One Night in London

by Caroline Linden

  “No,” he said, studying her. How did he do that, she wondered; how did he keep his face so inscrutable? She kept her own pleasant smile pasted to her lips even though it was harder than ever to maintain a facade of serenity under his regard at this close distance. He rested one hand on his knee, and the remembered sensation of his fingers around hers flashed across her mind. She had barely remarked it at the time, but now she seemed unable to forget it.

  Unfortunately, while she was concentrating on her own poise, he had still been speaking. “ . . . Very much the opposite, I believe. I am still in your debt, having failed to locate a suitable solicitor, as promised.”

  Francesca blinked a few times. Her brain felt slow today, as if she’d not fully woken yet. He was still in her debt? She must have missed something he said at the beginning. “Ah . . .”

  He raised an eyebrow. “That is what you wished, is it not?”

  “Y-Yes,” she said, thinking madly, “but—”

  “You rendered me a service, and so far I have not been able to do the same for you. Personally, I found the solicitors we spoke to the other day . . .” He paused, his mouth tightening. “ . . . disappointing.”

  She flushed. “Yes—”

  “I have been considering your object, and, if I may, should like to make a recommendation or two.” He paused again, searching her face. “You may reject anything I say, naturally.”

  She was anxious to know what he would say, but something about his demeanor put her guard up. Was he about to suggest, like Alconbury had, that she give it up? That she should believe what the solicitors were trying to tell her about her difficulties, and accept that she couldn’t win? Francesca sat up straighter, bracing herself. “Of course, sir,” she said, her voice cool even to her own ears. “I would be glad to listen to your advice.”

  A faint smile touched his lips, as if he heard her unspoken addition that listening didn’t mean agreeing, but he didn’t say anything about it. “I’ve come to believe securing a solicitor first may be too tedious and slow a process. Given that your niece has disappeared and her stepmother may be contemplating removing her from London, even from England, locating her is more important than hiring a lawyer, who will only file a petition. Without the child herself, even a successful petition is useless to you.”

  She narrowed her eyes. If the court approved her petition, surely they would force Ellen to produce Georgina. “Go on.”

  “Once you locate her, you are in a far superior position. I believe you said the stepmother has no legal claim to the child, either? And she is aware you are planning to contest her care?” Francesca nodded at his arched brow. “Then she will know it looks bad that she’s taken the child and left you no word. If we can locate them, she may be willing to listen to reason, and negotiate a solution to everyone’s problems.”

  Francesca digested this in silence for a moment. One thing she had to concede: he wasn’t at all suggesting she give up. But what he was saying . . . “I’m afraid Ellen hasn’t shown much interest in negotiating with me.”

  “And yet you can be so persuasive,” he murmured.

  She didn’t let her expression change even though she could feel the warmth blooming in her cheeks again. She would never live down her first impulsive visit to him, apparently. “I have tried to speak reasonably with her. I don’t always lose my temper and corner people in their homes, you know.” He seemed to find that amusing, from the way his eyes lit and his mouth crooked just a bit. She had to bite back a smile in return, relieved that he was amused. “I first offered to take Georgina just before the twins were born. I thought Ellen would be relieved at having one less child to care for. Instead she grew very upset and said she couldn’t think about it then. I said nothing and let it go. The next time I visited, I found Ellen in tears, with laundry hung all about the house, the two babies wailing in concert, and Georgina hiding under the stairs with her fingers in her ears.” She paused, wondering what Georgina was enduring now. “I may have been a bit more insistent that time in my offer, but Ellen simply refused to listen, and asked me to leave. We’ve barely exchanged a civil word since, and the last several times I called she wouldn’t even let me see Georgina.”

  He tilted his head back and looked at her for a moment. “But what did you offer her?”

  Francesca’s mouth firmed. “Nothing! She knew Georgina’s father wanted me to raise her, but she refused to let me take her.”

  “Then why has she refused to give up the girl? She has contravened her late husband’s express wishes, at no small burden to herself. Why?”

  She saw what he was getting at. “I believe she is dependent on the annual maintenance for Georgina’s care, to run the household. It isn’t a large sum, but her husband was almost destitute at his death, and left her nothing in the way of a widow’s portion. Her useless brother Percival refuses to take employment because he is an ‘artist,’ even though he lives with them and might be expected to help support the household. I do know they left their last lodgings after falling behind on the rent.”

  Lord Edward’s smile was vaguely victorious, but not unkind. “Then you know what could persuade Mrs. Haywood.”

  Francesca closed her eyes for a second against her instinctive urge to refuse. “Are you suggesting,” she said with forced calm, “that I buy my niece from her?”

  His chin dipped and his eyes grew a little cooler. “Rather blunt language, but in a way, yes. I am.”

  Her first instinct was to laugh; he must be joking. Her second instinct was more profane, and would have branded her no lady if she said it out loud. Buy Georgina? Reward Ellen for stealing her niece by giving her money? She’d rather stack the banknotes in the fireplace and burn them one by one. “I’m not sure I can agree to that,” she said in a frigid voice. It was the politest response she could make.

  “I understand it might look like appeasement,” he said. “Or certainly not the appropriate consequence for her actions. But I assure you, a legal battle will cost you a great deal of money. Would you rather give the money to a solicitor, who may not win your case in the end and whose tactics may forever embitter this stepmother against you, or give it to the stepmother, in exchange for her promise—legally binding, of course—to relinquish all claim to the girl?”

  It sounded so reasonable when he put it that way, which Francesca found wildly annoying. She didn’t want to be reasoned into bribing Ellen. She wanted Ellen punished, or at least judged by a court to be in the wrong. Her hands balled into fists in her lap. “I would have to think about it,” she said. For a very, very long time.

  “Of course.” He was unperturbed by her distinct lack of enthusiasm. “In the meantime, since I have failed to locate a suitable solicitor, may I see to hiring an investigator? The child must be located before anything else can be accomplished.”

  That also sounded reasonable, and fortunately was more in accord with her feelings. Thank God he had given her some sort of acceptable suggestion. “Thank you, yes. You must be sure to send me the bill, though.”

  He smiled. “Naturally, Lady Gordon. I have not forgotten you don’t want charity.”

  She looked down at her hands, still clenched together, and took a deep breath, then let it out slowly. She must be more appreciative; he had done more than she asked him to do, and was offering further assistance. Just because she didn’t like his advice didn’t mean it had no value, and certainly she should be appropriately grateful it was offered at all. “I will consider your other suggestion as well. I am very grateful for your thought on the matter.”

  “I realize it must go against your every inclination,” he said. “I’m aware that you’ve been quite . . . dismayed by Mrs. Haywood’s actions. But the only thing that matters is the result. You’re willing to spend the money already; why not try a more direct path to your goal? And once you have the girl and the stepmother has waived all claim, your case will be far, far more likely to succeed in court. It would be a simple matter for any solicitor to file a petitio
n for you then.”

  She rolled her lower lip between her teeth. “It certainly couldn’t make it harder,” she muttered.

  “It was a difficult undertaking from the beginning,” he agreed. “Wittiers acknowledged he would have considered it a challenge to win.”

  “I know,” she said on a sigh, then frowned in bemusement. “You spoke to James Wittiers about me?”

  Lord Edward’s face changed, as if he regretted telling her that. He sat back in his chair, looking stiff and aloof again. She hadn’t even realized he’d leaned toward her as they spoke. “I hoped to discover what merit he had seen that other solicitors had not. I asked his professional opinion of your case—”

  Francesca smiled ruefully. “I’m sure I don’t want to know what he said.”

  He paused for a moment, giving her a sharp, uncertain look, then cleared his throat. “Not much. He thought it would be difficult, but not impossible, to win in court. That led me to consider how you might get what you want without going to court at all. Whether you succeed in court, or simply remove any obstacle to your desire, the result is the same.”

  Francesca was struck speechless. She’d thought she had to follow the rules to get what she wanted. Alconbury had assured her it was a job for a solicitor, and she believed a court appointment as Georgina’s custodian was the surest, best way to protect her niece. It never occurred to her to scheme and manipulate events to get Georgina. It never would have occurred to her that Lord Edward, cool and proper aristocrat, would suggest she do so.

  Although that’s exactly what she had done to get Lord Edward’s help. No wonder he was amused at her resistance now. It was pure stubbornness on her part, she knew. She didn’t want Ellen to profit in any way from her treachery, let alone profit directly from her own purse. But if she looked at it coldly, and a bit more calmly, she realized Lord Edward was right. Having Georgina back would far outweigh the grudge she bore Ellen Haywood, eventually. Money was behind Ellen’s actions, and money, in large enough quantity, would pry Georgina out of her clutches. And it would certainly be faster than waiting for the courts to take up any petition.

  She looked at Lord Edward with new awareness. Perhaps she’d been luckier than she knew when he whisked Wittiers away from her. Her reckless gamble in confronting him had certainly borne far more fruit than she had expected. His proposal wasn’t at all what she had planned to do or asked of him, but instinctively she felt it was a better plan. She had tried to go about it so properly, when perhaps what she needed was a bit of ruthless manipulation.

  On impulse she reached out and clasped his hand. “Thank you, sir. Your visit today has been a revelation.”

  His fingers tightened in her grasp. “How so?”

  Francesca laughed, a little embarrassed. “You’ve shown me the error of my ways. I was so furious at Ellen, I lost sight of my real object. Of course you’re right; it would be far more efficient—and effective—to give the money to Ellen in exchange for custody of Georgina, no matter how noxious it will be to do it.”

  “I hope the joy of your niece’s company would wash away the distaste.”

  Slowly she nodded, thinking of Georgina’s infectious giggles, her bright eyes, her sweet nature. “Yes,” she said softly. “It would. I said I would do anything to keep her safe, and I don’t intend to retreat from that now.”

  He looked at her with something like approval in his eyes. “Very good. I’m glad to hear it.”

  She smiled at him, and after a moment he smiled back. His eyes really were more blue than gray, she thought. His mouth was also quite appealing, now that she looked closer at it. His whole face changed when he smiled like this, as if they were equals, even intimate friends.

  Abruptly she grew very conscious of his hand in hers. His fingers had closed around hers in a sure, firm grip, as if he liked holding her hand. It felt absolutely lovely, and very . . . right. Her mouth grew dry as her mind fastened on the feel of his skin against hers and the way his eyes, bluer and warmer than ever, seemed to peer straight to the bottom of her soul, where—much to her shock and dismay—a small but potent flame of attraction burned brighter by the moment.

  With a start, she released his hand and got to her feet. She must remember herself. A moment of physical awareness meant nothing, not even when coupled with the new understanding and cordiality between them. Lord Edward rose as well, his expression as composed as ever. She took a deep breath; she was such a fool, first browbeating and extorting the man into helping her, and now letting herself find him attractive. It was nigh impossible that he would feel the same about her. He was the son of a duke, while she was a widow of no great fortune or rank. “Thank you for offering to find an investigator,” she said, to refocus her thoughts. “I trust it will be easier than hiring a suitable solicitor?”

  A hint of that dangerous smile still softened his mouth. “I don’t expect any trouble.”

  Francesca believed it. Most likely he never did. That must be the secret to his controlled manner; if one knew things would come out as desired in the end, there was no reason to lose one’s temper. It must be nice to have such assurance. She just lifted her hands and sighed as she walked with him back into the hall. “I’ve been through quite enough trouble already. I devoutly hope there’s no more to be had, and all will be smooth from here on out.”

  Lord Edward took his hat and cane from Mrs. Hotchkiss. “I don’t doubt there will be difficulties, Lady Gordon,” he said. “We simply won’t be daunted by them.”

  Francesca’s heart leaped. This was what she needed, someone who believed she would win in the end. Of course, he meant more that he would triumph, and since he was now on her side, that also meant she would triumph, but she didn’t care. Let him take all the credit; let him direct the whole damned search if he pleased, she thought as she bade him farewell and he went down her steps, moving with his usual unhurried grace. When she had Georgina safely in her care, by hook or by crook, by court declaration or by bribe, she would turn to Lord Edward, whatever he had said or done to her in the meantime, and have two words only for him:

  Thank you.

  Chapter 13

  Edward wasn’t quite sure what prompted him to call on Francesca Gordon this morning. In retrospect, he ought not to have done it. She had opened the door herself, looking unlaced and a bit rumpled, her shining hair barely caught up off her neck, and he almost forgot what brought him to her door. There had even been a moment, when their eyes met in the mirror as she was fingering a stray coppery lock, when he was in serious danger of casting all common sense aside and threading his hands into her sunrise-bright hair and kissing her, just to see if she could possibly taste as good as she looked.

  Fortunately the moment had been only that—a moment—and then she looked away. It was a good reminder, actually; she wanted him to help her, not kiss her. Edward was taken aback by how persistent that urge was. It was one thing to see a beautiful woman and feel a spark of attraction, and quite another to be so strongly drawn to a woman who was neither beautiful nor demure, who flashed her temper at him with regularity, and who wasn’t above manipulating him to her will. That last point alone made her utterly unsuitable as a lover, he told himself . . . and then had to shake his head, several minutes later, to dislodge the erotic images his mind conjured up at the thought of Francesca Gordon as his lover.

  The carriage drew to a halt in front of Charlie’s house, the Portland stone facade brilliant in the sunlight. It was far grander than Francesca Gordon’s modest brick home in Bloomsbury, but he felt much less anticipation as he walked up the front steps of this house. No doubt Charlie would give up the place and move into Berkeley Square as soon as Wittiers completed his task, if not sooner. Edward rather hoped it would be later. He wasn’t sure he and Charlie would rub on together very well beneath the same roof.

  The footman had run up to knock, so the butler was already opening the door when Edward reached it. He could never picture his brother opening the door himself, let alone look
ing so informal as Francesca had, soft and rumpled and relaxed. He wondered if she routinely opened her door that way in the mornings. Perhaps he should call on her again, unexpectedly and early, to see . . .

  No. He most certainly would not. He hadn’t even needed to do it this morning. It was just one of those strange impulses that wouldn’t fade, like an itch that only grew more agonizing until it was scratched. But now he had done it, and reasonably, the urge should go away. Hopefully soon.

  The butler showed him into the breakfast room, where Charlie was still at the table. “Ah, good morning,” he hailed Edward in a cheerful tone. “Have a bite?”

  “Thank you, no. I’ve already eaten.” He took a seat at Charlie’s wave.

  “Just coffee,” Charlie told the footman standing at attention by the sideboard. “Then you may go.”

  When the footman had set his coffee in front of him and bowed out of the room, Edward turned to his brother. “How is your leg?”

  Charlie shrugged as he sliced off a bite of kidney. “Still attached.”

  “Much improved, then,” Edward replied, making Charlie cough as he chewed. “I’m glad to hear it.”

  Charlie took a long sip of coffee and eyed him. “Why are you here?”

  “To inquire after your health, of course.” Edward raised his cup, and Charlie snorted. “And to let you know how the solicitor is getting on.”

  “Ah,” said Charlie. “I thought you’d come to tell me about Lady Gordon.”

  It was Edward’s turn to almost choke. He put his cup down hard, with a sharp clink of china on china, and coffee splashed into the saucer. He glared at his brother as Charlie grinned wickedly back. “Gerard has been here.”

  “Indeed he has, and he was a font of information. She’s quite fetching, I hear, although Gerard wasn’t very clear about how she related to our pressing issue.” For a moment Charlie gave him a hawklike stare worthy of their father. “Not that I begrudge you the pleasures of her company, of course.”