton
would never accept her as one of their own no matter how much money her father made or whom she married.

Mrs. Richards seemed to come to the same conclusion. She took a deep breath and started moving for the doorway. "Just as well," the woman said. "I find endless rounds of stale lemonade boring."

He felt Francine jerk at that, then suddenly burst out laughing. It was that musical trill that had so electrified him weeks ago. And the tingle was still there, as strong as ever.

"Mama, you should have told me!"

"And why would I do that when you were so bravely staring down the dragons?"

Francine's step hitched, then she was abruptly giving her mother a hug even though they were still in the middle of the ballroom and the sight was decidedly unusual. "I do love you, Mama. Thank you for enduring with me."

Her mother returned the embrace, but then quickly pulled back, her face a lovely flushed pink. "Come on then, we've made enough of a scene tonight."

Stepping forward, Anthony took both ladies' arms and escorted them out. But he couldn't help noticing the secret smile on Francine's lips. What was she planning?

He found out a few minutes later when she tugged him into their carriage. "Come ride home with us, Anthony. I would like Mama to get to know you better."

"Francine, I do not wish to intrude. And your mother said she was tired."

"I said nothing of the sort, young man," responded Mrs. Richards tartly. "Now get in. I believe we have a few things to discuss."

He nodded and climbed in, doing his best not to feel nervous. He sat across from the ladies like a man facing a military tribunal. Mrs. Richards did not delay, but began the inquiry the moment the carriage door closed. Her questions were surprisingly perceptive. He had expected her to ask about his intentions, perhaps give him a reminder that Francine was destined for Lord Hetherset. But instead, she asked about his job, his pay, and his after-hours clients.

The very nature of her questions demonstrated a keen mind, and his estimation of her rose accordingly. More importantly, he realized that Mrs. Richards was likely a key part of the family's business success. Mr. Richards had always struck him as someone who thought long-term, but was rather intemperate in the moment. He always had great visions of the future, but in daily interactions he'd seemed loud and somewhat emotional. Clearly, it was Mrs. Richards who moderated her husband's more choleric decisions. And just as obvious, the two were a good match.

He spoke as calmly and clearly as he could. Francine said nothing, just sat there quietly with an excited smile on her face. And as the ride continued, Anthony began to have hope. Perhaps this was Francine's plan: to enlist the aid of her mother against her father. Perhaps a union between them was possible.

But then the woman turned to her daughter with a sad look on her face. "Francine, dear, he seems like a lovely young gentleman. Very nice. But your father has been dreaming of his noble grandchildren since the day you were born. Everything is already arranged with Lord Hetherset's son. You cannot think he will change his mind now. Not for Mr. Pierce's son."

Francine's serene expression fell, and her fingers abruptly tightened until she was clutching her skirt. "But Mama, with your help—"

"No, dear. Not even with my help. He has had it in his mind for too long now."

"But, Mama—"

"No."

And that, it seemed, was that. Anthony could see the deflation in Francine, and his heart broke for them both. Instinctively, he reached across the carriage for Francine's hand. She gripped it immediately and held on as the carriage came to a stop in front of their house. But eventually they had to get out. The footman opened the door, and he and Francine had to break apart. He disembarked, then assisted the ladies. But as he was just about to say goodnight, Francine invited him inside.

"Francine, you know I cannot," he said, but she shook her head.

"You must come inside. We need to talk." Then she turned to her mother. "You must let us say good-bye, Mama. Please."

He could see Mrs. Richards sigh and shake her head, but Francine persisted. Without words, she pleaded with her mother, gripping the woman's hand and showing tears on her lashes. It took awhile, but eventually the woman groaned. "Oh, very well. Come along, Mr. Pierce. I believe we have just received an excellent brandy. Would you care for some?"