Page 55 of The Courtship Dance

“Of course! Who else would I be talking about? Do you have some other poor young woman dangling on a string?”

Francesca’s interest rose even higher at the mention of Lady Mary, and she inspected the young man more carefully.

“I was not aware that I had Lady Mary ‘dangling,’ let alone any other. Perhaps you would be so kind as to tell me what you are talking about.”

“I’m talking about your pursuit of her. Oh, do not think that I have not heard about it. Rumors reach even into the sacred halls of the church.”

“Yes. No doubt. So these rumors that have reached you in the church…”

“Do not sneer at me!” Browning flared, color flaming in his cheeks. “Just because you are wealthy and powerful does not make you a better man. It does not give you the right to push me aside with a laugh.”

“No, you are quite correct,” Rochford replied. “Indeed, I was not sneering at you. I am, I admit, somewhat taken aback, however, by your, um, ferocity.”

“No doubt you thought you would have a clear path to the lady. But I, sir, stand in your way.”

“So I see.” Rochford put his hand to his lips, and Francesca suspected that he was firmly suppressing a smile at the young man’s florid manner of speech.

“Lady Mary loves me! She and I are to be wed. We have promised each other. I know it was not before the church, and that her father disapproves. But in her heart, I know that she considers it as sacred a vow as I do. This is her father’s doing, I know. He is pushing her to marry you.”

Then Rochford had already asked Lady Mary to wed! Francesca felt as if a great hand had reached into her chest and squeezed her heart.

“My dear Mr. Browning,” Rochford said, “as enlightening as all this is, I fear that I must move the conversation along. You have caught me in the middle of tea, you see.”

“Oh, yes, I see!” the young man retorted, and he turned a flashing gaze on Francesca. “Consorting with your lightskirts while my sweet Mary—”

Francesca’s eyes widened at the man’s description of her, and she started to protest, but Rochford had taken a step forward and fixed Browning with a hard look that shut up even that wordy young man.

“I will make allowances for your poor manners because it is clear that you have been driven to some disorder of the mind by your affection for Lady Mary. However, I assure you that you will not malign this lady, either in my presence or elsewhere. Is that clear?”

“Y-yes.” Browning swallowed and took a step back. His gaze flickered over to Francesca, and he murmured, “My apologies, ma’am.”

Francesca inclined her head regally. She was too interested in the conversation to spend any time discussing this side issue.

“Now, as to your…problem with me,” Rochford continued. “Are you aware that I invited you to visit me tomorrow morning?”

“I knew it. I presume that it is your intention to inform me of your engagement to Lady Mary. But what kind of man do you take me for, to think that I would stand idly by and let you take her from me?”

“I took you for a man of better judgment than was warranted, apparently,” Rochford snapped. “Have you not spoken to Lady Mary? Did she not tell you why I wished to see you?”

“No,” Browning replied somewhat stiffly. “I have not yet seen her. She sent me a note to meet her in the park this afternoon, but I did not go. I—I had to confront you first. I could not let her tell me she was marrying you without putting up a fight for her.” He straightened his shoulders and lifted his chin, staring Rochford in the eye.

“Well, if you had gone to see her,” the duke said, “I feel sure that she would have told you that I have a living available. I am considering giving it to you. St. Swithin in the village of Overby, near my manor house at Dancy Park.”

The clergyman looked first stunned, then eager. Then, as if remembering what he was about, he pulled his face into sober lines and grew even stiffer, if that was possible. “It is, of course, a position that anyone would love to have. However, I cannot accept a bribe to look the other way while you marry the woman I love.”

“Good Gad!” Rochford exclaimed. “If I have to suffer much more of this inanity, I can guarantee you that I will not make the offer. I am not trying to bribe you, you young fool! I have no interest in marrying Lady Mary Calderwood.”

Mr. Browning gaped at Rochford. Francesca stared at him in almost equal astonishment.

“But everyone says you—you have been dancing attendance on her,” the young man sputtered.

“I have spent a great deal of time with her, listening to her sing your praises,” Rochford responded. “I can only assume from her vision of you that you must display better sense when you are around her.”

Browning had the grace to blush at those words, and Francesca had to press her lips together to keep a gurgle of laughter from spilling out. She felt suddenly a great deal more cheerful, almost buoyant.

“Lady Mary has told me the entire story of your blighted hopes,” Rochford went on. “And she related her father’s not unreasonable demand that she shall not marry a man who cannot provide for her. A living would give you the ability to provide for a wife and family, and would, presumably, encourage the lady’s father to approve of your suit. She asked me for my help, and I agreed to speak to you about the living at St. Swithin’s, which opened up quite recently.”

Mr. Browning simply stood, staring at the duke, as his face slowly registered a realization of the opportunity that had opened for him and of exactly what his actions might have cost him.