What would Cecil think of her now? Would he approve of her method of getting help, or would he be appalled that she’d invaded Lord Edward’s home and rung a peal over him for perfectly defensible actions? Would he agree with Alconbury that she should consider quitting the search for Georgina, or would he applaud her vow to let nothing stand in her way? Would he want her to encourage Alconbury?
Alconbury was irrevocably entwined with Cecil in her mind. They had been two of a kind: genial, witty men who made her laugh and who weathered her tempers with good humor. He’d been so often at their home, Cecil declared he was more family than friend. When Cecil had gone out that last terrible morning, never to return, it had been Alconbury he took with him, and Alconbury who brought the devastating news of Cecil’s death home to her.
No one had been a stronger, steadier presence in her life than Alconbury since then. But she knew his feelings had taken a turn somewhere along the line—or perhaps had always tended in this direction—and hers had not. Selfishly, she wished they hadn’t. She wanted things to go on as they had been, even though she knew that was wistful thinking on her part, as well as unfair to Alconbury.
The crowd around her erupted in applause, and Francesca forced her mind back to it, clapping dutifully as the actors made their bows. Sally had warned her Alconbury would make his intentions clear soon, but the man himself had promised not to press the matter while she was caught up in her search. Until then, Francesca decided, she would cast her lot with Lord Edward. She knew what sort of help she could expect from Alconbury. With Lord Edward . . . anything was possible.
W
hen the knocker sounded early in the morning two days later, Francesca was sure it was Alconbury, come to demonstrate his helpfulness. He had a habit of calling on her early, even without any extra motivation. She hadn’t been able to get away from the question of his intentions at the theater; after he left her, two other acquaintances, people who didn’t know each other, had asked if he’d finally proposed. She had smiled and brushed it aside, but knew she would have to face it eventually. Sooner or later he would broach the subject, and she felt awful for wishing it would be later—or never.
Since she was in the hall, having just come downstairs, she went to answer the door herself. With such a small staff, it would be ludicrous to wait for Mrs. Hotchkiss, who was laying out breakfast, to come do it for her. She braced herself for whatever Alconbury would say today, and opened the door.
Much to her surprise, it was Lord Edward de Lacey standing on her front step instead of Henry Alconbury. “Lady Gordon,” he said with a small bow. “Might I have a few moments of your day?”
“Of—Of course,” she stammered. Good heavens; what could he want? It was unspeakably early for a call.
He stepped past her into the narrow hall. Mrs. Hotchkiss had come hurrying behind her, and now jumped to take Lord Edward’s hat. Francesca caught sight of herself in the mirror opposite the drawing room. Dear Lord, she looked like she had just rolled out of bed—which was very nearly true—with her hair almost tumbling down her back, wearing a soft and comfortable morning dress that was at least two years old, and without a spot of powder on her face. She frantically tried to smooth her hair into a neater knot, since there was nothing that could be helped about her dress or face. As she twisted a loose tendril around one finger and tucked it behind her ear, Lord Edward doffed his hat and turned to hand it to Mrs. Hotchkiss, facing the mirror. His gaze met hers in the glass, and Francesca froze. For a moment they seemed connected by that shared glance, hers wide and flustered, his thoughtful and intense.
As usual, she had no idea what he was thinking. But as his gaze seemed to trace every blushing inch of her face in the mirror, she no longer thought his eyes were cold. In fact, for a moment she thought they were exactly the opposite.
“Won’t you come in?” she said, abandoning her hair. Without waiting for a reply she turned and went into the drawing room—anything to escape that piercing gray gaze. “Please sit down.”
“Thank you.” He sat on the settee when she took the chair directly opposite it. “I apologize for not sending a note first. I happened to be nearby and acted on impulse, mindful of your desire for haste.”
“Think nothing of it, sir.” She gave him a warm smile, feeling more in control of herself. Or at least her outward demeanor; her heart, unfortunately, still thumped like a carnival drum inside her chest. When he crossed one leg over the other, his knee was very close to her own. She really ought to rearrange the furniture in here, to provide her guests more space. “I’m very much in your debt after the other day, and don’t require such formality as a note.”
“No,” he said, studying her. How did he do that, she wondered; how did he keep his face so inscrutable? She kept her own pleasant smile pasted to her lips even though it was harder than ever to maintain a facade of serenity under his regard at this close distance. He rested one hand on his knee, and the remembered sensation of his fingers around hers flashed across her mind. She had barely remarked it at the time, but now she seemed unable to forget it.
Unfortunately, while she was concentrating on her own poise, he had still been speaking. “ . . . Very much the opposite, I believe. I am still in your debt, having failed to locate a suitable solicitor, as promised.”
Francesca blinked a few times. Her brain felt slow today, as if she’d not fully woken yet. He was still in her debt? She must have missed something he said at the beginning. “Ah . . .”
He raised an eyebrow. “That is what you wished, is it not?”
“Y-Yes,” she said, thinking madly, “but—”
“You rendered me a service, and so far I have not been able to do the same for you. Personally, I found the solicitors we spoke to the other day . . .” He paused, his mouth tightening. “ . . . disappointing.”
She flushed. “Yes—”
“I have been considering your object, and, if I may, should like to make a recommendation or two.” He paused again, searching her face. “You may reject anything I say, naturally.”
She was anxious to know what he would say, but something about his demeanor put her guard up. Was he about to suggest, like Alconbury had, that she give it up? That she should believe what the solicitors were trying to tell her about her difficulties, and accept that she couldn’t win? Francesca sat up straighter, bracing herself. “Of course, sir,” she said, her voice cool even to her own ears. “I would be glad to listen to your advice.”
A faint smile touched his lips, as if he heard her unspoken addition that listening didn’t mean agreeing, but he didn’t say anything about it. “I’ve come to believe securing a solicitor first may be too tedious and slow a process. Given that your niece has disappeared and her stepmother may be contemplating removing her from London, even from England, locating her is more important than hiring a lawyer, who will only file a petition. Without the child herself, even a successful petition is useless to you.”
She narrowed her eyes. If the court approved her petition, surely they would force Ellen to produce Georgina. “Go on.”
“Once you locate her, you are in a far superior position. I believe you said the stepmother has no legal claim to the child, either? And she is aware you are planning to contest her care?” Francesca nodded at his arched brow. “Then she will know it looks bad that she’s taken the child and left you no word. If we can locate them, she may be willing to listen to reason, and negotiate a solution to everyone’s problems.”
Francesca digested this in silence for a moment. One thing she had to concede: he wasn’t at all suggesting she give up. But what he
was
saying . . . “I’m afraid Ellen hasn’t shown much interest in negotiating with me.”
“And yet you can be so persuasive,” he murmured.
She didn’t let her expression change even though she could feel the warmth blooming in her cheeks again. She would never live down her first impulsive visit to him, apparently. “I have
tried
to speak reasonably with her. I don’t always lose my temper and corner people in their homes, you know.” He seemed to find that amusing, from the way his eyes lit and his mouth crooked just a bit. She had to bite back a smile in return, relieved that he was amused. “I first offered to take Georgina just before the twins were born. I thought Ellen would be relieved at having one less child to care for. Instead she grew very upset and said she couldn’t think about it then. I said nothing and let it go. The next time I visited, I found Ellen in tears, with laundry hung all about the house, the two babies wailing in concert, and Georgina hiding under the stairs with her fingers in her ears.” She paused, wondering what Georgina was enduring now. “I may have been a bit more insistent that time in my offer, but Ellen simply refused to listen, and asked me to leave. We’ve barely exchanged a civil word since, and the last several times I called she wouldn’t even let me see Georgina.”
He tilted his head back and looked at her for a moment. “But what did you offer her?”
Francesca’s mouth firmed. “Nothing! She knew Georgina’s father wanted me to raise her, but she refused to let me take her.”
“Then why has she refused to give up the girl? She has contravened her late husband’s express wishes, at no small burden to herself. Why?”
She saw what he was getting at. “I believe she is dependent on the annual maintenance for Georgina’s care, to run the household. It isn’t a large sum, but her husband was almost destitute at his death, and left her nothing in the way of a widow’s portion. Her useless brother Percival refuses to take employment because he is an ‘artist,’ even though he lives with them and might be expected to help support the household. I do know they left their last lodgings after falling behind on the rent.”
Lord Edward’s smile was vaguely victorious, but not unkind. “Then you know what could persuade Mrs. Haywood.”
Francesca closed her eyes for a second against her instinctive urge to refuse. “Are you suggesting,” she said with forced calm, “that I
buy
my niece from her?”
His chin dipped and his eyes grew a little cooler. “Rather blunt language, but in a way, yes. I am.”
Her first instinct was to laugh; he must be joking. Her second instinct was more profane, and would have branded her no lady if she said it out loud. Buy Georgina? Reward Ellen for stealing her niece by giving her money? She’d rather stack the banknotes in the fireplace and burn them one by one. “I’m not sure I can agree to that,” she said in a frigid voice. It was the politest response she could make.
“I understand it might look like appeasement,” he said. “Or certainly not the appropriate consequence for her actions. But I assure you, a legal battle will cost you a great deal of money. Would you rather give the money to a solicitor, who may not win your case in the end and whose tactics may forever embitter this stepmother against you, or give it to the stepmother, in exchange for her promise—legally binding, of course—to relinquish all claim to the girl?”
It sounded so reasonable when he put it that way, which Francesca found wildly annoying. She didn’t want to be reasoned into bribing Ellen. She wanted Ellen punished, or at least judged by a court to be in the wrong. Her hands balled into fists in her lap. “I would have to think about it,” she said. For a very, very long time.
“Of course.” He was unperturbed by her distinct lack of enthusiasm. “In the meantime, since I have failed to locate a suitable solicitor, may I see to hiring an investigator? The child must be located before anything else can be accomplished.”
That also sounded reasonable, and fortunately was more in accord with her feelings. Thank God he had given her some sort of acceptable suggestion. “Thank you, yes. You must be sure to send me the bill, though.”
He smiled. “Naturally, Lady Gordon. I have not forgotten you don’t want charity.”
She looked down at her hands, still clenched together, and took a deep breath, then let it out slowly. She must be more appreciative; he had done more than she asked him to do, and was offering further assistance. Just because she didn’t like his advice didn’t mean it had no value, and certainly she should be appropriately grateful it was offered at all. “I will consider your other suggestion as well. I am very grateful for your thought on the matter.”
“I realize it must go against your every inclination,” he said. “I’m aware that you’ve been quite . . . dismayed by Mrs. Haywood’s actions. But the only thing that matters is the result. You’re willing to spend the money already; why not try a more direct path to your goal? And once you have the girl and the stepmother has waived all claim, your case will be far, far more likely to succeed in court. It would be a simple matter for any solicitor to file a petition for you then.”
She rolled her lower lip between her teeth. “It certainly couldn’t make it harder,” she muttered.
“It was a difficult undertaking from the beginning,” he agreed. “Wittiers acknowledged he would have considered it a challenge to win.”
“I know,” she said on a sigh, then frowned in bemusement. “You spoke to James Wittiers about me?”
Lord Edward’s face changed, as if he regretted telling her that. He sat back in his chair, looking stiff and aloof again. She hadn’t even realized he’d leaned toward her as they spoke. “I hoped to discover what merit he had seen that other solicitors had not. I asked his professional opinion of your case—”
Francesca smiled ruefully. “I’m sure I don’t want to know what he said.”
He paused for a moment, giving her a sharp, uncertain look, then cleared his throat. “Not much. He thought it would be difficult, but not impossible, to win in court. That led me to consider how you might get what you want without going to court at all. Whether you succeed in court, or simply remove any obstacle to your desire, the result is the same.”
Francesca was struck speechless. She’d thought she had to follow the rules to get what she wanted. Alconbury had assured her it was a job for a solicitor, and she believed a court appointment as Georgina’s custodian was the surest, best way to protect her niece. It never occurred to her to scheme and manipulate events to get Georgina. It never would have occurred to her that Lord Edward, cool and proper aristocrat, would suggest she do so.
Although that’s exactly what she had done to get Lord Edward’s help. No wonder he was amused at her resistance now. It was pure stubbornness on her part, she knew. She didn’t want Ellen to profit in any way from her treachery, let alone profit directly from her own purse. But if she looked at it coldly, and a bit more calmly, she realized Lord Edward was right. Having Georgina back would far outweigh the grudge she bore Ellen Haywood, eventually. Money was behind Ellen’s actions, and money, in large enough quantity, would pry Georgina out of her clutches. And it would certainly be faster than waiting for the courts to take up any petition.
She looked at Lord Edward with new awareness. Perhaps she’d been luckier than she knew when he whisked Wittiers away from her. Her reckless gamble in confronting him had certainly borne far more fruit than she had expected. His proposal wasn’t at all what she had planned to do or asked of him, but instinctively she felt it was a better plan. She had tried to go about it so properly, when perhaps what she needed was a bit of ruthless manipulation.