The Wedding Challenge (9 page)

“Looking dark as thunder, too,” Maisie added. “Fenton didn’t dare tell him you were not receiving yet, so he set him in the front drawing room. The way he looked, though, we had better make quick work out of getting you ready or he’ll be up here, knocking on your door.”

“Do not worry,” Francesca assured her. “The duke would never commit such a vulgar breach of etiquette, even if the house were burning. He would say, ‘Pray tell your mistress that there is a slight problem with a fire downstairs.’”

Maisie giggled as she pulled out a simple morning dress and held it out for Francesca. “If you say so, my lady, but I warn you, he’s looking that grim.”

Francesca sighed. She had a sinking feeling that Rochford would not approve of Callie’s notion of staying with her, even until the Season began. Despite what Callie had told her, she had never gotten the impression that Rochford would regard her as a proper chaperone for his younger sister. Indeed, if anyone had asked her how the duke viewed her, she would have said that she imagined he found her frivolous. Rochford had always held a weightier view of the world than she.

Francesca washed her face and slipped into the dress her maid had chosen, then let Maisie quickly brush her hair and twist it up into a simple knot. It was not her usual sort of toilette before receiving callers, and she hated to appear anything but her best before Rochford, but it could not be helped.

She found the duke standing at the window of the drawing room, staring out into the street, his hands linked behind his back. His dark blue coat and fawn trousers were as impeccable as ever, his Weston boots as polished, his cravat as expertly tied, his short black hair as neatly cut and styled, but the face he turned to her was, as Maisie had reported, grim, and his dark eyes beneath the sharp black brows were worried.

“Rochford. Good morning,” she said, coming forward to give him her hand.

“I apologize for the early hour, Lady Francesca,” he replied stiffly, moving to her and bowing over her hand.

“Do not worry. I realize that you are…concerned.” She sat down and waved him toward the sofa that faced her chair.

“Yes.” His jaw tightened. “I—I trust that Lady Calandra is well.”

“Oh, yes. She is still asleep. I thought it best if you and I had a discussion together first.”

He nodded, avoiding her eyes as he said, “I appreciate the note you sent. I would have been most worried this morning if I had not already known that she was safe and sound at your house.”

Francesca knew that it was an indication of the duke’s inner turmoil that he, usually the most urbane and smoothest of conversationalists, was speaking in such a stiff and uncomfortable way. She could not help but feel a rush of sympathy for the man.

Before she could speak, he went on, “It was very good of you to take her in, and I must apologize for her imposing on your good nature in this way.”

“Nonsense,” Francesca told him firmly. “It was not an imposition, and Callie is always welcome in my home. I am very glad that she felt she could come to me.”

His expression grew even more wooden, if that was possible, as he said, “I presume that Callie told you that she and I…had a disagreement.”

“She did.”

He looked over at her, seemed about to speak, then released a sigh and let himself sag back against the sofa. “The devil take it, Francesca,” he said gruffly. “I think I have misstepped badly with the girl.”

“Yes, you may have.”

He cut his eyes toward her, and for a moment amusement lifted his features, so that he looked more himself. “My dear Francesca, you might at least have made a pretense of protesting my admission of incompetence.”

Francesca chuckled. “Ah, but what would be the point in that?”

She leaned across to him, putting her hand on his arm sympathetically. “Do not worry. I am sure that you have not ruined yourself with your sister. Callie clearly loves you, and it worries
her,
too, that you and she were at odds.”

“I hope you are right,” he replied with more fervor than he normally showed. “I know that I was too severe. I handled the whole thing badly. I wanted only to protect her.”

Francesca shrugged. “I have been told by Dom that that is simply the way brothers are. It is very nice at times. I can tell you that as a sister. I can also tell you that there are moments when a brother’s protectiveness can be excessively annoying. Callie is a levelheaded young woman, you know, nor is she just out of the schoolroom. I am sure that she would not do anything foolish.”

“It was not Callie I did not trust,” Rochford retorted darkly. “It was the man with her.”

Francesca frowned. “Who was it that was so terrible? Callie thought that he was an eligible young gentleman.”

He started to speak, then glanced at her and just as quickly looked away. “I suppose he is. But he does not wish me well, I think.” He shook his head, as though dismissing it all. “It was nothing, really. It was just that when I saw him there with her…Well, I may have spoken too harshly. I can only hope that Callie will not hold it against me forever.”

“I am sure she will not.” Francesca answered almost absently, her mind busy picking over the fact that he had not given her the man’s name.

Why was Sinclair reluctant to reveal the man’s identity? She cast about for someone who was known to be an enemy to Rochford, but, quite frankly, she could not come up with anyone. Rochford was not the sort of man whom anyone wanted to cross. Indeed, people were typically much more interested in currying favor with him than setting him against them. And, actually, he had not said that the man was an enemy, only that he did not think the man wished him well.

All she could think was that, in that typically masculine and very annoying way, Rochford felt that whatever was wrong with the man was something he deemed too indelicate for feminine ears. It was, she thought, easy to see why Callie had become irritated.

“I have a thought,” she offered. “Something that might help you and Callie to…get over this little rough patch.”

“Indeed.” He turned his eyes on her somewhat warily.

Francesca laughed. “Do not look at me with such suspicion, I beg you. ’Tis nothing terrible. I invited Callie to stay here in London with me, at least until the Season starts. Indeed, through the Season, if it is all right with you or you do not wish to return to London for the whole time. I think that Callie is a little bored at Marcastle, and the duchess…well…”

She trailed off, and Rochford could not keep from grinning. “Ah, yes, the duchess.”

“Callie is a lively young girl, and I am sure it must be tiring for the duchess to have to look after her,” Francesca continued diplomatically. “And Callie, while she appreciates all that her grandmother has done for her, chafes a bit under her control, I think.”

“Yes, I know, and it is no wonder. Grandmother rarely finds a situation that she cannot worsen by lecturing. I know she has been wearing on Callie’s nerves this winter. I have no idea why she took it into her head to spend so long with us instead of taking the waters at Bath with her friends.”

“She is, it seems, growing anxious about Callie’s unmarried state.”

Rochford let out a groan. “She is enough to make a person swear off marriage altogether just to spite her.” He cast Francesca a faintly abashed look. “You will think me ungrateful, I know, to speak in such a way about her, after she has done so much for Callie and me—taking us on when she should have been settling down to a well-deserved old age of leisure. But one cannot live one’s life according to her dictates.”

“Do not expect sympathy from me, Rochford. You know my parents,” Francesca responded lightly. “Still, as devoted and dutiful as I know the duchess to be, I think she would welcome a little respite from chaperoning a lively young woman. I, on the other hand, would welcome the company. The city is always dull at this time of year. Callie and I could visit the shops and attend the theater. It will be ever so much more enjoyable to have someone with me.”

The duke narrowed his eyes as he looked at her. “Did my sister put you up to this?”

Francesca laughed. “You are far too suspicious. Of course Callie is not averse to the scheme, but I can assure you that I would very much enjoy her company, as well. Sometimes it is a trifle lonely here by myself.”

He gazed at her consideringly. Then, somewhat to Francesca’s surprise, he shrugged and said, almost offhandedly, “Of course, if you and Callie wish it, I am quite willing for her to stay with you. You know, despite what Callie may have said, she does not really have to obtain my permission to visit a friend for a few weeks. She is, after all, over twenty-one. And I am not a tyrant.”

“I am sure you are not,” Francesca replied, then added, with the charming little catlike grin that was her trademark, “But do not forget, I have known you long enough to point out that you can be a trifle, shall we say, imperious?”

“Oh, really?” His straight black brows soared upward. “I challenge you to produce an example of it.”

“I could produce a hundred of them,” she retorted. “I remember when I was ten and rode my pony onto your drive and frightened that horrid peacock that used to parade about the front lawn of your house. And you told me that Dancy Park was your land, and you would not have me disturbing your bird.”

“Good Gad, I had forgotten about that peacock,” he said, and laughed. “Damned noisy thing. Did I really say that? I am surprised I did not cheer you on. Well, if you are going to dig back so far for examples, I should point out that you were a rag-mannered child, and I am sure that if I told you what to do, you no doubt needed to be told.”

Francesca protested, laughing, and they were bantering in this lighthearted way when Callie came hurrying into the room. She stopped, taking in the scene, and smiled with relief.

When the maid had brought in her tea and toast and had told her that the duke was downstairs this early in the morning, Callie had feared the worst. Dreading the prospect of another scene with Rochford, but determined not to allow Francesca to bear the brunt of his displeasure, she had dressed as quickly as she could and almost run down to the drawing room. Now, surveying the tableau before her, she told herself that she should have remembered that Lady Francesca was an expert at turning almost any social disaster into a triumph. No doubt charming an irate duke was an easy task for her.

“Hallo, Rochford,” Callie said a little shyly, still feeling a bit uneasy with him after their argument the night before, and entered the room.

He turned, smiling, at her voice. “Callie, my dear.”

A knot in Callie’s chest untwined, and she went to her brother, holding out her hands to him. “Oh, Sinclair, I am sorry for leaving the house like that last night. I am sure I worried you and Grandmother, and I should not have.”

He took her hands in his and smiled down into her face. “Your grandmother does not even know about it. The footman brought me the note from Lady Haughston as soon as he received it, so I knew you were here and safe. I told the footman to inform your maid not to awaken you this morning, and I went to your room and retrieved your note. Then I left this morning before the duchess came down to breakfast. She will doubtless be somewhat surprised to find that you decided to accompany me on such an early call, but…” He shrugged and looked down at the dress that Francesca had lent her the evening before. “So unless you think that Grandmother will recognize that this dress is not yours, there should be no problem.”

“One muslin morning dress is much like any other,” Callie replied. “If she should notice, I will simply tell her that I had forgotten and left it at Lilles House last Season, and that is why she has not seen it on me recently.”

“Clever minx.” The duke grinned down at her fondly. “I suppose your ease in fabricating tales should make me nervous. But I think I will choose to ignore it. Now, Lady Francesca tells me that she has been good enough to invite you to stay with her until the Season starts. I told her I felt sure that you would enjoy that.”

“Yes, I should, very much,” Callie replied, smiling broadly. “I like Marcastle, but…”

“I know, I know, country life is beginning to pall. It is certainly all right with me if you stay here, though I must warn Lady Francesca that you will drag her through every shop on Bruton Street.”

“Indeed, you wrong me!” Callie objected, but she was laughing.

“Well, you had best get on your cloak and bonnet so that we can go home and you can set to packing for your visit. No doubt you will also have a list for the housekeeper of things that she must send in addition.”

“Oh, no,” Callie retorted. “I shall simply purchase new things.”

With another sparkling grin, she turned and left the room, hurrying on light feet back upstairs. Rochford turned to Francesca.

“Do not say I did not warn you.”

“I think that I will be able to hold my own when it comes to shopping,” Francesca responded, smiling.

“Callie has her own allowance, and she can draw on her monies for clothes and such,” he told her. “But, of course, I will direct my man of business to provide an adequate amount for her household expenses.”

Francesca stiffened. She could feel a flush rising in her cheeks.
Was it possible that Rochford suspected her financial straits? Had he guessed how perilously close to destitution Lord Haughston had left her when he died five years ago? How closely she still skated to the edge of poverty, eking out a living from the “gifts” given her by grateful parents for guiding their daughters through the dangerous shoals of the Season?