by Laura Martin
‘Mr Crawford to see you, Lady Somersham,’ the butler announced.
Francesca shot up from her chair and started to tell the butler to show Ben into another room, but he’d already stepped out to let Ben in.
‘Aren’t you popular this morning?’ Felicity murmured, her eyes fixed on the door and a little smile on her lips.
‘Good morning Fran—’ Ben started, but cut himself off as he caught sight of Felicity on the window seat. ‘Lady Somersham,’ he corrected himself. ‘And this must be Miss Felicity—a pleasure to make your acquaintance.’
As soon as her eyes met his she was taken back to the moment of their kiss before she’d left him the night before. She remembered every vivid detail and by the smile on Ben’s lips he knew exactly what she was thinking.
‘I trust you are both well?’ he asked. For a boy who’d spent eight years as a convict worker in Australia he did a good impression of being a gentleman.
‘Very well, thank you,’ Felicity said, her eyes sparkling with glee. Inwardly Francesca groaned. Her sister was always telling her to go out into the world and enjoy herself, to mix with people who made her happy and Francesca knew she would do everything to find out more about Ben and his interest in her. ‘Mr Crawford,’ Felicity said slowly. ‘Are you the same Mr Crawford who is friends with Mr Robertson?’
‘I am. Do you know Mr Robertson?’
Felicity shrugged, a non-ladylike gesture that made Francesca smile every time she saw it.
‘I’m friends with Caroline Yaxley and Georgina Fairfax. I believe Mr Robertson is acquainted with Lady Georgina.’
If the rumours were to be believed, the two had been caught in a mildly compromising position and it was only the intervention of Lady Winston, Fitzgerald’s aunt, who had saved the pair from much more salacious gossip.
‘He is,’ Ben said, barely able to keep the smile from his face. ‘In fact, I am due to be attending a house party at Lady Georgina’s family estate this weekend with Mr Robertson. Will you be there?’
‘No,’ Felicity said with no hint of malice in her voice. ‘Her mother did not think me suitable.’
‘Ah. That is a shame.’
‘Was there a reason for your visit, Mr Crawford?’ Francesca asked, pulling him back to the present.
‘I wanted to return your coat.’
Francesca’s eyes widened and quickly she glanced at her sister. There was no good reason for Mr Crawford to have her coat.
‘There really was no rush,’ she managed to ground out.
‘I thought you might be in need of it. Unless you have a whole wardrobe of coats.’
He knew very well that she didn’t. Over the years she’d conserved the best-made pieces of clothing, lovingly mending them when sleeves frayed or seams became loose, but still she only had a skeleton wardrobe left now. And he was right, it was her only coat.
‘Where on earth did you leave it, Francesca?’ Felicity asked, her eyes dancing with amusement.
‘At the Assembly Rooms,’ she said, hoping her quick answer would be enough for her sister, but knowing it would not.
‘How kind of you to return it, Mr Crawford. Did you enjoy the dancing last night?’ Felicity asked.
‘Very much so. Your sister is an excellent dancer.’
Knowing she’d been caught out in a lie, Francesca sat back in her chair and gave up. Felicity would have the details from Mr Crawford in no time, there was no point in trying to stop her. Her sister would have done well as an interrogator in the war, Francesca had never known anyone able to keep information from her for long.
In a move that surprised her, Felicity stood, executed a brief and sloppy curtsy and moved towards the door.
‘Please excuse me, Mr Crawford, I’ve got to be...somewhere else.’ She didn’t even bother coming up with a convincing lie.
Left alone, Francesca tried to avoid Ben’s gaze but after nearly half a minute of silence she had to look up.
‘You look lovely this morning, Frannie,’ he said, his eyes flitting over her face.
‘Stop it,’ she muttered.
‘Stop what?’
‘This.’ She gestured to him, not really sure herself what she was asking him to stop.
‘You want me to stop being me?’
‘Yes. No. I don’t know. Sit down.’
He did and she tried to ignore the grin on his face.
‘So that was the sister you’re giving up your life for,’ he said as he flopped down on to the sofa next to her. He was far too close and his proximity meant she couldn’t think straight. Subtly she tried to shift so their legs were not touching.
‘Shush,’ she said, glancing at the door. She wouldn’t put it past her sister to be listening outside.
‘She seems nice. Resourceful. Independent. Able to make her own decisions.’
‘She’s twenty years old.’
‘The same age as you when you married Lord Somersham.’
‘And look how happy that made me,’ Francesca murmured.
‘Have you asked her if she wants you to sacrifice the rest of your life for her?’
‘Of course not. And it’s none of your business.’
He shrugged as if agreeing with her, then leant in and started to trace a lazy pattern across the back of her hand with his fingers.
‘Ben,’ she said, not knowing herself if she was asking him to stop or begging him to continue.
‘Frannie.’
‘We can’t do this,’ she said, wishing she didn’t believe her own words. Her body wanted to lean in to him and succumb to every pleasure he was offering.
‘We can,’ he said. ‘We’re both consenting adults, free and unfettered.’
That was technically true. She was a widow and still had not formally accepted Lord Huntley’s proposal, even though in her heart she knew it was only a matter of time.
‘It would be a fun way to get yourself out of marrying Huntley,’ he murmured.
‘Stop it.’
‘Your choice,’ he said, sitting back. ‘Where are you taking me today?’
‘I thought we could have a little break from each other today,’ Francesca said sweetly. She knew she needed some distance to think rationally about the kiss they’d shared the night before. Time and distance to lock it up in a box where it couldn’t ever escape and plague her thoughts like it did now.
‘The sun is shining, it might be cold, but you’ve got your coat back. I can’t think of a better time to get out in the fresh air together.’
‘I find myself a little tired from last night.’
He grinned and she felt herself blushing, knowing exactly what he was thinking.
‘Rest today, then,’ he said. ‘I’ll pick you up tonight at nine for an evening of mystery.’
‘Nothing scandalous?’ she asked.
‘I promise.’
Reluctantly she nodded. At least she would have the day to get hold of her emotions and talk some sense into herself. There would be no kissing, no discreet but passionate affairs, no wishing for something that could never be.
‘Until tonight,’ Ben said, taking her hand and planting a kiss just below the knuckles. ‘And I promise to be on my best behaviour.’
* * *
Ben took his place at the table across from his friends and grinned. Cards were his speciality, he rarely lost a game and over the years had made a fair amount of money from his opponents. He liked to play games where you read the other players, used the skills of understanding body language and subtle changes in demeanour rather than relying on luck. He had two rules: always know when to bow out and only to play while it was still fun. He never broke these rules and as a consequence had never lost any large sums of money in a card game or felt the need to stay when he really should leave.
Sam Robertson and George Fitzgerald had seen him pla
y numerous times and as such the three friends only ever played for fun, with no money involved. It was an opportunity to sit together, share a drink and reconnect when their lives were all so hectic.
He’d known both men for well over a decade. Sam Robertson he’d met on the transport ship on the way to Australia. They’d been two of the youngest convicts, both still children. Immediately they’d formed a friendship that had stayed solid throughout the harsh conditions of the transport ship, the cruel realities of life under the guards as convict workers in Australia, and slowly life had got better as they’d served their sentence and became free men.
Their friendship with George Fitzgerald had come a little later, when the boys had been assigned to work on his father’s farm. Mr Fitzgerald, the younger son of an impoverished baron in England, had been fair and kind, treating the boys as people rather than animals under the yoke. One day while working in the fields to bring in the harvest Ben and Sam had spotted a venomous snake ready to spring towards George. They tackled it, saving George from a deadly bite. From then on Mr Fitzgerald had treated them more like sons than convicts, insisting they share lessons with George and slowly giving them the love and kindness to make them believe there was good in the world again. Although Mr Fitzgerald had passed away a couple of years ago the three men were still as close as brothers. Ben found he didn’t trust many people in the world, but Robertson and Fitzgerald he could always rely on.
‘All set for the house party?’ Ben asked.
‘As much as I’ll ever be,’ Robertson replied, grimacing as he looked at his cards.
One of the main reasons they’d returned to England after so long away was Robertson’s desire to confront the man who had falsely accused him eighteen years ago and had him convicted of theft. This weekend Ben had agreed to travel to Hampshire with his friend to Lady Georgina’s house party, the daughter of the man Robertson wanted revenge on.
Ben’s main motivation for agreeing to go was to keep an eye on Robertson and ensure his friend coped when he confronted the old Earl, but he wouldn’t deny it would be good to have a little time away from London, some space to think and consider what he wanted from the rest of his time in England.
Francesca. That was what he wanted. He wanted her in his arms and in his bed. He could deny it all he liked, but the attraction he felt for her was overwhelming in its intensity.
‘How is Lady Somersham?’ Fitzgerald asked mildly as Robertson stood to fetch some drinks.
‘Well, I believe,’ Ben said.
‘You believe?’
‘I’m not privy to her innermost thoughts.’
‘Yet,’ Fitzgerald murmured, ‘I’m curious as to why you’re spending so much time with her.’
Ben leaned back in his chair and ran a hand through his hair. He was curious, too. If he could understand his own motivations, it might make the whole Francesca situation much easier to contain and cope with.
‘We merely want to renew our friendship, to find out what each of us has been doing all these years. And Lady Somersham has asked me to accompany her to some events,’ Ben fibbed, knowing it was he who’d pushed for the eight days together. ‘What gentleman could deny her that?’
‘You’ve never wanted to be a gentleman in your life, Crawford,’ Fitzgerald said.
‘True.’
‘Outings, eh?’ Fitzgerald asked, a suggestive glint in his eye.
‘Not like that,’ Ben said quickly, trying to suppress the image of Francesca in his bed, the way her chemise had clung to her curves as she’d sat up, the beautiful flush to her cheeks as she’d awaited his arrival.
‘Are you sure you’re not in love with her?’
Ben nearly choked on thin air he was so surprised by the question.
‘I’ve only known the woman five minutes,’ he said, hearing the defensive note to his voice.
‘Twenty-odd years,’ Fitzgerald corrected him. ‘You’ve only been reacquainted for five minutes. And in the eighteen years you’ve been away you haven’t been able to forget about her, have you?’
‘I’m not in love with her,’ he ground out. Perhaps once, perhaps when they’d been children he had loved her in the way one could in childhood. But now he felt a myriad of other emotions, but certainly not love.
Fitzgerald shrugged. ‘Fair enough.’
‘What’s fair enough?’ Robertson asked, re-entering the room with three glasses of whisky.
‘The mysteries of Crawford’s heart.’
‘You’re going to have to let someone in one day,’ Robertson said, placing the glass of whisky down in front of Ben.
‘I thought we were here to play cards,’ Ben said, not looking at his two friends.
‘This is more important,’ Robertson said, sitting down and swinging his chair back on to two legs. It was a habit he’d had since they were youths together and it still riled Ben. He grabbed the chair, set it back on four legs and ignored Robertson’s grin. ‘You don’t trust anyone, you have affair after affair after affair and never do you let a woman get close to your heart.’
‘You two aren’t exactly good role models for a settled life,’ Ben murmured.
‘We’re not talking about us. And Fitzgerald is peculiarly well adjusted,’ Robertson said, ‘Must have been something to do with spending his childhood with his family and not among a bunch of convicts.’
‘Strange how much of a difference that might make,’ Fitzgerald said.
‘The next woman you have in your bed, pause for a moment and ask yourself what is stopping you from feeling something deeper for her,’ Robertson said.
Ben grumbled something incomprehensible and thankfully his two friends settled back down to play cards again. He didn’t need their insights into his emotions. He knew he was a little stunted when it came to initiating a deeper relationship. No doubt it stemmed from being torn from his family at such a young age. That, and his feeling that he didn’t quite belong anywhere. He was a wealthy man, influential in his own way, yet most certainly not a gentleman. And class seemed to be the thing that mattered when it came to marriage. Even though he was wealthier than half the men that considered themselves the cream of society in England, he would never be deemed worthy enough or refined enough for their daughters.
He only had to look at Francesca—for her, Lord Huntley was considered a decent match, despite his age and rumoured issues with anger. Huntley had an old family name and pure pedigree and that elevated him above anything Ben could ever be. It made Ben feel sick that it was such an inconsequential thing that mattered. Anyone could inherit a family name—it was much harder to build a successful business from nothing.
He shook his head. Even thinking of a future with Francesca was ridiculous. Instead he would enjoy the eight days they had together and hope the memories would last a lifetime.
Chapter Ten
‘Goodnight, Father,’ Francesca called as she slipped out through the front door. To keep up the pretence she was going to a dinner party hosted by one of her widowed friends she was wearing an evening gown and thin satin shoes again, but had her thick coat thrown over the top despite it being frayed along the hem in numerous places. She wasn’t sure where Ben was going to take her tonight, but she had a feeling it would be outdoors. It was easier to hide from curious eyes somewhere outside, although even just a few steps from her front door she was already shivering. The winter had been colder than usual, with snow every few weeks and the rivers and ponds in the city freezing over on numerous occasions.
Quickly she checked left and right, paranoid someone might be watching her go off to meet an entirely unsuitable man, and then hurried off down the street. Ben was waiting for her in a carriage at the corner and as he saw her approaching he opened the door and hopped down. Not for the first time she felt her insides flip when she saw him and she had to pause and compose herself before she took another step.
‘Go
od evening, Frannie,’ he said, leaning forward and giving her an entirely inappropriate kiss on the cheek. She felt the skin tingle where his lips had been and quickly tried to hide her blush.
‘Behave yourself,’ she admonished.
‘There’s no one here but us,’ Ben said. He was right. On a night like tonight no one was lingering outside and all the carriages had their windows closed and curtains drawn against the freezing temperatures. ‘Come inside.’
He helped her up, waited until she was settled on the seat before he stepped inside and sat down next to her. It was intimate, their legs touching through the multiple layers of clothing, but on the seat opposite was a large package taking up most of the room.
‘Where are we going?’ Francesca asked, trying to ignore the warmth emanating from his body. It would be so easy to sink into his arms, but she knew she would struggle to ever come up again.
‘It’s a surprise,’ Ben said as the carriage set off.
‘What’s that?’ She motioned to the parcel on the opposite seat of the carriage.
‘A present. You will need it tonight.’
‘A present?’
‘Nothing extravagant,’ he said, ‘But I couldn’t expect you to venture out on a night like tonight and not keep you adequately warm.’
Images of him tumbling her into his bed, a roaring fire across the room and their bodies perspiring from the heat they generated filled her mind and hastily she looked away.
‘Can I see?’ she said. It had been a long time since anyone had bought her a present. In the early days of their marriage her husband had bought her one or two trinkets, but nothing extravagant, and even that had stopped when their relationship had begun to sour. As he’d got more and more into debt he’d withdrawn further into himself until even a civil greeting had been too much to expect. Lord Huntley wasn’t a man for presents either. To him their proposed union was a business deal, to be conducted with her father with no sentimentality involved whatsoever.