by Laura Martin
Francesca gave a nervous laugh and Ben felt his heart shrivel a little. This was the man she was going to marry. This cruel old bully who would slowly squeeze the life out of her until there was no more vibrancy, no more free spirit. She’d be crushed under the weight of his constant disapproval. She deserved so much more than a lifetime of misery with Lord Huntley.
‘Letters,’ Ben said shortly. ‘Lady Somersham is a fantastic correspondent.’
‘I wouldn’t know,’ Lord Huntley murmured, looking at the woman he was determined to make his wife. ‘Letters make it all the way to Australia, then?’
‘I hope so,’ Ben said, ‘otherwise the weekly instructions I send my land steward are a little pointless.’
It would be foolish to underestimate the man standing in front of them. He already knew more about Ben than anyone else in London and that made Ben uneasy. He obviously distrusted Ben and would probably do anything to ensure he and Lady Somersham didn’t spend any more time together.
‘Seeing as you are dancing now, I will take the next dance,’ Lord Huntley said, addressing himself to Francesca. It was said as a statement rather than request to dance and Ben saw the moment of rebellion flare in Francesca’s eyes before she submitted and nodded demurely.
‘Of course, Lord Huntley.’
‘I’m sure you’ll be going back to Australia soon,’ Huntley said over his shoulder. ‘It is a pity you’ll miss the wedding.’
‘A shame,’ Ben murmured, watching Francesca’s stiff posture as they walked away.
They lined up for the next dance and Ben gave a snort of disgust when the musicians struck up for a waltz. It was the most intimate of dances allowed at a society ball, a wonderful dance where it was perfectly acceptable to hold your partner in your arms while you swept them around the dance floor, and now Francesca was being subjected to dancing it with Lord Huntley.
‘They don’t look very well matched,’ Fitzgerald said as he came to stand next to Ben.
‘He’s not the sort of man I’d wish upon anyone,’ Ben said quietly, unable to tear his eyes from the Lord Huntley’s oversized hands resting on Francesca’s waist.
‘Especially not someone you care for,’ Fitzgerald murmured.
Ben began to protest, but found his friend had already slipped away. And if he was honest he did care for Francesca. Every day he spent with her, he found it harder to deny the depth of the feelings he had for her. It wasn’t just desire that clouded his mind every time he looked at her, it was something much more than that.
‘Don’t be a fool,’ he murmured to himself. Francesca had made it perfectly clear where her priorities lay. She would put saving her family from the shame of financial ruin and securing her sister a dowry above her own happiness. And that meant there was no future for them.
It wasn’t even just the money that separated them. Ben was a wealthy man now, but what he didn’t have was the pure bloodline a woman like Francesca was meant to marry into. He could never be truly accepted into her world, even though it was ridiculous to be separated for such an inconsequential detail.
Friendship, he told himself. That was what they’d had when they were young and that was what they were building now.
And if he hated the idea of Francesca spending even one second in another man’s arms, well, he could put that down to the concern of a friend rather than jealousy.
Forcing himself to turn away, he’d only taken one step when he came face to face with Felicity, standing there beaming at him with Miss Yaxley on her arm.
‘Walk with us,’ Felicity requested, smiling sweetly in an expression that was reflected on Miss Yaxley’s face as Ben looked from one to the other.
‘For some strange reason I feel nervous all of a sudden,’ Ben said, offering an arm to each of the young ladies.
‘We’re just curious,’ Miss Yaxley said.
‘How do you know my sister so well, Mr Crawford?’ Felicity asked.
‘After such a long time out of the country.’
‘I wouldn’t have thought you would remember many people from your childhood.’
Ben waited in case there was any more, his head already spinning from the double act of Felicity and Miss Yaxley.
‘Has your sister not told you?’ he asked.
‘She’s being very coy. Apart from saying she knew you from years ago she’s been very tight-lipped.’
‘Irritatingly,’ added Miss Yaxley with a smile on her face. ‘But rumour would have it that you’ve been out of the country for eighteen years, which would have made Lady Somersham only ten when you left.’
‘And that seems rather young for such a friendship to endure,’ Felicity added.
Ben shrugged. ‘I don’t know what to tell you ladies.’
‘The truth,’ Felicity said quickly. ‘How do you know Francesca?’
‘We were friends in childhood,’ he said simply.
‘And...?’ Miss Yaxley asked.
‘And nothing.’
Felicity sighed, ‘I told you, Caroline, it was too much to hope for.’
Caroline scowled and shook her head in disappointment. ‘So you haven’t been corresponding all this time?’
‘I’m sorry to be a disappointment, but, no...’ He paused, but realised he needed to know what they were talking about. ‘What was too much to hope for?’
Felicity waved a dismissive hand, ‘Oh, that you’d been in love with Francesca for eighteen years and had come back to rescue her from the clutches of the evil Lord Huntley.’
Ben felt his eyes widen before he could gain control of himself.
‘Shame,’ Miss Yaxley said, shaking her head.
‘It would have been romantic.’
‘And an answer to the Huntley problem.’
‘The Huntley problem?’ Ben asked, feeling exhausted by the two minutes of conversation. He wondered if the young women were always like this and realised he didn’t want to find out.
‘You know,’ Felicity said, nodding her head towards the dance floor where Lord Huntley still had Francesca in his arms, ‘the Huntley problem.’
‘No one wants Lady Somersham to marry Lord Huntley,’ Miss Yaxley said dramatically.
‘Well, Father does and Lord Huntley,’ Felicity corrected her friend, ‘But no one whose opinion should actually matter does.’
‘Have you spoken to your sister about this?’ Ben asked, wondering if Felicity knew her sister was mainly doing it to provide her with a dowry.
‘Francesca still thinks I’m about eight years old. She won’t discuss it with me—I think she thinks she’s protecting me.’
‘Soon it will be too late,’ Miss Yaxley said ominously.
‘Perhaps you could talk to her,’ Felicity suggested, turning to Ben.
‘I think you overestimate our friendship,’ he murmured. He didn’t want to tell the young woman in front of him that he had already expressed unease at Francesca’s choice of future husband and been unable to sway her opinion away from the decision. ‘Perhaps you should talk to her about her motivations behind the marriage.’
Felicity regarded him for at least twenty seconds without saying anything before she groaned. ‘She’s doing it for me, isn’t she? To protect me or some such nonsense.’
‘I really think you should ask your sister,’ he said.
‘If she’s marrying that old goat purely to protect me, I will not be very happy,’ Felicity said to Miss Yaxley.
‘It’s the sort of thing she’d do,’ Miss Yaxley agreed. ‘Sacrifice herself so you could have a better future.’
‘I bet he’s promised to provide a dowry for me,’ Felicity said, pursing her lips together. ‘Francesca is always talking about me marrying some nice young man and getting out of the way of Father’s ill-advised schemes.’
‘Even if it means she’ll spend the rest of her life miserab
le,’ Miss Yaxley said with a sad shake of her head.
‘Thank you, Mr Crawford,’ Felicity said, relinquishing his arm. ‘Please excuse me, I have a sister to go and batter some sense into.’
Both young women curtsied and hurried off, their heads bent together as if they were plotting and scheming. Feeling a little dazed at the speed of the conversation, Ben moved to the edge of the ballroom, found a convenient marble pillar to lean against and took a moment to straighten his thoughts.
His eyes searched for Francesca in the crowd and he saw her finishing the waltz and curtsying prettily to Lord Huntley. Ben knew she would be angry at him for letting her sister come to the conclusion that Francesca was marrying Lord Huntley to provide a better life for her, but he couldn’t have done much more. Maybe Felicity could talk some sense into her sister.
Chapter Twelve
Stretching out in one of the comfortable armchairs, Ben read through the latest letter he’d written to his farm manager, checking he’d left nothing out. There were crops to be harvested at this time of year, but knowing how long it would take for the letter to reach Australia Ben’s instructions were focused more on the planting and care of the land in the Australian winter, many months from now.
He was just tucking the letter into the envelope when he heard voices downstairs and sat up to listen. Not many of the residents ever got any visitors and he was already up out of his chair and heading for the door when there was an abrupt rap.
‘Good morning,’ he said with a smile as he opened the door.
Normally the maid who looked after the residences in this building would come and announce any visitors, but this time it looked as though Francesca had pushed through despite the maid’s protests to knock on his door herself.
‘How dare you?’ she asked without any form of greeting.
Ben stepped back, allowing her space to enter. Hesitating, she seemed to weigh up the options, eventually deciding this wasn’t an argument she wanted to have in the corridor, so entered his rooms.
There was a mixture of anger and indignation on her face and immediately Ben knew this would be about him letting slip to Felicity the night before that Francesca was only marrying Lord Huntley out of some notion to provide her sister with a better future.
‘It wasn’t your right,’ she said as she turned on him as soon as the door closed behind her.
‘Would you care for tea?’ he asked calmly, motioning for her to take a seat.
She ignored his question and didn’t move towards the armchairs. With a shrug he walked past her and sat down, causing her lips to purse.
‘It is my decision who I marry and why I have decided to marry them,’ she said with fire in her eyes.
Ben loved her like this. She was so animated, so beautiful, not the downtrodden woman she was forced to be by other men. Francesca would never speak to Lord Huntley like this and it saddened him to think she was soon to be condemned to a life where she was the inferior one in the relationship, not allowed to speak her thoughts or air her grievances.
‘Your sister guessed,’ he said. ‘She’s a very intelligent young woman and she knows you well.’
‘You could have denied it,’ Francesca said.
‘I wasn’t going to lie. And perhaps Felicity deserves to know what you are planning on sacrificing for her future.’
‘She doesn’t need to know, she’s just a child.’
‘You were married by her age,’ Ben reminded her gently. ‘And I’d served eight years for theft and started building towards a better future.’
‘Felicity is young and innocent,’ Francesca ground out.
‘I think she’s more worldly wise than you give her credit for. She’s been living with your parents for all these years, too.’
As he watched some of the anger left Francesca and she slowly sank down into one of the armchairs.
‘What did she say to you?’ Ben asked quietly.
Running a hand over her brow and down the angle of her jaw, Francesca took a moment to answer.
‘This morning she came into my room with a tray of tea and toast,’ Francesca said, ‘And then proceeded to question me with military levels of inquisition about my motives for considering Lord Huntley as my future husband.’
‘What did you tell her?’ Ben asked.
Francesca sighed. ‘I tried to satisfy her curiosity while still remaining vague, but she wasn’t having any of it, thanks to you, I presume. She accused me of being a martyr.’
Ben laughed, picturing Francesca’s overly dramatic sister calling her a martyr.
‘She’s not entirely wrong,’ he murmured.
‘I am not martyring myself for her. I’m just giving her a chance of a better future.’
‘At the expense of your own.’
‘I don’t want to have this argument with you again. I’m angry because of what you told Felicity.’
Ben shrugged. ‘I apologise for making you angry, but I’m not sorry your sister knows what you are planning.’
‘You are infuriating,’ Francesca said through clenched teeth.
‘What if your sister doesn’t want to ever get married? What if she wants to travel the world, or work as a governess or set herself up as a merry spinster? You haven’t asked her, have you?’
‘Don’t be ridiculous.’
‘It’s not ridiculous. You’re sacrificing your happiness for something you don’t even know your sister wants.’
‘Of course she wants to get married. That’s what all young ladies do.’
‘Just because it is the norm doesn’t mean it’s what she wants. Think about it—if you could have anything, any future you desired, would you really choose matrimony to a society bore?’
Francesca hesitated ‘We don’t have a choice,’ she said eventually. ‘It’s not like we can just buy up land and start a farm or go to university and learn a profession. We’re women. Our options are severely limited.’ Shaking her head, she took a few fortifying deep breaths. ‘We’re held back at every turn, told to be quiet, to follow orders, to obey others. Just look at what happened when I tried to defy my father and speak out to defend you. No one listened. Because I was a girl.’
‘I know,’ Ben said, a hint of conciliation in his voice. ‘And I also understand the demands of society for you to conform, but some of those limits are put in place by you.’
She opened her mouth as if to protest, but slowly closed it again without saying a word. He saw the sadness in her eyes, saw the hurt and pain and uncertainty and instantly he was on his feet, wrapping his arms around her. Resting her head on his chest, she burrowed in to him and Ben felt a pang of sympathy for her. All she was doing was trying to make the best decisions for her family, despite not having many attractive options. He just wished she wasn’t going to throw away her entire future in the process.
‘How did you leave it with your sister?’ he asked softly, giving in to the temptation to bring one of his hands up to run through her silky hair.
He felt Francesca grimace into his chest before she spoke. ‘Felicity is refusing to accept any dowry Lord Huntley provides.’ She sighed and shook her head. ‘It’s just her little protest. I’m sure when some young gentleman catches her eye she will take the dowry to smooth the path.’
Ben wasn’t so sure and he could tell by her tone Francesca wasn’t entirely convinced either.
‘So you marched all the way over here to tell me off?’ he asked, smiling into her hair.
He loved that she could be so natural with him. It was healthy to be able to voice your feelings of dismay or irritation. Although he’d never been in a relationship that lasted long enough to have first-hand experience of this, he’d had the best role models. Fitzgerald’s parents, the kindly couple who had taken him and Robertson in after the boys had saved their son from the bite of a deadly snake, had been wonderful role models. The
couple had both grown up in England with all the rules and expectations of society. The older Mr Fitzgerald was the second son of an impoverished baron and as such his wife was from the upper echelons of the gentry. However, years of living in Australia, surviving where many others couldn’t, had meant their marriage was a partnership. It was equal, with both parties having a say in the decisions and no one overruling the other. Of course they argued and disagreed, but in a healthy way, and always they came together at the end of it to find some mutual agreement and way forward.
If Ben ever settled down, that was the sort of relationship he wanted. With a wife not afraid to speak her mind with him.
Glancing down at Francesca, he found himself imagining what it would be like to wake up to her every morning. It was a tempting fantasy, but he knew it could never be anything more than that.
‘Perhaps I should show you how sorry I am for upsetting you,’ he murmured and felt her stiffen in his arms.
‘How would you do that?’ she asked, her voice coming out as no more than a whisper.
‘I can think of one or two ways.’
As she hesitated, looking up at him before nodding, Ben felt the desire almost overwhelm him. He’d found women attractive before, but never had he felt this level of desire. It was as though he needed to be with her, to show her pleasure and to know every inch of her.
Gently he led her into his bedroom, seeing the flush of anticipation on her cheeks and pausing to look into her eyes.
‘Are you sure?’ he asked. He needed to check now, when he was still lucid, still able to stop himself. Soon he would be lost in her, oblivious to everything except how their bodies and souls were meeting.
‘I’m sure,’ she said with an unwavering voice. He had to remember she wasn’t a shy virgin, she’d been married for years and as such wouldn’t be a stranger to the bedroom.
‘Come.’ He held out a hand, waited for her to take it, then pulled her towards the bed. Softly he kissed her, reining in some of the passion he felt so as not to overwhelm her entirely. Her lips were warm and inviting, welcoming him in, and before long he was lost. All he could think about was the woman in his arms.