Page 28 of The Courtship Dance

“I think he will be pleased when he sees these dresses on you.”

Harriet smiled. “Good. I should enjoy not feeling like such a wallflower. Do you think it is possible that I will get asked to dance next time when we go to a ball? Will we go to a ball?”

“Of course. A number of them. There are several weeks left in the Season. And once my friends Sir Lucien and the Duke of Rochford have asked you to dance, I do not think that you will remain a wallflower.”

“The duke!” Harriet exclaimed, paling, her eyes opening wide. “You think the duke will dance with me?”

“I shall make sure that he does.”

“Oh, no, my lady, I daren’t dance with someone like him. I shall be sure to trip or step on his foot, and then I shall just drop from embarrassment.”

“Nonsense. The duke is an excellent dancer. He will make certain you do not.”

“It is not him I am worried about,” the girl told her earnestly. “What If I make a fool of myself? I haven’t the least idea how to speak to a duke. I would be in jitters, I am sure.”

“You will have a chance to converse with him at my party, and after that he will not seem so fearsome.”

Harriet looked unconvinced. “He is so well-bred. I’ve never seen any man who looked half as elegant, no matter what he wore.”

“That is true,” Francesca allowed. Even in a jacket of blue superfine and fawn trousers, Rochford would outshine any man in a formal black coat and breeches. There was simply something about the way he carried himself.

“And he’s dreadfully handsome,” Harriet went on. “Like Lucifer himself, I thought, with that black hair and those black eyes. Don’t you think so, Lady Haughston?”

“Yes. He is a very attractive man.”

“And a duke…I am sure he is not accustomed to listening to someone like me.”

“But he isn’t at all high in the instep,” Francesca assured her. “He treats everyone with respect. I have seen him talk to his tenants and servants with great civility. He is not arrogant or unkind. Ask your father.”

“Papa thinks him an admirable gentleman. He told me so when he came back from Tattersall’s that day. It was the duke who recommended to Papa that he come see you.”

“Really?” Francesca turned, startled. “He did not mention that to me.”

“Oh, yes. Papa could not believe how generous he was, especially given that he had only just met him.”

“The duke is quite generous—and he is an excellent judge of character. I am sure he took your father’s measure instantly and decided that he was worthy of his friendship.”

Despite her words of assurance to Harriet, Francesca could not help but be taken aback by the duke’s directing Sir Alan her way. She supposed Sir Alan must have brought up the matter of his daughter’s lack of success, although it seemed a rather peculiar topic for two gentlemen at Tattersall’s. But even if they were discussing the matter, she was surprised that the duke would even think to tell the man to ask her for her help.

She was glad he had, of course—but she could not rid herself of the notion that it almost seemed as though Rochford had been going out of his way to help her in her endeavors.

But no, surely not. He did not know about her financial straits. No one did. She had done her utmost to hide her struggles with money all these years. Besides, even if Rochford had somehow guessed that she was skirting the edge of poverty and had also realized that she was using her skills to stave off that threat, there was no reason for him to try to help her.

No. The idea was absurd. It must be that Sir Alan had raised the subject in some manner, and Rochford had simply mentioned her because of what she had done for his cousin Gideon. No more than that.

To change the subject from the vaguely disquieting one of Rochford, Francesca asked, “What do you hope to achieve this Season?”

“I’m not sure what you mean.” Harriet frowned. “I would like to enjoy it. And I would like for Papa to be happy. He so wants me to have a good Season.”

“Are you hoping to find a husband?” Sir Alan had told her that marriage was not the goal of their efforts, but Francesca was not sure that the father knew the extent of his daughter’s wishes in the matter.

A blush stained the girl’s cheekbones. “Oh, no, Lady Haughston. I do not care—That is…well, I do not think I am the sort to marry a lord or anyone like that. I have no desire to live in London or to—to participate in the social whirl of the ton. I am a country girl at heart. I enjoy the Assemblies and calling on the people I know there. Taking baskets to Papa’s tenants when they are sick. Asking after people’s children and grandchildren. That is the sort of life I like. It is what I am suited for. I have little desire to leave Papa. And…” She hesitated, her blush deepening. “There is a boy—the squire’s son. They live not far away. I know Papa likes him, although he tells me I could look higher.”

“Ah, I see.” Francesca nodded. “But you don’t wish to look higher.”

Harriet nodded, grateful for the sophisticated woman’s understanding. “That is it, exactly. His name is Tom, and I have known him all my life. He used to be—oh, such a nuisance, teasing me and telling ghost stories to frighten me. But last year, the first time I went to the Assembly, we danced—and it was entirely different. He is ever so much nicer, and when he comes to call, we talk about all sorts of things, and I cannot wait until the next time he comes. It is so odd. I know him well, and yet he is like someone I’ve just met. Do you know what I mean?”

“Yes,” Francesca told her, and her smile was bittersweet. “I know just what you mean.”