by Laura Martin
‘And woken half the household?’
‘There’s only me and Ginny here, Father dismissed all the rest of the staff a couple of years ago.’
‘Why use the front door when you can climb through a window?’
‘What makes you think I’ll let you through my window?’
‘You can’t resist my boyish charm or my devilish good looks.’
Francesca snorted, but motioned for him to come up anyway.
‘I’m only letting you in because I want to see you climb up here.’
Although Ben had kept fit over the years, with his boxing and regular riding across the Australian countryside, scaling walls was not something he’d done for a very long time and it took a particular set of skills. Still, he wasn’t about to admit defeat and go in through the front door.
Using the ground-floor window and a convenient metal pipe that ran down the edge of the building, he climbed, gripping on to Francesca’s windowsill within a mere few seconds. Using all his strength, he pulled himself up, tumbling into the room with a loud crash. Francesca sat perched on the edge of her bed giggling.
‘Easy,’ Ben said, wiping the grime from his coat before shedding it and placing it over the back of a chair. It was much warmer inside than out and the effort of the climb had already warmed his muscles.
‘I suppose it’s not a chimney,’ Francesca murmured.
‘I’m happy to go downstairs right now and prove to you I can climb that chimney,’ Ben said, starting for the door.
‘You barely fit then and you’re four times the size now.’ She laughed. ‘Although I wouldn’t mind seeing you with your head stuck up the chimney.’
Ben turned and closed the window, latching it shut. The remains of a fire glowed in the grate and as he pulled the curtain he felt peculiarly warm and contented.
‘I received a letter from the seventeen-eighties and they want their nightgown back,’ Ben said.
Francesca looked down. ‘I’ll have you know this is the height of fashion.’
‘The height of fashion from thirty years ago.’
‘I wasn’t expecting to receive any visitors,’ she said primly, ‘and it keeps me warm.’
‘I could keep you warm,’ he said, raising an eyebrow suggestively and making Francesca burst out laughing.
‘Is that why you came? To defile an innocent and upstanding widow?’
‘Do you know where I can find one of those?’ he asked, taking a step closer.
‘I was perfectly virtuous before you came back.’
‘A man can’t help being irresistible,’ he said with a shrug, now close enough to loop his arms around her waist and pull her slender body towards him.
‘You always were too confident for your own good.’
‘There’s no such thing,’ he murmured, catching her earlobe between his teeth and feeling her body react in his arms.
Bunching the thick cotton in his hands he pulled the offending nightgown up and over Francesca’s head, much more satisfied when he discarded it on the floor behind him and turned back to her now-naked body.
As her hands pulled first at his jacket and then his shirt he kissed her, stopping only when he needed to lift his garments over his head or step out of his trousers. Their bodies entwined they tumbled back on the bed.
Slowly Ben ran his hands over Francesca’s body, feeling her rise up to meet his touch and hearing her moan with anticipation and pleasure. Everything about her felt right, she fit perfectly against him and Ben had never felt this level of desire with anyone else in his life.
With passion and tenderness, they made love. The moment Francesca cried out with pleasure she looked into his eyes and Ben felt something in his chest tighten.
Love, that was the word his father had used. Turning over and pulling Francesca into his arms, Ben felt her warmth and the reassuring beating of her heart in her chest.
‘I come out of mourning in three days,’ Francesca said quietly. It must be almost a year since Lord Somersham had died and Ben knew she couldn’t stretch out her mourning period any longer. ‘Father will accept Lord Huntley’s proposal on my behalf.’ They’d also now had all the eight days together they had promised one another. At the thought, Ben felt consumed by panic.
He didn’t say anything. With Francesca in his arms he didn’t want to think about losing her.
‘Once I return to London...’ She trailed off, but Ben knew what she was saying. Once she returned to London she would not be able to see him again. An illicit liaison was one thing when she was merely a widow and had not yet promised herself to someone else, but Ben knew she would not break a vow to be faithful to another, no matter how much she wanted to.
‘Don’t marry him,’ Ben said quietly.
‘Ben, we’ve been through this a hundred times. I have to.’
‘No, you don’t.’
‘My sister, my family.’
‘I’ll provide the dowry for your sister,’ he said.
Francesca stiffened and then turned over to face him.
‘I’ll even sort something out for your odious father if it stops you from having to marry Huntley.’
‘You don’t mean that.’
‘I do, Frannie. I can’t stand the idea of you being unhappy for the rest of your life.’
‘I couldn’t let you do that.’
‘Why not? I have plenty of money. I can’t see a better cause to spend it on.’
‘And in return?’ she asked, her voice coming out as barely a whisper.
Ben closed his eyes for a moment. He wanted to ask her to be his, to marry him and spend her life by his side. The words wouldn’t quite come out, though. He felt selfish asking, as he knew he might not be able to give her what she deserved. He would be asking her to give up her status, her friends, her family. She would no longer be the widow of a viscount, but the wife of an ex-convict, albeit a wealthy one. He knew those things mattered to her, but he just didn’t know how much.
Taking a deep breath, he pushed on.
‘You would be free,’ he said, stroking her cheek. ‘You could choose to marry or not, choose the sort of life you lived.’
He watched as she swallowed, saw the nervousness on her face. ‘A life with you?’ she asked.
‘Marry me,’ he said, pushing away all his doubts. He wasn’t great at taking risks, but how could he hold back from asking her when they both clearly wanted it so much?
She searched his eyes with her own and Ben felt a bubble of nerves as he realised she hadn’t answered him yet.
‘Are you sure?’ she asked. ‘I don’t want you to ask just because you think otherwise I will throw my life away on Lord Huntley.’
Ben grinned. He was going about this all wrong. No woman deserved to be proposed to like this. Sitting up, he turned Francesca to face him and took her hand in his own.
‘I love you, Frannie,’ he said. ‘And I know you love me.’
‘I always imagined my marriage proposal to be a little less arrogant...’ Francesca said, trying to keep the smile from her face.
‘Is that a yes?’
‘Yes.’
Ben kissed her, feeling the soaring of his heart and wondering if this was what he’d wanted all along. Deep down he knew Francesca was one of the main reasons he’d returned to England, alongside seeing his family again, of course, but he’d told himself he had just wanted to see his friend, to make sure she was happy. Now he was beginning to wonder if he’d deluded himself all those years and if in fact he’d loved her all along.
‘I feel like I’m in a dream,’ Francesca murmured as she pulled away, looking into his eyes, ‘and I don’t want to wake up.’
‘This is no dream, Frannie, this is the rest of our lives.’
Despite his words he agreed with her, this evening did have a dreamlike quality to it. He hadn’t
set out to propose to her, his words had been spontaneous even if the idea of spending the rest of his life with Francesca by his side had been circling in his head ever since his father had suggested Ben might be happier if he gave in to the feelings he had for her. In just a few short moments he’d completely changed the course of his life.
Never had he imagined sharing his life with anyone. Whenever he’d pictured his future it had always looked the same as the past few years: a successful business obtained through relentless hard work, pleasing but short-lived affairs, and keeping everyone at arm’s length, deep down too scared they might be wrenched away from him.
‘Is it possible to be this happy?’ Francesca asked, her voice muffled as she spoke into his chest where she’d buried her face.
He knew the next few weeks would be difficult. Francesca would have to break the news to her family that she was not going to abide by their expectations and marry Lord Huntley. No doubt there would be harsh words and recriminations, but it would be worth it. Soon the drama would be behind them, Francesca would be free of her responsibility to her family and they would be husband and wife.
‘Where will we live?’ she asked.
‘Do you mind?’
Slowly she shook her head. It would be a lot to ask to insist she leave her family and friends behind for an entirely new life in Australia, especially when Ben wasn’t sure if he could do the same to his family once again. Perhaps they would be better settling in England, although then there would always be the pull of her father’s antics and no getting away from the responsibility Francesca would feel towards her parents even after they’d done so little for her.
‘There’s no need to decide yet,’ Ben said, stroking her hair. ‘It is enough we know we’ll be together. We can work out the details in time.’
‘I shall have to tell Lord Huntley,’ Francesca said, her fingers dancing across his abdomen distractedly.
‘I’m more than happy to break the news,’ Ben said with a grin. He would take satisfaction in informing the Viscount he had better start searching for a new wife.
‘I’m sure you would be, but it should come from me.’
‘Whatever you think best, although you don’t owe that man anything.’
‘I suppose not.’
They both fell silent. Ben’s head was spinning with plans for the future. Right now he couldn’t quite believe he’d actually asked Francesca to marry him, or that she’d said yes. His life was on such a different trajectory to what it had been even a few hours earlier and he felt like he needed some time to adjust. No doubt Francesca felt the same.
He sat up, but quickly Francesca’s hands coaxed him back down.
‘Stay,’ she whispered. ‘Who can protest if we’re to be married?’
‘It might give your maid a shock if she finds me here in the morning.’
Francesca grimaced. ‘I doubt she’ll be up before us. She’s not used to having anyone residing at Elmington Manor, it’s been so long since we opened the house up.’
With a satisfied smile on his face, Ben settled back down next to the woman he was going to marry.
Chapter Nineteen
It had been a week since Ben had proposed. A week of blissful happiness. They’d spent the time in Essex, long mornings in bed followed by leisurely afternoons riding out to visit Ben’s family. Francesca could see the change in Ben and often wondered what had been the catalyst for it. There was no doubt that his reunion with his family, and with his father in particular, had changed him, but she also thought their own plans for the future might have played a role in the shift in his outlook.
From the little he’d told her and a substantial amount of reading in between the lines, Francesca had worked out that Ben had never allowed a woman to get close to him before. There had been affairs, and plenty of them if she read his expressions correctly, but no one he’d allowed close to his heart. She was in a privileged position and she was determined not to jeopardise his trust in her.
For her part Francesca swung between being wonderfully content to worrying about how she was going to break the news to her family and Lord Huntley. Of course they wouldn’t approve. She was risking her future, all their futures, on a man who would never be accepted by society. It didn’t matter that he hadn’t committed the crime he’d been sentenced for, or that he was now a very successful and rich landowner, all that would matter to the people close to her was that he was not of their class.
Shaking her head, she reprimanded herself. Over the years, since making her debut in society and then marrying Lord Somersham, Francesca felt as though her true identity had been slowly eroded away. She’d been browbeaten into believing the trivial things in life were the most important. If you were told time and time again that it mattered what clothes you wore, who you were related to and were judged on how pretty your curtsy was, then you began to believe these inconsequential things were actually important. Since Ben had reappeared in her life she had felt some of the lies she’d been told over the years washing away and her true self re-emerging.
Still, it would take some time for all her society-induced behaviours to be modified and she still felt nervous about telling anyone of her decision to leave the world she’d always known and set up life with Ben instead.
Francesca was under no illusion that she would be required to leave everything she knew behind. Once she married Ben she wouldn’t be accepted by the same social circle, she’d be excluded and shunned. It was a shallow and cruel reaction, and she shouldn’t mind, but it was just like when the Patronesses had excluded her from getting a voucher for Almack’s—she felt hurt and betrayed by the idea.
Perhaps it would be easier to start afresh in Australia. In Australia, Ben assured her, there wasn’t the same prejudice. A man was admired for making his own way in the world, not for the family name he started with. They could build their lives together with no preconceptions, no expectations or interference from someone else.
She wasn’t sure whether Ben was ready to leave his family again, though—after seeing them after so long—he’d started to cultivate a lovely relationship with his father and brothers. It would be extremely difficult to leave them behind, knowing he might not ever see them again.
Francesca’s feelings on leaving her family behind were just as complicated. She’d miss her sister without a doubt, but her parents she had mixed emotions about. Her mother had been mentally absent for so long that Francesca had half-forgotten what it was like to have a proper conversation with the woman and her father was a selfish and impulsive man who’d put his own desires and urges above his family, almost rendering them destitute in the process.
Still, they were her family. She might hate how her father treated her, hate how he had been so selfish all those years ago to accuse Ben of theft when in reality he’d sold the family valuables to give him more funds for his gambling, but he was still her father. She could hate how he’d acted all these years, but she couldn’t hate him.
Part of her wondered how it would feel to have parents invested in her happiness. For them to congratulate her on her impending union because they knew it would make her happy rather than thinking only of how it would affect them.
Francesca dawdled for another moment after the carriage had pulled up outside the front of their town house, fiddling with her skirts and summoning up the courage to go in and tell her parents her decision to marry Ben, not the man her father had chosen for her.
She wished she’d taken Ben up on his offer to accompany her, but when he’d suggested it she had told him it was best if she broke the news gently, on her own. Of course her father would be irate and her mother would probably tell her how selfish she was being, but it would be nothing that Francesca hadn’t been dealing with her entire life. Throwing Ben’s presence into the mix would make things worse.
Instead she’d made a detour on her journey, dropping Ben off at his r
ooms before returning here. They still hadn’t finalised their plans as to where they would be living when they started their life together, but Ben had torn himself away from his family to give her the support she needed with hers.
Sighing, she resigned herself to an ugly few minutes once her parents found out her plans, summoned her courage and allowed the coachman to help her down from the carriage.
She was barely up the steps before the door had opened and her father loomed in the doorway.
‘Get inside,’ he said, his voice tight with anger.
Francesca swallowed, feeling the scratchy dryness of her throat, and wondered if he knew already of her plans.
Roughly, he took her by the arm, his fingers digging in even through the thickness of the luxurious cloak Ben had bought her all those weeks ago. He manhandled her into his study, a room that was barely furnished, like so many in the house. There was an old desk and two chairs, nothing more, and Francesca was pushed forcefully to sit in one of the chairs.
‘After everything I’ve done for you,’ her father hissed, his face so close to hers that she could feel his breath on her cheeks. He’d been drinking, of course he had, but he wasn’t yet inebriated. The anger was coming from a place of sobriety.
He pulled back, crossing the room to turn the key in the lock before slipping it into his pocket.
‘Father,’ Francesca said, trying to sound reasonable.
It was hard when she was cringing inside. When she was a child he’d beaten her a couple of times, when her minor misdemeanours had coincided with his episodes of particularly bad fortune, causing him to react poorly to any irritation, but he hadn’t raised a hand to her since she’d become a young woman. Right now he looked as though he might murder her.
‘Don’t call me Father. You have no right. A daughter treats her father with respect. A daughter honours and obeys her father. A daughter does not scheme and collude with criminals behind her father’s back to defraud him of what is rightfully his.’
Frowning as she tried to decipher his words, Francesca started to shake her head slowly.