Page 27 of The Courtship Dance

Francesca tore her eyes away from his. Struggling to keep her voice even, she said, “There are—I did consider two more women. They are both older than the others.”

“Indeed?” The odd note was missing from his voice now; he spoke in his usual dry, faintly amused tone. “And who are these ancients?”

“Lady Mary Calderwood, Lord Calderwood’s eldest daughter. She is, I think, somewhere in her midtwenties. And Lady Edwina de Winter, Lord de Winter’s widow. She is a trifle older than that. Lady Mary is quite intelligent, I believe, though a bit shy. It is for that reason that I did not include her earlier.”

“I will be happy to meet both of them,” he told her. “Now, tell me, how do you propose I interview these candidates? Do you plan to stage a house party for all of them, as you did with Gideon? It is rather handy, I must say, collecting them all in one spot. Though I am not so sure that I should want to have to make my choice at the end of the two weeks.”

“No, I see no need for that. There were special circumstances, as you know, with Lord Radbourne, which hardly apply in this case. It is not necessary, anyway. It is the Season, after all, and everyone is here in London. I am sure it will not be difficult to arrange for you to meet them while you are out and about. Although…” She paused, thinking. “Why don’t you come to the party that I am holding for Sir Alan’s daughter next week? Your presence there would help establish Harriet in Society, and at the same time you would have a chance to talk with Lady Damaris and the others.”

“Very efficient of you.”

Francesca shot him a wary glance, not sure what his dry tone indicated. But he only smiled at her and added, “I will put myself in your hands. I am sure that you will come up with the perfect woman for me.”

“I shall do my best,” she answered.

“Good. Then let us move on to more amusing topics. Have you heard about Sir Hugo Walden’s challenge to Lord Berry’s youngest?”

“To race their curricles?” Francesca chuckled. “I had indeed. I was told it ended with Sir Hugo landing in a henhouse.”

Rochford laughed. “No, no, that was some poor parson who got caught between them on the road. Sir Hugo wound up in the duck pond, I believe.”

The rest of the drive passed in cheerful conversation, talking of the latest gossip and dissecting the political news, then moving on to the changes that Francesca’s brother was instituting at Redfields. The awkwardness that had cropped up during their earlier conversation fled entirely, and Francesca found herself laughing and chatting freely.

It had been a long time, she thought, since she had spoken with Rochford with such a lack of restraint. In her earlier years, he had been not only the man she loved, but also a close friend. It had been the absence of his companionship as much as her shattered heart that had darkened the first years without him. She did not know that she had ever felt the same closeness and affection with anyone else.

Perhaps they could be friends again now, she thought, when he had returned her to her house. She went to the window of the drawing room, which looked out onto the street, and watched him climb back up onto the high seat of the phaeton. She found her eyes lingering on his long, leanly muscled legs and on his strong hands, masterfully taking up the reins again.

There could be more afternoons like this, more conversation and laughter, now that the barriers of the past had fallen. She no longer carried the hurt of his betrayal, and he—well, he must have lost most of his anger, coming back to her and apologizing as he had done today.

They could work together on finding him a wife, she told herself. And when she had done that, she would have rid herself of the guilt she felt. She would have helped him find happiness. He would have a wife and children. And she would have his friendship.

Then why, she wondered, as she watched him drive away, did she feel such a strange emptiness inside?

CHAPTER SEVEN

FRANCESCA WAS VERY busy during the course of the next week, helping Harriet with her wardrobe and planning for the party. She had decided to throw a small soiree. Nothing too grand, where everyone would get lost in the crowd, nor too elegant, where everyone would feel stiff. The guest list was the major consideration. She must invite women important enough to ease Harriet’s way in Society, but none so rigid that they would disapprove of the girl’s frank and open manner. The party itself, of course, must be both enjoyable and memorable, not only for Harriet’s sake, but also for her own reputation as a hostess. On the other hand, she could not allow it to overshadow Harriet.

As far as Rochford went, at least, little would be required. She had no doubt that anyone she invited would attend, and no eligible young woman would balk at being put in the duke’s company.

The following day Francesca threw off the odd, rather unsettling sense of sadness that had befallen her the evening before. She was in her element planning a party, and it was doubly enjoyable when there was no need to consider the expense. She was soon ensconced at her desk, making lists and menus.

She broke off that afternoon to go shopping with Harriet, another occupation that was among her favorites. Having been given free rein by Sir Alan, she was able to plunge into the search for clothes without any qualms.

They spent much of the afternoon at her favorite modiste’s, and by the time they left, Harriet had acquired three new evening gowns, four day dresses and a walking dress, as well as a charming new pelisse. And since Mlle. du Plessis, her eyes shining with delight at the large order, suggested to Francesca that she might have the sea-green gown she had been considering for an even lower price, Francesca had been unable to resist purchasing the evening gown for herself, as well.

She did, however, refrain from buying a new bonnet when they visited the millinery shop, even though she found a delightful chip straw hat with a blue lining that brought out the dark blue of her eyes. Her maid had redecorated her bonnet from last year with a different satin ribbon and a clump of bright red cherries, and it would do well enough for this summer. Still, she could not keep from casting a last wistful look back at the hat as they left the store.

However, it was almost as much fun to shop for another as for herself, and Francesca threw herself into acquiring the remainder of the items necessary for Harriet’s transformation. Next stop was the shoemaker’s, for the slippers necessary for two of Harriet’s new evening gowns, as well as a pair of half boots. They followed their shoe purchases with a trip to Grafton’s, where they could acquire a new kerseymere shawl to replace the rather outdated one given Harriet by her grandmother, as well as other such necessary items as handkerchiefs, gloves and accessories for the girl’s hair. Francesca was also pleased to find a satin band precisely the same color as the sea-green gown she had just purchased, which would make a perfect fillet for her hair. She might even, she thought, add a few false pearls to it.

They finished up their expedition with a trip to Gunter’s for a lemon ice before they returned, weary and well-pleased with themselves, to Francesca’s house, the boxes from Grafton’s and the milliner’s piled onto the seats of the carriage. The shoes and dresses, of course, would not be ready for several days, though Mlle. du Plessis had promised that one of Harriet’s evening gowns would be given utmost priority, so she could have it by the day of Francesca’s party the next week.

“I hope your father will not mind the bills when they arrive,” Francesca commented, a trifle worried that perhaps she had been too extravagant on Harriet’s behalf. Sir Alan had seemed quite unconcerned about the cost, but she was not entirely sure that a gentleman accustomed to living in the country was fully aware of the sort of expenses they would be running up.

“Oh, no,” Harriet assured her. “He isn’t at all closefisted. Particularly about the expenses for my Season. He did not turn a hair at what Grandmama spent, even though I must say I thought the dresses were vastly overpriced, considering the way they looked. They seemed dowdy to me, and when I saw the other girls at the parties, I knew that I had the right of it.”

“I am sure your grandmother is accustomed to an older style.”

Harriet nodded. “I don’t mean to speak badly of her, my lady. She is good-hearted. But she tires easily, and she finds shopping and parties exhausting. Also, I fear the mantua-maker she uses is simply not as talented as Mademoiselle du Plessis. And more expensive, as well. I could tell that even Papa was a bit disappointed in how I looked in my wardrobe—though, of course, he is far too good to say anything.”