Page 23 of The Courtship Dance

Harriet and her father rose to leave not long afterwards. As Francesca and Harriet stood making arrangements for the shopping expedition the following day, the butler appeared in the doorway to announce another visitor.

“His Grace, the Duke of Rochford, my lady,” Fenton intoned.

Francesca turned toward the door, startled to see Rochford standing in the hallway behind her butler. Her stomach tightened, and she could feel a blush rising up her throat. She hardly knew what to say or think as memories of the evening before flooded in on her. In the space of a single instant she veered from embarrassment at the thought of his kiss to pain from the angry words he had thrown at her to an answering anger of her own.

“Rochford. I—I did not expect you. I—oh, forgive me.” Belatedly, she remembered her other guests. “Pray allow me to introduce you to Sir Alan Sherbourne and his daughter, Miss Harriet Sherbourne. Sir Alan, the Duke of Rochford.”

To her surprise, Sir Alan smiled and said, “Thank you, Lady Haughston, but the duke and I have met. Good to see you again.”

“Sir Alan.” The duke nodded to the other man, explaining to Francesca, “Sir Alan and I met the other day at Tattersall’s.” The horse sales were conducted every Monday, and had become a favorite congregating place for men of all ranks.

“Yes, and his Grace was kind enough to advise me against buying a certain hunter that I had my eye on.”

“I had knowledge of him, you see. Good-looking animal, but no go in him.” The duke turned toward Harriet, saying, “But until now I have not had the pleasure of meeting your daughter, Sir Alan.” He nodded. “Miss Sherbourne.”

Harriet, who was rather goggling at the duke, hastily curtsied, a blush spreading along her cheeks. “An honor, Your Grace.”

Sir Alan and Harriet then took their leave, with Sir Alan once again expressing his gratitude to Francesca. After they were gone, the duke turned back to her.

“One of your projects?” he asked her, raising an eyebrow.

“I have decided to take an interest in Miss Sherbourne, yes,” Francesca replied a little stiffly, not sure how to respond to him.

It seemed unlikely that he would have come to expound on his dislike of her actions, but neither was it reasonable that he would have abandoned his anger this quickly. Even if he had, Francesca thought, she was not inclined to ignore the way he had railed at her just the night before.

“I came to apologize,” he told her now, coming straight to the point. “I have no excuse for how I acted last night. I can only hope that your good nature will lead you to forgive me.”

“Some would say that appealing to my better nature would fall on deaf ears,” Francesca retorted crisply, but she could not help but be disarmed by his apology.

He smiled. “Anyone who could say that obviously does not know you.”

“I did not mean to upset you, you know,” she told him. “I wanted to make up for my mistakes, not commit a new one.”

“You are not to blame for my reaction.” He shrugged. “I fear that I am a trifle sensitive on the subject of marrying. My grandmother has taken me to task for it far too many times, as has Aunt Odelia.”

“Oh, dear. I hate to hear that I am behaving like a grandmother or great-aunt.” She had no interest in staying angry with Rochford. And she certainly did not want to get into the matter of his kiss! No, better to gracefully let go of the whole matter.

“I hope that you will accept a ride through the park as an adequate peace offering,” he went on. “It is a lovely May day out.”

He had surprised her again. Francesca could not remember when she had ridden out alone with Rochford—well, yes, she could. It had been when they were engaged so long ago. But better not to think of that.

“Yes,” she told him with a smile. “That sounds delightful.”

A few minutes later he was handing her up into his high perch phaeton, a fashionable vehicle with a seat so far from the ground that Francesca would have felt alarmed had any less notable a whip than Rochford been handling the horses.

He climbed up beside her and took the reins, and they set off. She could not deny an unaccustomed bubbling of excitement inside her. Though she was used to being admired by many gentlemen and was not averse to a little light flirtation, she rarely accepted any man’s invitation to ride through the park. It was her practice not to allow even so small a step toward courtship.

It was a rather heady experience to be sitting up this high, and there was a certain added fillip of danger without any need to be scared. There was no one better at handling a team than Rochford.

They did not talk much as they made their way through the city streets, for the traffic made it necessary for him to concentrate on keeping his powerful team in hand. Francesca did not mind. Frankly, it was taking her a bit of time to adjust to the feelings that were running through her.

She and Rochford had often driven through Hyde Park when they were engaged. When she had come to London for her first Season, she had missed him terribly, for she had been accustomed to seeing him almost every day in the country. They had ridden together, and strolled in the gardens at Redfields and Dancy Park, and gone on long rambles through the countryside. When he had come to call on her at Redfields, no one had watched them too closely, and it had been easy enough to talk together and to exchange glances, perhaps even for his hand to brush against hers.

But once they were in London, all that had changed. They were surrounded by people everywhere. There were always callers in Francesca’s drawing room and crowds of people at parties, other men vying for the opportunity to dance with her or escort her to the opera. She had felt alone and frustrated, and she had looked forward to the times when the duke took her for a drive.

Of course, they had had to be circumspect about the number of times they went to the park and the length of time they stayed. Any excessive attention on Rochford’s part would have been fuel for rumors. But Francesca had felt happier on those rides than at any other time during that Season.

Memories of those long ago moments rushed in upon her now, nearly taking her breath away. It was the same time of year, with the same feel in the air, the same caress of the sun on their backs. Francesca could not help but remember how excitement had surged up in her on those drives, the breathless joy she had felt just sitting beside Rochford.