Lady Belling's Secret

by Bright, Amylynn

  “I’ve been back less than a week, Christian,” Thomas agreed, “and you’ve not proven to me that you’ve changed much since then.”

  Christian flashed a toothy grin before he tossed in his cards.

  “So whatever happened to the Lawrence brothers?” Thomas asked and tossed in his cards as well. He barely registered the loss of the hand. “George and Marvin, right? God, they were crazy, madcap chaps.”

  Christian answered, “George died of influenza in ’07. Marvin left for America but his ship went down.”

  “Oh. I didn’t hear that while I was away.” Thomas took a thoughtful sip of his brandy. “It seems I missed a lot while I was gone.” Of course, his thoughts strayed immediately to Francesca. She was still a stunning revelation, changed from the very awkward young lady to the sensual, passionate woman who occupied his mind.

  “Not so much really,” Christian told him, his voice showing a fashionable amount of ennui. “The ton is the same. Nothing changes in the social whirl. Everyone just waits for the next tasty bit of scuttle.”

  Dalton chuckled at Christian’s assessment. “I’ve not known you for as long as Thomas here, but I’ve never known you to be bored unless it suited your purpose.”

  “No, you’ve nailed him.” Thomas grinned at Christian. “If Christian is bored, he just buys another horse or another dancing girl until the feeling passes.”

  Once again, Dalton pulled the winning chips into his own pile. The cards were re-dealt, and the new antes flew into a pile in the middle of the table.

  “You’re a fine one to talk, Thomas.” Christian refilled the glasses all around. “Are you going to try to tell Dalton here that you don’t have your own well-built reputation? You’ve certainly used that pretty face of yours to your own benefit.”

  “If he tried, I wouldn’t believe him anyway.” Dalton jeered. “I’ve heard from too many reliable sources about the way you and Harrington broke a thousand hearts.”

  Thomas snorted and took a healthy swig from his glass. “Reliable sources. Who would that be? I was always a far sight more discreet than our friend Christian here.”

  The chips piled up in front of Dalton again. “Of course, Christian is more than happy to regale an audience with both your gentlemanly exploits.”

  “All embellished, I assure you.” Thomas shuffled the cards. He glanced over at Christian, but his friend was studiously arranging his cuffs.

  “Not even one adjective is untrue,” Christian assured them both as he anted up his chips.

  “And, of course, Frankie has told me about you all growing up together,” Dalton said as he picked up his new cards. “She’s very fond of you, you know.”

  Thomas’s stomach knotted at her name. If he’d only known when she was twelve with legs as long as a horse and at least as knobby, that he would end up craving those same toned and beautiful legs wrapped tightly around his naked torso, then he would have behaved a whole lot differently. He wouldn’t have allowed his father to make him believe he was worthless; neither would he have run off to join the Navy in a fit. Maybe he would have taken Francesca’s ill-thought-out trap as an invitation instead.

  Once thing was certain, he’d have to stop obsessing about her this night, or his companions were going to wonder about the tent he had growing in his trousers.

  “All right, I’ll admit that I had a reputation as a young man, but I’ve grown up. I have new responsibilities now, ones I never had before.” Thomas realized that this was absolutely true. It was one thing to say it to the duchess, but now he understood that he actually meant it. “So what about you then, Dalton? Surely being friends with George and Marvin Lawrence, and our esteemed hedonist here,” he said as he gestured to a grinning and unrepentant Christian, “you must have chased and caught your fair share of pretty little birds.”

  “My wild oats have been sown.” Dalton smiled and took yet another hand. “But I’ve been the Marquess a lot longer than the two of you have had your titles. I inherited when I was fifteen. Quite frankly, it’s a near miracle I’ve been able to reach the ripe old age of twenty-six before being jockeyed into a marriage.”

  Christian excused himself from the table for a moment and went to have a conversation with two new arrivals. Thomas saw this as the perfect chance to do a little undermining of Dalton’s ego.

  “You don’t really want to marry Francesca?” This was too good to be true.

  “On the contrary.” Dalton appeared nothing if not relaxed in his chair. “She’s a lovely girl, intelligent, well suited to be my marchioness. I’m quite fond of her, actually.”

  Thomas hardly needed an accounting of her assets. “It’s not a love match then?”

  “No.” Dalton took a thoughtful sip of his brandy. “But at the risk of sounding boorish, I do appreciate her beauty, and begetting an heir will not be a trial.”

  Thomas was suddenly nauseous, and it wasn’t due to the fastest hangover in the history of drunken debauchery.

  “I see.” Thomas wondered how he’d feel about that if the other man knew she might already be carrying his heir. With great effort he tamped down a hysterical giggle by taking a big gulp of brandy. How did one know if they were losing their mind?

  “I know that young ladies hope for a love match. I, on the other hand, simply hoped for compatibility, and we have that,” Dalton admitted.

  Christian rejoined their table, sitting down in the leather chair with a thump. “Waverly over there is looking to rid himself of his new stallion. Paid a fortune for him. Won’t say why, but I’ve got a good notion it’s because the huge black beast scares him.”

  “So can we assume then that your stable is expanding?” Dalton drained his glass and agreed to a refill.

  “It’s a sure thing.” Christian beamed. “Come with me tomorrow to Waverly’s.” He looked from Dalton to Thomas, his eyes excited with the promise of a new toy.

  They whiled away the evening in this manner—playing cards, smoking, and drinking the finest brandy in the luxury of the gentlemen’s club. This was something else that Thomas had sorely missed while away—the comfort and luxury of it all.

  After several hours, it was apparent that Thomas’s luck had changed as the pile of money shifted from in front of him to the other side of the table, heaped in front of a rather bored-looking Dalton. In addition to Thomas’s coffers dwindling, his mood became more and more ill-tempered. In fact, he growled at the footman when the man inquired if he needed anything.

  The fact that he hadn’t lost a great deal of money—well certainly no more than he could comfortably afford—wasn’t the point. The real problem was that he couldn’t find sufficient reason to despise Dalton. And he tried. He brought up every topic he could think of that would show Christian that his future brother-in-law was a boor. Unfortunately, he was a friendly, quick-witted sort of chap much like himself. But it didn’t matter. The money that he had come in with now sat in a fat wad in his rival’s pockets. Thomas didn’t like that metaphor one bit.

  “Gentlemen, this has been a most enjoyable way to waste my evening,” Dalton noted as he stood. Leaning over his chair, he reached across and downed the last of his brandy. “But I really must get going.”

  “Oh,” Thomas growled, “where do you have to be that is so vital?”

  Two sets of eyebrows rose in question at the brashness of Thomas’s tone. Christian also stood from his chair. “What is on your plate for the rest of the evening, Dalton?”

  “Not much, really.” The man stifled a yawn. “I’m pretty knackered from the trip this week. I had no idea the place in Chesterbrook was so run down. It was a much bigger deal than I originally thought.”

  “Dalton won Chesterbrook from Llewellyn in a card game,” Christian explained with a lazy stretch.

  “Llewellyn is still playing cards?” Thomas was aghast. “How can he possibly have anything left?”

  “I felt bad taking it, but the man needs to learn when to quit,” Dalton said.

  “Dalton is on
e of the luckiest sons-of-bitches I’ve ever met,” Christian told Thomas.

  Thomas snorted, leaned back in his chair and took a deep drag on his cheroot. The man’s luck would have to run out some time.

  Christian turned to look at his friend. “What the hell is wrong with you? You’ve been acting like a jackass most of the night.”

  “Nothing is wrong with me,” Thomas insisted.

  “Really?” Christian said dryly. “You’ve growled at every one of the footmen. If it’s possible, I think you even bared your teeth at the last one who dared to approach you. If I didn’t know better, I’d think we’ve been playing cards with a rabid dog.”

  Thomas grunted. “I hardly think that I growled at anyone.”

  A polite cough from the other side of the table insinuated that, in fact, he had. “Actually, you did growl. And several times you’ve thrown the cards when you lost.” Dalton made as if to leave.

  “All right.” Thomas threw his hands up in the air. “You win. Maybe I’ve been surly.”

  “Well, obviously we won.” Christian grinned and gestured to the very small pile of money in front of Thomas and the large piles in front of Dalton and himself.

  “No need to be a churl, Christian,” Thomas stated, but he knew he’d been the one acting like a churl.

  “Right then, what are you about for the rest of tonight?” Dalton inquired as the butler went to fetch him his hat and gloves.

  “It’s still relatively early,” Christian noted. The clock announced the hour with two loud chimes.

  “Nothing else for me. If you’re both leaving, I may as well, too. As you two have so succinctly stated, I am not the best company today.” Thomas ran his fingers through his hair.

  Christian took a final drag on his cheroot before stubbing it out in a crystal ashtray. “That’s right. You were up early this morning, weren’t you? You didn’t sleep well last night? Ladies keeping you up?”

  “Just the one,” Thomas muttered. He leaned both elbows on the table and rubbed his face hard.

  “Then maybe a night in, alone, is just the ticket.” Dalton’s suggestion made Thomas laugh a bit humorlessly.

  “Or maybe a warm and willing woman is what you need.” Christian offered up his favorite solution.

  If he was busy in bed with someone else, he couldn’t possibly think about Francesca. Well, it certainly sounded good in theory, but try as he might, Thomas couldn’t bring himself to drum up enough energy to go look for anyone else. Francesca was the one he wanted.

  “Maybe,” he said just to appease his friend, hoping that he would drop the subject.

  “That’s the Thomas I know and love. A real lady killer.” Christian clapped him on the back.

  “Well, best of luck to you in your endeavors.” Dalton chuckled as pulled on his gloves and turned from the table.

  Once Dalton was gone, Christian asked, “You like him? I think he’ll be a more-than-tolerable brother-in-law. Francesca likes him, and after all, she has to live with the man, I don’t. But I think he’d be good to her.”

  “I think he cheats at cards.”

  “He does not and you know it. You really are an ass,” Christian said, laughing when he chucked him on the shoulder.

  “As you said, it’s still early. Where are you off to next? If I’m going out after all, I’d like to suffer as little tedium as possible.” And really, sleeping alone in his bed that still smelled of Francesca held no appeal. He’d just as soon go out.

  “I’m going to Holloway’s. I am sure that you will be able to satisfy your cravings for company there. About now, all of the exquisite married ladies of the beau monde will be looking for a bed partner.” His eyebrows rose up and down in a comically suggestive manner.

  It’s better than sleeping alone. “I should only be so lucky.” Thomas sighed.

  Chapter Seven

  Francesca woke up anxious.

  The nerve-wracking dinner from the night before had left her with a splitting headache. She’d gone to bed early, not even bothering to come up with a plausible excuse. She’d simply wandered up the stairs after dinner. Nevertheless, she’d lain awake most of the night contemplating one line that Thomas had said to her last evening in the parlor. One simple, haunting phrase that reverberated in her brain: What if you’re carrying my child?

  She had been so busy worrying about the scandal of her engagement ending in disgrace that it never even occurred to her that she could be facing an even bigger disaster. Every time she tried to think it all through, her head would pound and she’d find it difficult to breathe. There was just so much that could go horribly, horribly wrong. Everywhere she looked was a new, more gut-wrenching catastrophe. What if Thomas thought telling everyone what happened would get him what he wanted? What did he really want anyway? His insistence was bemusing to say the least. In what kind of just universe would he ignore her for sixteen years and then out of the blue decide he must marry her? The unfairness of it all was crushing.

  Being pregnant and jilting a husband at the altar would be an even bigger scandal than her uncle’s had ever been, and that particular incident had long been held up as an example of how foolish decisions ruined a person’s life like her family’s very own Aesop Fable. The best-possible scenario had her marrying Lord Dalton and managing to maintain some semblance of a stilted friendship with Thomas.

  These unsettling thoughts consumed her as she sat in the morning room with Anna and her mother and did needlework and tried to participate in small talk. It was torture, but she forced herself to sit and concentrate on the tiny stitches. Do something normal, Francesca. Everything will be fine if you do something normal.

  An hour into the farce, Francesca nearly jumped out of her skin when the great knocker sounded at the front door and then again when the butler, Jones, announced Lord Dalton into the room.

  “Good day, ladies.” Dalton graced the women with a stately bow. “I am hoping you will permit me with a walk in the park this fine day, Lady Belling.”

  Anna leapt at the opportunity to answer for her, “Oh I’m sure that would be grand, don’t you think, Frankie?”

  Frankie looked at her friend, her eyebrows almost in her hair. “Yes, I do think it’s a fine day for a stroll. Please excuse me, Lord Dalton, I’ll just fetch my hat and parasol. Anna, why don’t you help me?”

  On the fifth stair, Frankie stopped and stared at her friend open-mouthed.

  “What?” Anna asked, arms wide at her sides, palms up in question.

  “What was that?” Francesca demanded.

  “You’re making me nervous,” Anna told her. “You’re walking around this house like you expect ghosts to jump out of the closet. I could tell you were going to try to come up with some reason why you shouldn’t go with him, but he’s your fiancé, and any other lady would take the opportunity to spend some time alone with a handsome man such as Lord Dalton.”

  “Oh.” Frankie didn’t know what to say to that. It was perfectly reasonable and well thought out—a far sight better than she was able to do on her own.

  “Act like everything is perfectly ordinary,” Anna urged in a whisper. “We can’t fix this if you make it worse.”

  “All right,” Francesca said, stunned. She placed her hand on the newel post and headed up the stairs. She turned around at the landing and announced in a clear voice like a normal lady would, although, honestly, she was seriously losing her grasp on what a normal lady would do in any given situation, “I’ll be right down.”

  The park was very crowded with both pedestrian traffic and carriages. Governesses with their charges and older children in groups played tag and flew kites in the beautiful weather.

  With her hand nestled in the crook of Dalton’s arm, Francesca could easily pretend that all was right with the world. If she listened very hard to what her fiancé was saying, it was quite easy to forget that the love of her life was plotting their ruin.

  “Did you just see that dragon disappear over that hill?”

&n
bsp; “Umhmm.” She nodded, and then snapped up her head. “What?”

  “I was wondering if you were here.” Dalton chuckled. “Where have you been?”

  “Here. With you.”

  “In body yes, but your mind is far away.”

  “Oh. And I thought I was paying very close attention.” Francesca adjusted her parasol so that she could look into Dalton’s eyes. “I apologize. You have my full attention now. What did I miss?”

  “Nothing of any consequence, I assure you. I was merely going over all the changes that need to be made at Chesterfield.” Dalton patted her hand.

  “But that is very interesting,” Francesca protested. “Please continue.”

  “Darling, there is no need to feign interest. You’ve already won me. The contracts have been signed. I won’t call off the wedding simply because you don’t hang on my every word.”

  Francesca stopped walking and suppressed a tidal wave of panic. “Who said we were calling off the engagement?”

  Dalton held up a staying hand and chuckled. “No one. I was teasing. What a fine scandal that would be.”

  Francesca audibly exhaled. “Oh.” She retook his arm and gently urged him to keep walking before people could stare. She studiously ignored Dalton’s puzzled glances.

  She used all her social skills to bring the conversation back around to less-complicated matters: literature, mutual friends, an art exhibit they had both seen at the National Gallery, and a mutual love for frozen ices. Dalton settled her on a shady bench and took a seat next to her. They sat for some time enjoying the lazy afternoon and watched a group of boys play with several large dogs in the field before them while they chatted.

  Suddenly, a yell rose up from the boys, and Francesca and Dalton lifted their heads to see a rather large black animal careening in their direction, its leash trailing behind, flapping in the wind. Two of the boys hollered indistinct commands and gave chase, while one smaller boy stayed behind trying futilely to control yet another enormous black dog.

  Frankie yelped at the commotion and rose from the bench. Squinting, she tried to focus as the racing dog closed in on her and her bench from only fifteen yards away. As the speeding animal grew closer, she was able to make out a fuzzy creature bounding in front of the dog, tail high, racing for safety, all while the dog barked with ferocious glee.