Lady Belling's Secret (18 page)

“Dare I ask which man you are crying over? Would that be your fiancé, or the man you’re hopelessly in love with?”

“Why can’t they be the same person?” Francesca asked, and as much as she despised the weakness, she couldn’t stop wretched tears from filling her eyes.

Anna sighed a response, smiled with compassion, and reached over to take her friend’s hand. “Oh, dearest, somehow this will all work out. You’ll see.”

“I can’t imagine how.” Francesca’s voice wavered. “I’ve made a complete mess out of my life.”

“We’re not going to be able to fix it by hiding in this bed. You must get up, dress yourself, and carry on.” Anna sat up, taking the covers with her, and climbed out of the bed. “I’m ringing for your maid. I’ll see you at breakfast.” Anna pulled sheet and blankets completely off the end of the bed and dropped them in a heap on the floor.

“I hate you,”

“I know,” Anna yanked on the bellpull and opened the bedroom door to leave. “Whatever it takes to get you up and fighting again.”

Thirty minutes later Frankie appeared in the dining room wearing her favorite dress, a sweet little morning gown of the palest blue that would offset the green in her eyes and manage to subdue the swelling from her tears and the red tinge of her nose.

Anna looked up, “Good morning. You look lovely.”

Frankie blew a raspberry at Anna’s comment and helped herself to a plate of breakfast. The footman placed it at the table next to Anna and returned with a steaming cup of tea.

“I’ve never known you to hide from a fight. Have you given up so entirely?”

“Given up?” Francesca paused in midstroke of her knife, blueberry preserves dangling from it and dripping off a scone. “Given up what? I don’t have anything to fight for.”

“All right, then, if that’s the way you want to play it, fine.” Anna made as if to rise from her chair. “After all, I see no reason to tax my brain if you have nothing to fight for.”

“Wait.” Francesca held up her hand and rolled her eyes when Anna smiled a quick, smug grin. “What are you thinking about?”

“First, I’m thinking that I don’t like you very much when you’re maudlin. You’re not any fun. And second, I’m thinking there must be a way to have the man you love.”

“I appreciate your pragmatism, but you know that Christian has expressly forbidden it.”

“That didn’t stop you last evening, did it?” Anna punctuated her point by popping a strawberry in her mouth. Francesca didn’t, couldn’t, answer—she merely sat staring in shock at her dearest friend. Anna smiled smugly. “I was right, then. Oh, don’t worry, no one else knows. But if you were willing to defy your brother last eve, then I see no reason to start being the obedient sister now.”

Francesca could hear her brother’s heavy step in the hall. “Christian must know nothing of this. He would have an apoplexy.”

Anna nodded to her friend, a twinkle of excitement in her eyes. “Clearly.”

“What are you two ladies up to this morning with your heads stuck together? Planning the downfall of Western civilization, I’m sure.” Christian sauntered into the dining room.

“Not Western civilization, Your Grace. Just a few men’s lives,” Anna quipped sassily.

“Lord help us all.” Christian dropped into a chair, motioning for the footman to fill a plate, and downed a cup of coffee. “Save us from beautiful and sneaky women.”

Francesca watched in fascination as her friend teased her brother, distracting him away from any hint of the conversation that had just taken place. She was quite certain her brother thought no more of the decree he had laid down the previous day. He seemed quite content in his autocratic dictatorship of her life. The anger that she should have felt earlier stirred in her stomach. Yesterday she had accepted his mandate without a single protest. And today, even though she knew Thomas did not love her, she wanted to defend her right to choose the way her life would continue.

Jones, the family’s stately butler, quietly entered the room and cleared his throat, interrupting the protest forming in her brain.

“Excuse me, Lady Belling, some flowers have arrived for you. I placed them in the sitting room.”

“Ooh, how interesting.” Anna stuffed the last of her scone in her mouth in a decidedly unladylike fashion and rose from the table.

“Wait, I’m coming.”

“Good grief, who is more excited?” Christian asked from behind a folded newspaper.

“Don’t get fresh,” Anna teased. “This could be a very important development in my scheme.”

“Scheme?” Christian choked on his coffee. “You’re not serious? My God, ladies, should I warn someone?”

Frankie rose from the table. It was a testament to Anna’s brilliance that she could so easily orchestrate such a scene and her brother would never suspect her unassuming friend.

“Never you mind. I am sure there is some horse somewhere which needs your attention,” Anna told him breezily as the ladies left the room to the sounds of him chuckling into his newspaper.

On a side table in the sitting room sat an enormous bouquet of white and yellow daisies.

“Very interesting choice.” Anna gaped at the very average bouquet.

“Yes, well, I don’t know what to say.” Frankie stared at the bunch of flowers. Curiosity got the better of her, and she plucked the card from the table.

“You may have seen them every day of your life, but look closely, you may find that they will surprise you with their beauty and grace. I am certainly taken by yours. Sometimes the greatest treasure is right under your nose all the time.”

“Oh my.” Anna took the card and reread the message. “There’s no signature. They really are quite lovely aren’t they? Not my favorite flowers, but they are certainly perfect in their way.” Anna contemplated the vase. She moved several of the blossoms around, and then, apparently happier with the arrangement, she mused aloud, “They are quite poignant in their simplicity. He really is quite romantic, isn’t he? It’s very obvious how much he loves you.”

“Who does?” Francesca asked, already knowing for certain the flowers were from Thomas. She remembered distinctly the vase full of them in his suite.

Anna looked at her like she was daft. “Well, they’re obviously from Thomas.”

Frankie plucked one of the daisies from the bunch and admired it for a moment before tearing off each petal and dropping it on the floor. “That’s just the problem, Anna. He doesn’t love me. He has never said.”

“Oh, certainly not?” Anna protested. “This letter speaks directly of his regard for you.”

Francesca exhaled in a huff. “Thomas simply can’t stomach the fact that there is something, or someone, that his good looks and charm have not been able to win for him.”

“I think you do him wrong.” Anna held the note as if to show her the evidence.

Their conversation was thwarted once again when her mother glided into the room. “There you are, Frankie. I’m glad to see you’re recovered from last evening. We have so many appointments this afternoon before we attend the opera with Lord Dalton.”

Francesca was at a momentary loss. “Appointments?”

Her mother looked at her with exasperation. “Have you suffered some sort of fall? Your wedding is in less than a fortnight. There is a fitting for your bridal trousseau, and the wedding breakfast arrangements must be finalized today.”

Francesca gave Anna a pointed look. “No, Mother, I have not forgotten. How could I possibly forget? It’s my one obligation for this family, is it not?”

The rest of the day was a blur of wedding-related activity, and Francesca was exhausted from it. She hadn’t been in any mood to chat with the featherbrained girls and their garrulous mothers while being stabbed with straight pins at the modiste’s, and she still wasn’t in any mood to sit patiently in a parlor and receive at-home visits from nonsensical, tittering debutants hoping for gossip. But there she sat, studiously schooling her face into a placid countenance. It was agony, and it wouldn’t be long before she snapped and slapped the giggle right out of one of them.

Who she really wanted to slap, of course, was Thomas, and he wasn’t allowed in her house. How dare he send her flowers. And how dare he send such cloyingly sweet flowers such as daisies with that cleverly thought-out note.

She’d moved the flowers to her room, and she told herself the reason was because she didn’t want to be forced to answer questions about them. They were unusual enough that all the ladies who visited would be sure to comment about the bouquet. But that didn’t explain why she placed the vase next to her bed or why she tucked the note under her pillow.

I hate him.
That was approximately the 1,537 time she’d thought the exact same thought since he had climbed out her bedroom window before dawn.
He’s a selfish cad to come into my life now. I waited. I pined. And he finally comes back now? I hate him.

1,538.

Lord Dalton is a good man. He’s very handsome. He’s very wealthy. He’s very kind. I like his mother and sisters. I like him. I will be very happy with him.

This litany had also been going on all day. She really was giving herself a migraine.

“Aren’t you, Frankie?”

What?
She glanced about the room and saw the expectant and inquiring faces watching her. “Pardon me.” She closed her eyes briefly and touched her hand to her temple. “I fear that my headache is returning, and I missed your question.” She opened her eyes in time to see Anna rolling hers.

“We were speaking of the opera we are attending tonight with Lord Dalton,” her mother explained. “You do look pale, Frankie. Why don’t you retire for the rest of the afternoon so that you’ll be able to enjoy this evening?”

Anna rose at the suggestion. “I’ll ask cook for a headache powder.”

Their departure from the sitting room had the effect of breaking up the group, and Francesca could hear the ladies taking their leave as she climbed the stairs. It was a relief, to be sure.

She was lying across her bed atop the coverlet, her arm thrown over her eyes, when she heard Anna enter the room. She lifted her arm when the lock click in the door.

“We’re going to finish this conversation today, uninterrupted,” Anna told her.

Francesca huffed out a breath of frustration. “Where’s the headache powder?”

“You don’t have a headache. If you do, it’s because you haven’t slept in several nights and you spend all day either scowling or crying. Oh, don’t try to deny it,” Anna scolded when Francesca tried to look hurt. “We’re running out of time, Frankie.”

“Time for what? Christian has laid my life out for me, and truth be told, one short week ago, it was a life I thought I wanted.” Francesca squinched her eyes shut to stanch the flow of tears for the millionth time. “I will marry Lord Dalton.”

Anna looked like she wanted to grab Francesca’s arms and shake her. “Frankie,” Anna began with exaggerated patience, “what are you going to do if you’re with child?”

“I’m not with child.” Her hand stole across her abdomen in a fleeting physical desire for it to be true.

“How can you be sure? Pardon my bringing it up, but you’ve been with him several times in the last few days. It is entirely possible that you are carrying his child.” Anna rose from the bed and paced the room.

“There is no way Dalton would know that it wasn’t his child,” Francesca said softly.

Anna stopped and looked at her friend aghast. “I know that you like and respect Lord Dalton too much to embarrass him in that way. He will certainly suspect something when he discovers you’re no longer a virgin and then give birth to a black-haired, brown-eyed son.”

An errant tear snaked down Francesca’s cheek. “I must marry Dalton.”

“Besides your brother’s dictatorial decree, please explain to me why?”

Francesca held up her hand and began ticking off the reasons. “The contracts have been signed. I gave my word. The banns have been read. The entire
ton
will be there…” and in a final flourish, she lifted her thumb, “…and the bloody scandal.”

“You have the opportunity to live the life you dreamed of with the man you’ve loved since childhood. An absolutely gorgeous man, I might add, who wants you. Why won’t you do something about it? Francesca, you’ve defied your brother on any number of occasions. Granted, it’s never been anything of this magnitude certainly, but still. Why won’t you go to the man who loves you?”

Francesca gave up all pretense of holding herself together and dissolved into great, snotty, blubbering tears. “Because he doesn’t love me.”“So what are you going to do?” Anna asked after Francesca finally got a hold of herself.

“My duty,” she told her with a flat, resigned voice.”

Chapter Seventeen

It was very late in the afternoon when Thomas returned from his out-of-town errand.

He was bone tired from a long day in the carriage, but his spirits were soaring. He hadn’t begun the day that way. He had not slept at all when he returned home after the tryst and the fight with Francesca. He simply couldn’t get her out of his mind. Actually, the list of frustrating causes of his insomnia was longer than just her, much longer, in fact. The cast of characters varied from Francesca to Christian to the duchess, of course his family who continued to haunt him from death, and his woman’s impending wedding to someone other than him. Oddly, the largest specter of his nightmares was the possibility that Francesca might be carrying his child. He’d not really thought it a possibility when he said it to her the previous night, but now he could think of little else.

He glanced back down at his lap and ruffled the black curly head of the sleeping mini-giant. Its brother lay across the way on the opposite velvet seat snoring loudly. The pups were only twelve weeks old, but they weighed almost two stone each, and if their feet were any indication, the dogs were going to be massive—easily as big as their uncles from the park.

He had journeyed all the way out to the country estate of the sea captain to inspect the litter. The thought of bringing Francesca a present of one of the pups had struck him when he had seen the lads in the park with the dogs the second time, when the oldest boy had mentioned that she was interested in the dogs. Thomas smiled again, thinking that the very concept of the dogs was so Francesca. These enormous, unruly beasts were vastly inappropriate for a willowy lady of the
ton
to be enamored of and yet that made them perfect for her. To Thomas, she was everything that was unexpected. Besides, if he’d learned anything about the enchanting and maddeningly adult Francesca, it was that she was probably still very angry at him.