Page 46 of The Marriage Wager

He whipped around and strode off. Francesca stared after him for a moment, then sighed and followed him. She caught up with him outside the ballroom, reaching to grab his sleeve.

“Dominic, wait.”

He pulled to a stop and turned to her, his face a polite mask. Francesca muttered an imprecation under her breath and, glancing around her, took his hand to drag him down the hall away from the music and the noise. Picking up a candlestick on one of the narrow tables along the hallway, she lit it from a sconce, then opened one of the closed doors along the hallway and whisked Dominic inside.

Francesca cast a quick glance around. They were in the small east-facing room that her mother used as a morning sitting room. It was empty of people, the only light in it the candle that she held. She set down the candle on a small table beside the door and turned to face Dominic.

“What do you want, Francesca?” he asked, his voice cold. “Do you also hope for Muriel Rutherford for a sister-in-law?”

“Good Gad, no,” Francesca retorted bluntly. “I should hope you would have good sense than to tie yourself to that icicle of a woman. I do not care whom you marry. But I warn you—I will not have you hurting Constance Woodley. I am very fond of the girl.”

He let out a short bark of laughter that contained little amusement. “You think I am not?”

“I fear that you are too fond of her,” Francesca replied. “I fear that you will lead her on, encourage her to fall in love with you, and then her heart will be broken.”

“Why do you assume that I would break her heart?”

“Because you and I both know that you must marry money,” she shot back.

“Why?” he responded, his voice laced with bitterness. “Why should I marry to please our wretched family? You and I both know how little our family is worth the sacrifice.”

“Yes, and I also know you,” Francesca told him. “You will do your duty. You always have, and you always will.”

He gazed at her levelly. “Would you condemn me to that? You, of all people, know how it is to marry where one does not love.”

Tears sprang into Francesca’s eyes, and she turned away quickly.

“Oh, bloody hell!” Dominic crossed the room and took his sister’s shoulders in his hands, saying in a softened voice, “The devil curse my tongue. I am sorry, Francesca. I should not have said that. You are the last person on whom I should take out my frustration. Please, forgive me.”

She turned and gave him a watery smile. “No, I should ask your forgiveness.” She slid her arms around him and laid her head against his chest. “Oh, Dominic, I do want you to achieve happiness. I truly do. I don’t care about the family or Redfields or any of it, if only you are happy. You should not have to be the one to pay for all the foolish ways our ancestors wasted their money.” She pulled back and looked up into his face. “Do you love Constance? Do you want to marry her?”

Dominic looked at her, his face torn. “I—I don’t know. I am not sure if any of us are even capable of such an emotion. The FitzAlans are a sorry lot.”

Sadly, Francesca nodded. “I fear you are right.” She walked away from him, sitting down in the nearest chair. She smoothed down the material of her dress, saying in a low voice. “The truth is, I married foolishly—we both know that. I did not help myself or the family, either one. I do not wish to see you in such a marriage. I would be most happy if you married Constance. I cannot think of anyone I would more like to have as a relative.”

Dominic shook his head. “No. You are right. I would be a cad to pursue Miss Woodley.” He strolled over to the window and pushed aside the curtain, looking out into the dark night. His face was shadowy and unreadable in the dim light. “I know where my duty lies. I shall marry as I must.”

CHAPTER TWELVE

CONSTANCE DID NOT SEE Dominic again that night, though she glanced discreetly around the ballroom several times. Francesca seemed preoccupied, and more than once Constance saw her frowning.

Constance felt sure that Francesca must be upset over the scene with Muriel. She feared that Francesca regretted bringing Constance into her family home. Dominic’s parents expected him to marry Miss Rutherford; perhaps Francesca had expected that, too. Dominic had said that the family needed money, and Constance could not help but remember Francesca’s skill at saving pennies when they were purchasing her own wardrobe. Perhaps Francesca, as much as any of them, needed Dominic to marry well.

What if Francesca, like Muriel, felt that Constance was to blame for Dominic’s refusal to marry the other woman? Constance could not detect any change in Francesca’s attitude toward her, but neither could she shake the feeling that Francesca was worried.

Constance went to bed feeling uneasy, and the next morning, as she dressed for the day, she wondered whether she should offer to leave Redfields and return to London. She did not want to; her heart felt as if it would tear from her chest if she did. But she could not bring harm to Francesca. She could not repay all Francesca had done for her by being a part of the ruin of her family’s fortune.

If she were not here, Constance thought, perhaps Dominic might be more agreeable to marrying as his family wished. Without the distraction of his attraction to Constance, he might talk to Muriel more, might spend time with her and find…what? That was the problem. Muriel was a cold, disagreeable snob. Constance could not imagine Dominic even liking her, let alone falling in love with her. And Constance’s absence would do nothing to change Muriel’s character. Nor would she condemn Dominic to a lifetime with Muriel, even if she had the power to do so.

She was resigned to the fact that Dominic would not be in her life in the future. They would part in a few days, and eventually he would marry some other heiress, one who was—she hoped—better than Muriel Rutherford. But right now, surely Constance’s being here would not be ruinous to him or his family. Even if Francesca did have financial problems, Constance could not really believe that she would want her brother to marry someone like Muriel.

It would not matter in the long run, Constance told herself, if she stole a few days of happiness with Dominic. There would be no harm, surely, in her riding about the estate with him today, as he had asked her to last night. The only harm, she thought, would come to her own heart.

She knew that she was perilously close to loving Dominic, that every moment she spent with him pushed her nearer and nearer to that state. Some part of her yearned to know that love, to feel all the happiness that such emotion could bring. Another part of her feared it. She had loved before and been pained to lose it, and she knew that what she had felt before for Gareth, both the love and the pain, would pale before what Dominic could bring to her heart.

Constance went to her wardrobe and pulled out the riding habit that Maisie had brought to her two days after their excursion to the village church. It was made of a deep blue velvet and had belonged to Francesca when she was younger. It had been left here at Redfields, and it had required only letting out the hem to fit Constance. Francesca, even though she had been ill, had set her maid to altering the outfit, an action that had touched Constance deeply. She had known Francesca only a few weeks, yet she was kinder than her own cousins or aunt. Maisie had also found an old pair of Francesca’s boots in her closet, and, fortunately, Constance’s feet were the same size, so she was able to wear them.

Constance hesitated, thinking again about Dominic’s absence for the final portion of the last evening. Perhaps he would not wish to take her riding this morning. Perhaps he regretted what he had told her, or perhaps he had changed his mind about Muriel and realized that he must marry her, no matter what. Constance’s heart clenched inside her at the thought.