Page 56 of The Wedding Challenge

“I know.”

“But…if you would like to, um, get away from the city for a while, you are welcome to come home with me.” He cast a concerned glance at her.

“You mean until the talk about me dies down?” Callie asked. She shook her head. “No, I think not. I do not like being the object of whispers or amused glances—or pitying ones, either. But I refuse to run and hide just because of a little embarrassment. It would only give the matter more importance, anyway. It will be better, ultimately, if I stay and face it down.”

Pride was evident in his smile. “I suspected you would say that.”

“Francesca is quite helpful in that regard. It is much easier than it would be if I were alone—or with Grandmother.” She looked at him sternly. “You must apologize to Francesca for those things you said, however. It was not her fault. She did try to warn me a little—in a delicate way—by pointing out that his sister’s reputation was not the best. She said that she thought you might not like it—which of course I already knew. Now I understand why she was, perhaps, a little reluctant to explain further.”

“Yes, I imagine that she was.”

“She was meticulous about chaperoning me, even though I am sure that often it was a dreadful bore to her.”

“I realize that my words were uncalled-for. I had not told her that you were not to see him. And, in any case, I am aware that she has no control over you. I spoke out of fury. I will, of course, apologize to her. However, I fear that Lady Haughston’s opinion of me has been set for some years now.”

They found Francesca in the formal drawing room at the front of the house, sitting at the piano, not playing anything, but staring sightlessly across the top of it, her hands unmoving in her lap. They stopped in the doorway. Then the duke started forward into the room.

“Lady Haughston.”

Francesca turned at the sound of his voice and rose to her feet, wearing an air of cool civility like a cloak. “Your Grace.”

The corner of his mouth twitched with annoyance, but he said only, “You are right to be upset with me. I must apologize for the way I acted earlier. I had no right to reprimand you, as you pointed out. Naturally you and my sister are free to see whom you wish. In my defense, I can only plead my desire to protect Calandra. I hope you will forgive me.”

Francesca’s nod was regal as she replied, “Of course. You need not worry. I have never taken your criticisms to heart.”

“I am relieved to hear it,” he told her dryly. “I am returning to the country now. Callie would like to remain here with you, if that is acceptable.”

“Certainly. Callie is always welcome here.” A stranger might not have noticed the slight emphasis Francesca put on Callie’s name.

“Thank you.” He bowed. “Then I will take my leave of you.”

Callie walked her brother out. When they reached the front door, he cast a glance back toward the drawing room where Francesca stood.

“Do not worry,” Callie told him with some amusement. “I shall do my best to soften Francesca toward you. Anyway, I have never known her to hold a grudge long. She is a most forgiving person.”

“Is she?” He smiled faintly. “Do not trouble yourself over it, Callie. Lady Haughston and I are…accustomed to each other.”

He took his leave of her, and Callie watched him go, her forehead creased in a small frown. For the first time, she wondered exactly what lay between her brother and Francesca. She had always just accepted that Francesca was a part of her life, a friend of the family. She would have said that Sinclair and Francesca were friends, but now that she thought about it, she realized that there was something different in their manner toward each other.

There was not the easy, jesting affection that Francesca shared with Sir Lucien or with her brother Dominic. Nor did Francesca display the lightly flirtatious manner she often adopted with other men of the ton. There was, Callie reflected, even in the midst of a pleasant conversation, a sort of brittle quality between the two of them.

She recalled now the surprised expression on Francesca’s face when Callie had told her that she was one of the few people to whom Sinclair would have entrusted his sister. And just now her brother had sardonically referred to Francesca’s opinion of him as being “set” long ago, and he had not, she thought, implied that her opinion of him was a good one.

Callie might have termed them friends, but now she was not sure that either of them would have said the same thing. On the other hand, she was positive that they did not dislike each other. Until tonight, Francesca had never made a genuinely slighting comment toward or about Sinclair that Callie could remember, and she was certain that whenever Francesca’s name came up in conversation, her brother always listened with interest. At nearly any ball that they both attended, Sinclair would always dance a waltz with Francesca. With another man, that might not have indicated anything, but Callie knew that her brother was not much given to dancing.

But what did any of this mean?

Still puzzling over the matter, Callie walked back inside and down the hallway to the smaller sitting room, where she suspected her friend would have returned. Her instincts were right, for Francesca was seated upon the couch. Unusually for her, she held a needlepoint frame in her lap.

As Callie entered, Francesca glanced up at her and smiled, then returned her attention to her needlework. “You and the duke have resolved the problem?” she asked lightly.

“Yes.” Callie paused, then asked, “Why did you not tell me that Lord Bromwell disliked my brother so?”

Pink tinged the other woman’s cheeks, and Francesca glanced at Callie, then away. “I didn’t—I was not sure that Lord Bromwell disliked Rochford, or how much he disliked him. I thought that certainly he might…because of…of the duke and, um…” She trailed off uncertainly.

“And Lady Daphne?” Callie supplied.

Francesca’s astonished gaze flew to Callie’s face. “He told you?”