by Candace Camp
Lucien smothered a laugh and said to the approaching duke, "Rochford. Dear fellow. Pleasure, as always, to see you."
"Sir Lucien. Lady Haughston." Rochford stopped beside Francesca, nodding to them both. "I must say, my lady, you do not look at all pleased."
Francesca gave the man a frosty look. "That depends on whether you brought Lady Pencully with you."
"No, I did not, I am pleased to say," Rochford replied. Then he smiled faintly and added, "However, I do believe that I saw her in the card room a moment ago."
"So that is why you left it," Francesca retorted sourly.
"But of course," Rochford admitted without a trace of guilt. "You may think yourself reluctant to see her, but you do not have the misfortune to be tied to her by blood. If you were, you would know just how craven you could be."
"What nonsense you talk," Francesca said reprovingly. "You have never been afraid of anything in your life."
He studied her for a moment, a quizzical look on his features, then said, "If only you knew, my lady."
Francesca made a face and turned away from his gaze. She was aware of a faint heat rising in her cheeks, and she was not even sure why. Rochford had the most damnable talent for unsettling her.
As her eyes swept across the room, she noticed the Earl of Radbourne entering the ballroom through the other set of doors. He looked, if anything, even more thunderous than Irene had. Francesca sighed inwardly. Obviously that opportunity had been lost for good. Perhaps she should not have introduced them so early. But he would have had to talk to Irene at some point, and it would simply all have unraveled then. Better, she supposed, to have gotten it over quickly instead of wasting her time on the match.
"Your Lord Radbourne seems a trifle fierce," she commented to Rochford.
"Hardly mine," Rochford protested mildly. "But I imagine he can be rather ... hard. I suspect that is the only way he could survive the streets of London. He grew up in a very different world from the one in which we did, Lady Haughston."
"Indeed. But ours was dangerous, too, in another way." Francesca glanced toward him, and Rochford turned to look at her, his eyes sharp.
He made no answer, but Francesca looked quickly away from him, suddenly aware of Sir Lucien's curious gaze.
The duke shifted, then said in a low voice, "Fair warning, my friends. Lady Pencully is approaching." He bowed toward them. "I fear I must take my leave of you."
"Coward," Francesca whispered.
He merely smiled and strode away. Beside her, Sir Lucien made a move, but Francesca turned and pinned him with a look. With a sigh, he remained where he was and forced a smile onto his face.
"Lady Pencully." He swept her an elegant bow. "What an unaccustomed pleasure to see you."
"Don't try your folderol with me, Talbot," Lady Odelia said bluntly, though Francesca saw that she could not keep her face from softening a little. "Go sharpen your skills on someone else, why don't you? I need to talk to Francesca."
"Of course, my lady." Sir Lucien cast an amused glance at Francesca as he bowed to them both and strolled away.
"I've decided what to do," Lady Odelia went on without preamble. "We shall have a party at Radbourne Park."
"I beg your pardon?"
"To search for a mate for the earl," the older woman said with some asperity, as though Francesca were a bit dim. "That is what we are about, remember?"
"Of course I remember. I just, um, I wasn't sure why a party—"
"It will be the best way to present him to the girls we pick. I am convinced that we will never find him a spouse in London. It is too elegant, too sophisticated. He is bound to stand out here among men of Talbot's sort. Too smooth by half, that one, if you ask me, but he's the sort that women like, you know. Or Rochford. Though, of course, women would fawn on him if he were as rough as an old boot. Only stands to reason, being a duke and all. But that is neither here nor there."
She looked accusingly at Francesca, as if she had been responsible for her wandering off subject. "The point is, if we separate these women from civilization, they will no doubt find my great-nephew more acceptable."
"I think there are a number of women who would feel the earl's title and fortune make him acceptable enough anywhere," Francesca replied wryly.
"Yes, perhaps, but I am unwilling to take the chance. So I shall get Pansy to arrange a house party. We will work on a guest list. Go over the girls who will do. Then you will come up early to Radbourne Park, so you can work on Gideon himself. Smooth out some of his rough edges, if you can. You know what I mean. I am sure that he will receive suggestions better from you. He seems to resent the hints I give him."
"Surely not," Francesca murmured.
Lady Pencully gave her a narrow look. "Don't think I don't know when you are being facetious, girl. I am well aware that any man would much rather get instruction from a winning girl like you than from an old lady who doesn't couch the truth in sweet-sounding phrases." She gave a short nod, ending the matter. "When will you be at Radbourne Park?"
As always, Lady Odelia's commands rankled, but Francesca had to admit that the older woman's idea made sense. And a visit to Radbourne Park for a few weeks would also take care of her problem with maintaining her household for a while.
"I am not sure. A few days, surely, to pack and set things in order," Francesca told her.
"Well, don't dawdle, girl. We need to set this thing in motion."
"Of course, but—" Francesca broke off as she saw Lord Radbourne approaching. "Ah, Lord Radbourne. Good to see you again."
It was a lie, of course. She did not look forward to talking with him. He looked decidedly put out, and Francesca suspected that he was about to ring a peal over her head for whatever had transpired with Irene Wyngate.
He nodded shortly to Francesca and then to his great-aunt. "Lady Haughston. Lady Pencully."
"Gideon," Lady Odelia responded. "Saw you talking to Lady Irene a few minutes ago." She looked at him hopefully.
His lips tightened. "Lady Irene Wyngate is arrogant, stubborn and a snob. I am certain that she would not do for my wife."
Even Lady Odelia seemed unable to find a response to that.
Francesca jumped into the silence that followed his statement. "I see. Well, all the more reason to move forward with other plans. Your great-aunt and I were just discussing having a party at Radbourne Park. I hope you will find that agreeable. It seems a good way for you to meet several young women and get to know them, and for them to get to know you. A week or two allows one many more opportunities than attending rounds of balls and such here in the city."
He nodded. "No doubt. I will leave it in your capable hands. And my aunt's, of course."
"Very well." Francesca relaxed. At least he was not going to make a scene or, apparently, even blame her for whatever Irene had said to him.
"I will take my leave of you, then. I have business to attend to. If you will excuse me?"
"Of course." Francesca was quite content to see him go, though she could not help but wonder what sort of business he could have that required attending to at this time of night.
Lady Odelia paled a little and glanced around to see if anyone had overheard the earl's mention of business. He bowed toward them and turned to walk away.
He had taken only a few steps, however, when he abruptly stopped, pivoted on his heel and returned to them. "Lady Haughston," he said grimly. "When you make up the guest list ..." He hesitated, then added shortly, "Invite Lady Irene."
Chapter Five
The next morning, Irene glanced across the table at her sister-in-law. Maura was unaccustomedly pale, and her lids were heavy and dark. If it were another person, Irene would have wondered if she had not imbibed too freely at the Spences' ball last night. Perhaps, she thought, Maura was not feeling well. She had been remarkably silent ever since she sat down at the breakfast table this morning, and she had merely picked listlessly at her food.
Irene glanced down at her own plate. She noti
ced that she, too, had not eaten much. However, she knew the reason for her own state. After her ill-fated stroll with Lord Radbourne, she had spent the remainder of the ball fuming. She had wanted to leave the party altogether, but Maura had refused to consider it, and Irene had finally slipped out of the ballroom and found a quiet nook along the gallery, where she had spent the rest of the evening.
Though she had been undisturbed, it had scarcely been a pleasant hour, for in her mind Irene had gone over and over Lord Radbourne's rude behavior and her own appalling lapse of good sense. Even when they finally left the ball and she was able to seek the sanctuary of her own room, she had not found any peace. She had gone to bed but had tossed and turned, her thoughts still occupied with the shocking kiss on the terrace.
It had been hours before she could go to sleep, and even after she finally slipped into slumber, she had been disturbed by hot, lascivious dreams, awakening with her heart pounding and her skin sheened with sweat.
As a result, she had come down to breakfast a trifle late, feeling as if she had not slept at all, and had pushed her food around on her plate, eating little of it.
Irene nibbled another bit of egg and glanced around the table at the others. She noticed that Humphrey and her mother were also sneaking small worried looks at Maura, and Irene wondered again what had gotten into Humphrey's wife.
Almost as if in answer to Irene's thought, Maura raised her head and looked at Irene, saying, "I don't know why you were so anxious to leave the party last night, Irene. It quite spoiled the evening."
Irene raised her brows. "I had a headache. But we did not leave, so I cannot see how your evening was affected."
"Irene ..." her brother said quietly, a note of warning in his voice.
Irene glanced at him, a twinge of hurt going through her. Was her brother so in the thrall of his wife that he would discourage her from expressing her opinion?
"Well, Humphrey, it seems a reasonable question, does it not?" she asked levelly.
"It isn't that." He looked distressed, casting another glance at his wife. "Must we discuss this at the breakfast table?"
Lady Claire spoke up hastily, saying, "It was a lovely party, was it not? I enjoyed myself thoroughly. Didn't you, Humphrey?"
"Yes, Mother, of course I did." Humphrey smiled at the older woman fondly. "I was glad to see you so entertained."
"It was a very pleasant time," Maura agreed. "And I do not mean to criticize, Irene. I just wish that you would make a little more effort. It was so good of Lady Haughston to single you out, and then I saw you walking with that man. Who did you say he was, Mother?"
"Lord Radbourne," Lady Claire answered. "Yes, I was quite amazed when Maura pointed him out to me and said you had strolled about the room with him. I had not seen him before, but Mrs. Shrewsbury told me that he was the Bankes' heir who was kidnapped years ago. Such a sad tale ..." She shook her head, tsk-tsking over the story.
"Yes, but the important thing is that he is said to be worth a fortune," Maura put in. "A highly eligible man. And you did not make the slightest push to interest him, I warrant. Instead, you came back wanting to leave straightaway."
"I am not interested in Lord Radbourne," Irene said flatly.
"Of course you are not!" Maura exclaimed. "You are never interested in any man! You are the most unnatural person ... I cannot understand you. Sometimes I think you simply want to thwart me." Maura glared at Irene, her mouth drawing into a childish pout.
Irene stared at her sister-in-law. Even for Maura, this behavior was a little unusual. "Maura, it has nothing to do with you," she began reasonably.
"Oh, do not speak to me that way," Maura snapped, picking up her napkin and tossing it down onto the table. "I am not a child. You talk to me as if I were a fool. Of course it has something to do with me! You refuse to marry, when any normal woman would be eager to do so. But you would rather remain here the rest of your life, even if it means being a spinster with no life of your own. You would much rather interfere with Humphrey's life—always telling him what to do and how to act—"
Irene gaped at the other woman, stunned by Maura's words.
"And you!" Maura went on, turning on her husband. Tears welled in her eyes. "You cannot seem to get through the day without asking your sister what you should do. 'What do you think about this, Irene?'" she mimicked, her voice dripping with bitterness. "'What should I tell Lord This or Sir That?' You never ask my opinion, yet I am your wife!"
Humphrey blinked in surprise, for a moment speechless. Then he leaned forward, reaching out a hand to Maura, saying, "My dear ... how can you think that? Of course I am interested in your opinion."
"Hah!" Maura jumped to her feet, shaking off his hand. "You care nothing about me. Nothing at all!" With a sob, she turned and ran out of the room.
The other three people at the table stared after her.
"Humphrey! Irene!" Lady Claire said, her voice worried. "Why— What—"
"Perhaps I should leave, Humphrey," Irene began stiffly. She had always known that Maura did not like her any more than she liked Maura, but she had been unprepared for the level of dislike in her sister-in-law's voice.
"No, no," her brother said hastily, pushing back his chair and standing, looking from the door to Irene, then back to the door. "I suppose I should go after her. I don't know ... she is so ... volatile these days." He turned back to Irene, a frown forming on his forehead. "I apologize. I am sure Maura did not mean it. She is fond of you, of course, just as she is of Mother. It is just— Well, she did not want to tell anyone just yet, but I can see that I must tell you. Maura is in a delicate condition." His face pinkened slightly at his words, and he smiled in an almost abashed way.
Irene looked at him blankly, but Claire cried out in pleasure, "She is going to have a baby? Oh, Humphrey!" She clasped her hands together at her bosom, her face bright with excitement. "How wonderful! You must be so happy."
"A baby?" Irene looked at her mother, then back at her brother. She smiled and stood up, then circled the table and hugged him. "I am so happy for you."
"I knew you would be. I told Maura it was foolish to think you might not be," Humphrey said with naive candor. "She is not herself these days. You can understand why she said what she did. It is foolish, of course, but I know she did not mean to say anything unkind."
"Of course not," Irene lied.
"But, Irene ..." He took her hand between his. "Will you try to avoid any unpleasantness for the next few weeks? I am sure she will grow less emotional. Right now it is laughter one minute and tears the next with her. It seems that the slightest thing upsets her."
"Of course. I promise I will mind my words," Irene agreed, though her heart sank at the prospect of walking on eggshells around Maura for the rest of the pregnancy. Unlike her brother, she suspected that Maura would play up her condition for all it was worth until the very end. Even longer, in fact. After Maura gave birth, she would doubtless demand even more consideration as the mother of Humphrey's child.
"Thank you." Humphrey beamed at her. "I knew I could count on you." He gave her hand a final pat and turned away. "Now I had better go up and talk to her. She will be feeling so distressed at the thought that she may have wounded you."
Irene watched her brother go without comment. She seriously doubted that Maura felt any remorse for what she had said, but she would not say so to him. She was well aware that Humphrey's love for his wife blinded him to all her faults.
She turned back to her mother, who was looking after Humphrey, her face soft with a tender happiness. Lady Claire shifted her gaze to Irene, and Irene watched the pleasure slowly fade from her face.
She felt a pinprick of guilt. If anyone had been distressed by her exchange of words with Maura, it had been her mother.
"Oh, dear," her mother said with a sigh. "I fear it will be a difficult few months. Maura will doubtless be ... very sensitive."
"Doubtless," Irene agreed drily. "Do not worry. I promise that I will try my utmost
to curb my tongue with Maura."
"I know you will, dear." Lady Claire mustered up a smile, but it quickly fell away. She glanced toward the open door guiltily and dropped her voice. "I fear it will be hard to do. I mean no disparagement upon your brother's wife, but ..."
"I know you do not, Mother. No one could be sweeter tempered than you are. The truth is that Maura is difficult at the best of times."
"It is hard on a young couple, having a mother live with them. I do wish that your father had left us a larger portion. Would it not be darling to have our own little cottage?" She smiled to herself as she thought about it.
"Yes, it would." Irene's musings were less sweet than her mother's. "Father should have provided better for you."
"Well, what's done is done." Even now, Irene knew, Lady Claire was reluctant to speak ill of her husband. "We must simply work as hard as we can at making the house run smoothly. Maura will need help, surely, as she becomes more advanced in her condition. Of course, she may prefer having her own mother and sister, although the house will be a little crowded if they come."
Lady Claire paused, frowning a little as she thought. "Perhaps I should not have danced so much last night. I could see that Maura was not well pleased with my standing up so frequently with my cousin. It might not have been appropriate."
"You would never conduct yourself any way but appropriately," Irene assured her mother. "There was naught amiss with you dancing with your cousin and friends. You have lived among the ton all your life, and you know far better what is appropriate than some daughter of a Yorkshire country squire recently arrived in the city."
"Irene!" Her mother cast an anxious glance at the doorway, then turned back to her. "You must not say such things. You promised that you would make more of an effort to get along."
"I will," Irene said disgruntledly. "But that does not mean that I cannot have my own opinions. However, I promise that I will refrain from mentioning them in front of Maura. But only for your sake, Mother, not because I feel any regard for Maura's opinions or her sensibilities. As far as I'm concerned, Maura's skin is about as tender as an elephant's hide."