The Courtship Dance

by Candace Camp

  “And not enjoying it, I’ll warrant,” Rochford replied. His cousin’s deep attachment to his new bride was well known throughout the ton. There were even those who called him henpecked—though none dared do so to his face, of course.

  “No.” Gideon frowned. “I don’t understand it. I was well content by myself before I met Irene. ’Tis strange how empty my house seems without her now.”

  Rochford shrugged. “I fear that is a subject beyond this bachelor’s understanding.”

  Timmons arrived with the bottle of port and, observant man that he was, two glasses. They spent a few minutes pouring and sipping in companionable silence.

  Then Radbourne, with a glance at his companion, began, “I wasn’t certain whether you were desirous of company. You looked as though…I’m not sure…perhaps as though you might be in need of a second.”

  The duke let out a short laugh. “No. Nothing so dire as a duel. Only…Lady Haughston.” He finished his drink and poured another.

  Gideon did not appear to be particularly enlightened by this explanation. “You are…at odds with the lady?”

  “She is the most infuriating, most difficult, most…impossible woman I have ever known!” Rochford burst out.

  Gideon blinked. “I—I see.”

  “No, I am sure that you do not,” the duke retorted. “You have not spent the last fifteen years trying to deal with the woman.”

  Gideon made a noncommital murmur.

  “Tonight is just the latest of her many—do you know what she is doing?” The duke fixed him with a black stare. “Do you know what latest idiocy she is trying to foist on me?”

  “Indeed not.”

  “She wants to find me a wife.” Rochford’s mouth twisted on the word, as if it tasted too bitter to bear. “She has set out to choose the woman she thinks will make the best Duchess of Rochford.”

  “I presume that you did not ask her to,” Gideon ventured.

  “Indeed not. She thinks that if she finds me a wife, it will somehow make up for—for something that happened long ago.” He paused and glanced at Gideon. “Oh, devil take it! The truth is, she broke off our engagement.”

  Gideon gaped at him. “Engagement? You and Lady Haughston are engaged?”

  The duke sighed. “We were, long ago. She was not Lady Haughston then. It was fifteen years past, and she was only Lady Francesca, the daughter of the Earl of Selbrooke.”

  “But how have I never heard this? I mean, of course I would not have known it at the time, but since I’ve been returned to my family… I cannot imagine why Aunt Odelia or my grandmother or someone has never brought it up.”

  “They never knew about it, either,” Rochford replied. “It was a secret engagement.” He sighed, and suddenly he looked older, weary. “Francesca had just turned eighteen. I’d known her practically all her life, of course. Selbrooke’s estate, Redfields, bordered on my lands at Dancy Park. But that last winter, when she was seventeen, and I saw her…” A faint smile lifted one corner of his mouth. “It was as if the scales fell from my eyes. It was Boxing Day, and we held a ball. There she was, wearing long skirts at last, with a blue ribbon in her hair that matched her eyes. I was stunned.” He glanced at his companion ruefully.

  “I know the feeling,” Gideon assured him in a dry tone.

  “Yes, I imagine you do, at that. So…I fell in love with her. I tried not to. I told myself she was too young. She seemed to return the feeling, but I knew that she had not even made her debut yet. She had not been to London parties, only country things. She knew few men, beyond her relatives and the locals. How was she to truly know her heart?”

  Rochford was silent for a moment as he took a drink, then gazed reflectively into his glass. When he looked up again, his face was set, all emotion carefully absent from it. “Finally, I could not bring myself to wait until she had had her first Season. I feared that if I stood back, some other man would move in and sweep her off her feet.”

  “So you compromised by making the engagement secret,” Gideon said.

  “Exactly. I could see the stars in her eyes. I knew that she thought she loved me. But I feared that she was simply dazzled by her first romance. I could not bear to set her free, with no knowledge of my regard for her, my hopes for the two of us. But I did not want her irrevocably bound to me by a public engagement. If she changed her mind or if she realized that she did not love me as much as she had thought she did, then she would be able to break it off without being subjected to the scandal.”

  “I see.” Gideon had not been raised among his peers, but he had learned enough about the society in which he now lived to know that a broken engagement was an enormous scandal that could haunt a woman, in particular, for the rest of her life. As a result, both parties rarely cried off, even if one or the other began to have doubts about the upcoming marriage.

  “Unfortunately, in the end I proved to be right. She did not love me enough.”

  “What happened?”

  The duke shrugged. “She was deceived. She was made to believe that I was having an affair with another woman. I tried to tell her what had really happened, but she would not believe me. She refused to see me. By the end of the Season, she had become engaged to Lord Haughston. And that was the end of it.”

  “Until now.”

  Rochford nodded. “Until now.” He polished off the liquor in his glass and reached out to pour another drink. “Recently she discovered that she had been lied to, that the woman in question had arranged for Francesca to find the two of us apparently in flagrante delicto. She realized that I had told her the truth and that she had been wrong, that she had treated me unfairly.” He raised the glass toward Gideon in a kind of salute, saying, “So she decided to make it up to me by finding me a wife.”

  Gideon watched silently as the other man downed the drink. He had never seen Rochford consume liquor at quite the pace he was drinking it now. Of course, neither had he ever seen him looking quite so…off balance. The duke was one of the most self-contained men he had ever met, rare to show anger or even irritation. But tonight, clearly, he was disturbed, fury bubbling just below the surface, seemingly ready to jump out at any moment, and it was clear that he was having to hold it in with some effort.

  “Why the devil did she take it into her head to do that?” Rochford exclaimed as he set his glass down with a thud on the small table between them. “God, and to think for a little while I was fool enough to believe—”

  When he did not go on, Gideon prodded quietly, “To believe what?”

  Rochford shook his head and made a dismissive gesture with his hand. “It doesn’t matter. It’s nothing.” He paused, then went on. “She told me what she had found out, and she apologized. And then she maneuvered it so that I agreed to escort her and Lady Althea Robart to a play. I thought…”

  “That she wanted to go back to—”

  “No!” Rochford replied quickly. “Good Gad, no. There’s no question of that, of course. But I thought, perhaps, she hoped we could be better friends now. Then she started throwing Lady Althea at me. Lady Althea, of all people!”

  “I don’t know her.”

  “You don’t want to,” the duke told him bluntly. “She is pretty enough, but too high in the instep for me. Not to mention that after ten minutes of her conversation, one is ready to go to sleep.”

  “Do you still love Lady Haughston?”

  Rochford glanced at him, then quickly away, saying gruffly, “Nonsense. Of course not. That is, well, of course I have some degree of feeling for the woman. We are old…not exactly friends, of course, but, in a way she is almost family.”

  Gideon cocked a skeptical eyebrow at that description, but refrained from saying anything.

  “I have not been nursing an unrequited love for her all these years,” the duke went on firmly. “We could never go back to what we were, what we felt. It has been fifteen years, after all. We both lost those feelings long ago. I’m not angry because I hoped the two of us might— No, it’s ju
st Francesca’s absolute gall in deciding to take over my life. Everyone lets her manage things. She is terribly good at it, maneuvering and arranging.”

  A smile lifted the other man’s lips. “I have had experience.”

  “But that she should decide to do it for me!” Rochford’s dark eyes snapped. “That she thinks she is better able to choose a wife than I am. That I need her help in getting a woman to marry me!” A muscle in his jaw jumped as he clenched his teeth.

  Rochford poured himself a fourth drink and took a healthy slug of it. “Then she has the nerve to preach duty to me. To me! As if I were some young fool who flits about indulging my whims, with no concern for my name or family. As if I had not devoted my life to the title and the estate since I was eighteen years old. To top it off, she implies that I am getting past the age of marrying. As if I must seize some silly girl and father children as fast as I can before I am no longer capable of reproducing!”

  Gideon smothered a smile. “I feel sure she did not mean to imply that.”

  The duke made a disgruntled noise and sipped his drink.

  “Pardon me if I am prying—you know my manners are not polished,” Gideon began. “But do you mean not to marry?”

  “Of course not. I will marry. I must. Eventually.”

  “You do not sound eager.”

  Rochford shrugged. “I have simply not found anyone I want to marry. Everyone reminds me of my duty to have progeny, and I suppose they are right. The line must go on. And my cousin Bertram has no desire to inherit all the work and responsibility that go with being a duke. But surely there is time yet. I am not quite ready to ‘shuffle off this mortal coil.’” He swirled the brandy around in the bottom of the snifter, watching the dark liquid broodingly. “I will find a wife someday. And I will do it in my own way, without any help from Lady Haughston.”

  “I must say, she did rather well for me,” Gideon pointed out mildly, watching his cousin. “I cannot imagine a mate better suited for me than Irene.” He paused, then added, “You might let her try.”

  Rochford snorted. “It would serve her right if I did.”

  This thought seemed to arrest him, for he stopped speaking and stared off into space for a long moment. Finally a slow smile curved his lips, and he thoughtfully took another drink.

  “Maybe I should,” he murmured. “Let Lady Haughston see just how much she enjoys finding me the proper duchess.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  SIR ALAN CAME to call on Francesca the following afternoon, bringing his daughter with him. Francesca was relieved to see them. She had felt dispirited all day, fearing that she had lost Rochford’s friendship forever. She had stopped and started several tasks, unable to concentrate on anything, for her thoughts kept returning to Rochford’s anger. It seemed terribly unfair, she thought, that he had been so angry at her when all she had done was try to help him. Perhaps she had been a trifle clumsier than she normally was about such matters, but surely he could see that she had bore him no ill will in the matter.

  If he had just allowed her to explain, she was sure that she could have made him understand—or at least kept him from becoming enraged. It was not like him to be quick to anger or disinclined to listen to reason. But Francesca was becoming aware that she apparently had that effect upon him. It was, she suspected, her frivolous nature that had grated on him. Rochford had always been serious—well, not serious, exactly, for he had a quick sense of humor and a wonderful laugh. And, of course, when he smiled, the room seemed to light up. He was not one of those dreadfully boring sorts who was always grim.

  But he was so responsible, so dedicated to his duty, so careful and well-planned in everything he did. He was well-read, even scholarly, and his interests ranged over a wide variety of subjects. He corresponded with scientists and scholars in many different fields. She knew that he must consider her far too flighty and shallow, a woman interested only in clothes and hats and gossip. It was for that reason, when they had been engaged, that Francesca had feared he would one day grow tired of her or, worse yet, come to view her as an annoyance.

  Now he obviously did view her that way, since his infatuation with her was long gone. Still, she was surprised that his reaction had been so extreme. She wished that she had been smoother in her dealings with him and Althea, and she spent much of the day going over and over what she could have done differently.

  When Sir Alan arrived, she met him with cordiality, glad to turn her attention to someone else. Sir Alan smiled when she greeted him, and she saw again in his eyes a certain masculine appreciation. She would have to be careful in dealing with him, she thought; she certainly did not want to encourage any romantic inclinations.

  Francesca turned quickly to say hello to his daughter, then rang for tea and settled down for a chat, studying Harriet covertly as they talked.

  The girl was pretty enough, with nice brown eyes, a snub nose and thick brown hair. Her skin was too brown; she obviously was not careful about wearing a hat in the country. But at least she was not spotty or freckled. She had a frank, open face and a friendly smile—not the cool, aristocratic look that was deemed correct by society mavens. But Francesca had never found that that particular look attracted a man, anyway.

  A different style for her hair would work wonders, as would a lesson in plucking her eyebrows. And her dress did not suit her at all. It was dowdy and prim—and Francesca had no difficulty in believing that Sir Alan’s mother had picked out the girl’s clothes.

  “Your father tells me that you are interested in making a bit of a splash this Season,” Francesca began in a friendly tone.

  Harriet grinned back at her. “Oh, I would not aim so high as a ‘splash,’ Lady Haughston. I think mere notice would be an improvement.”

  Francesca smiled, liking the girl’s forthright response. Of course, she would have to school some of that out of her if Harriet hoped to be a success. “I think we can do better than that—if we put our minds to it.”

  “I am willing,” Harriet replied. She cast a smile at her father as she went on. “I fear Papa has wasted his money so far. I would hate for it all to have been for naught.”

  “Now, Harry,” her father protested fondly. “You needn’t worry about things like that.”

  “I know you do not mind,” she responded. “But I despise waste in any form.”

  “Then you are, um, willing to be guided by me in these matters?” Francesca inquired. There was nothing worse than a recalcitrant student.

  “I put myself entirely in your hands,” Miss Sherbourne assured her. “I know that I haven’t sufficient town bronze. I can tell that sometimes the things I say make people look at me askance. But I am a quick learner, and I’m willing to change in whatever way I have to—at least for the length of a Season.”

  “I think that a shopping expedition is the place to start,” Francesca said, with a quick glance at Harriet’s father. He nodded agreeably, and she continued. “I also think it would be a good idea, Sir Alan, if we put on some sort of party. We could invite some of the people whom I think would be helpful in getting your daughter noticed. Now, the other day, you mentioned that you would prefer that I—”

  “Oh, yes, Lady Haughston,” Sir Alan jumped in eagerly. “If you would—my mother, you see, is not in the best of health. Nor does she move about in Society that much. I think it might be too much for her. Not, of course, that she wouldn’t be willing.” The expression on his face put the lie to that last sentence.

  “I could easily have a small soiree or a dinner here,” Francesca suggested.

  The man heaved a sigh of relief. “Just the thing, I’m sure. It is a great deal to ask of you, I know, but I am certain that you would handle everything so much better. Just direct all the bills to me—as you must do with the dresses, of course.”

  “I shall be happy to play hostess,” Francesca assured him honestly. She enjoyed arranging parties, and it was much more fun to do so when she was not limited by her own financial situation.


  Harriet and her father rose to leave not long afterwards. As Francesca and Harriet stood making arrangements for the shopping expedition the following day, the butler appeared in the doorway to announce another visitor.

  “His Grace, the Duke of Rochford, my lady,” Fenton intoned.

  Francesca turned toward the door, startled to see Rochford standing in the hallway behind her butler. Her stomach tightened, and she could feel a blush rising up her throat. She hardly knew what to say or think as memories of the evening before flooded in on her. In the space of a single instant she veered from embarrassment at the thought of his kiss to pain from the angry words he had thrown at her to an answering anger of her own.

  “Rochford. I—I did not expect you. I—oh, forgive me.” Belatedly, she remembered her other guests. “Pray allow me to introduce you to Sir Alan Sherbourne and his daughter, Miss Harriet Sherbourne. Sir Alan, the Duke of Rochford.”

  To her surprise, Sir Alan smiled and said, “Thank you, Lady Haughston, but the duke and I have met. Good to see you again.”

  “Sir Alan.” The duke nodded to the other man, explaining to Francesca, “Sir Alan and I met the other day at Tattersall’s.” The horse sales were conducted every Monday, and had become a favorite congregating place for men of all ranks.

  “Yes, and his Grace was kind enough to advise me against buying a certain hunter that I had my eye on.”

  “I had knowledge of him, you see. Good-looking animal, but no go in him.” The duke turned toward Harriet, saying, “But until now I have not had the pleasure of meeting your daughter, Sir Alan.” He nodded. “Miss Sherbourne.”

  Harriet, who was rather goggling at the duke, hastily curtsied, a blush spreading along her cheeks. “An honor, Your Grace.”

  Sir Alan and Harriet then took their leave, with Sir Alan once again expressing his gratitude to Francesca. After they were gone, the duke turned back to her.

  “One of your projects?” he asked her, raising an eyebrow.