Brenda Joyce - [Francesca Cahill 06] (11 page)

“Hello, Francesca,” Leigh Anne said from behind her.

Francesca whirled.

Leigh Anne was smiling slightly at her. As always, she was more than stunning and she made Francesca feel like a clod. The first thing one saw was her breathtaking face—pale skin, black lashes, emerald-green eyes, a tiny nose, and full lips. Her long jet-black hair was neatly swept up, a startling yet perfect contrast to her fair complexion. She wore a pale green silk dress that was extremely plain and on other women would have appeared drab, but on her it was perfection. The gown revealed every single perfect curve: her tiny waist, her full bosom, her lush hips. Francesca instantly saw her in that scrap of a negligee she had espied in the boudoir, and she was sickened.

Of course Bragg was smitten with this woman. Why wouldn’t he be?

“I heard the doorbell and Peter said you had come up to see the girls,” Leigh Anne said. Her gaze moved over Francesca’s face slowly.

Francesca suddenly realized that Leigh Anne had noticed
her tears. She was horrified. “Yes, I hope you do not mind.” To make matters worse, her tone was thick.

“Of course not. Dot, do stop playing with Miss Cahill’s hair,” Leigh Anne said in a firm tone, but it was too late. Francesca’s hair spilled free from its pins, landing wildly about her shoulders, a mass of honey-hued waves.

“Dot, that wasn’t nice,” Leigh Anne said, quickly taking Dot from Francesca before she could react and protest.

But Dot beamed at Leigh Anne. “Momma play,” she demanded. “Momma play!”

Francesca felt the floor tilting beneath her feet.

“No, Dot, I have guests, but if you are a good girl, Mrs. Flowers will bring you and Katie down and you may have dessert with us.” Leigh Anne spoke softly and firmly, but then she kissed the toddler hard on the cheek, her eyes closing as she did so.

Francesca stared, forgetting to wipe the tears from her cheeks. She was stunned.
Leigh Anne loved Dot. And Dot was calling her Momma . . .
.

“Mrs. Flowers? We will be serving dessert in a half an hour. I’d love for the children to come down,” Leigh Anne said, slipping Dot gracefully to her feet.

“Of course,” Mrs. Flowers said.

Dot clung to Leigh Anne’s hand. “Frack! Desert! Frack come desert!”

Francesca could not speak.

“Dot, darling, it’s
dessert
. Katie?” Leigh Anne called, walking to the doorway, still holding the grinning Dot’s hand. “Have you said hello to Miss Cahill?”

Francesca now wiped her face with her fingertips and turned so she could see into the bedroom. Katie had been standing rigidly with her back to the door. She turned stiffly. “Yes,” she said, unsmiling.

“Katie! What is wrong?” Leigh Anne asked, releasing Dot and rushing to the six-year-old. She slid her arm around her. “What has happened?”

Katie looked up at her and said, “I don’t want her coming here.”

“What?” Leigh Anne stroked her hair. “Dear, what are you talking about?”

Katie cast a baleful look at Francesca, who became horrified. “Tell her to leave.”

Leigh Anne was startled, and she straightened, glancing at Francesca. Then she swiftly turned back to Katie. “Katie, a lady always minds her manners. That was beyond rude. Please apologize to Miss Cahill. And have you forgotten how kind Miss Cahill has been to you? Please apologize.”

Katie bit her lip, cast an angry glance at Francesca, and said, “Sorry,” clearly not meaning it.

Leigh Anne stared at the child and Francesca knew she was debating whether to take Katie to task now or later. Then Leigh Anne said, clasping Katie’s thin shoulder, “I know how much you have been through in the past two months. We’ll talk about this later, after the ladies have left.”

Katie nodded, suddenly looking close to tears, and to Francesca’s shock, she suddenly threw her arms around Leigh Anne, hugging her hard, sobbing.

Leigh Anne rocked her, murmuring, “There, there, darling, there, there.”

Francesca backed away, realizing that this was all her fault. Katie had felt abandoned even before her mother had been murdered, due to Mary’s hectic work schedule, and then her death had escalated those feelings. Francesca realized that Katie felt abandoned by her now, as well, as she had disappeared for an entire month. “Katie, I’m sorry,” Francesca heard herself say. “I had to go out of town, and I am so sorry.”

Katie stopped crying, sniffling now and wiping her eyes. She ignored Francesca.

“Do you feel better?” Leigh Anne asked, her arm still around her.

Katie nodded.

“You don’t have to join the ladies and me for dessert if you do not want to.”

Katie hesitated. “Did Peter buy those chocolate éclairs?”

Leigh Anne smiled. “Yes, he did.”

Katie smiled back. “I’ll come.”

“Good.” Leigh Anne kissed the top of her head, told Dot to be a good girl, and joined Francesca in the hall. Their gazes met and held, both women pausing.

Francesca stared into her unusually dark green eyes, thinking that any woman who cared for two orphans this way was a good person.

“Shall we?” Leigh Anne asked, staring back at Francesca as intently.

Francesca realized then that Leigh Anne was also thinking about her, not that she had a clue as to what the other woman’s thoughts or real feelings about her were. She nodded grimly, but before either one of them moved, Leigh Anne’s gaze dropped to Francesca’s hands. A silence ensued; then Leigh Anne looked up and said frankly, “That ring is simply stunning.”

An image of Hart, smiling and confident, flashed through Francesca’s mind. In spite of the terribly uncomfortable encounter with Katie and Leigh Anne, his presence seemed to touch her and it was vastly reassuring. “Thank you. It’s far too much for me, however.”

“No, it’s not.” Leigh Anne smiled a little then.

Francesca thought about the way Leigh Anne had been with the girls and then thought about the extremely daring negligee in her boudoir. “You are truly fond of the children.”

Leigh Anne pinkened slightly. “I always wanted children. But when Rick and I separated, I assumed it would never be.”

Francesca hadn’t known that. “Did he know?”

“Of course. When he was courting me we discussed our dreams and made so many plans.” She became somber. “It feels like a bad but fading dream. How can two people fall in love, share so much—and then have it all vanish almost overnight?”

“I don’t know,” Francesca said hoarsely, because that
was exactly how her brief and unrequited love affair with Bragg could be described.

Leigh Anne glanced again at Francesca’s hand. “You and Calder make a stunning couple.”

“Do we?” Francesca didn’t believe it, and she was almost certain Leigh Anne was being polite.

“Yes, you do. He’s so strikingly dark, you’re so golden, it’s almost magical,” she said.

Francesca looked her in the eye. “You didn’t seem surprised when he announced our engagement.” What she really wanted to say was,
You didn’t seem pleased
.

“I was surprised. Every single person in that room was surprised.” Leigh Anne then smiled. “There are a hundred women in this city who are green with jealousy, Francesca.”

Francesca shrugged. “I truly doubt anyone is jealous of me.”

“Hart is a catch. You know, it’s almost incredible that he is in love, that he wants to marry. The man I met four years ago was a sworn bachelor.”

Francesca wasn’t about to tell her that love was not involved.

Now Leigh Anne appeared ever so slightly anxious. “May I ask you something? It’s personal and impertinent.”

“At least you are honest.” She hesitated. “Only if I may ask you something in return.”

Leigh Anne smiled genuinely then. “A barter. Very well.”

“You first?” Francesca also smiled.

Leigh Anne nodded. “Do you love Calder Hart?”

“That is personal.” She hesitated, knowing she did not have to answer. “I enjoy being with him. Very much so. And . . . ” She stopped. “Marrying him seems like the right thing to do.” She did not add,
Given the circumstances I now find myself in
.

“But you were in love with Rick, not so long ago.”

Francesca tensed.

When Leigh Anne had first come to the city in February,
she had confronted Francesca immediately, making it clear that she would not abandon her husband after all. The interview had been terribly unpleasant. To this day, Francesca was not certain how Leigh Anne had learned of her romantic entanglement with Bragg. But they had been seen together frequently, in the most public places, and the world knew how closely they were working on the various cases they had solved. Once, at the theater, a friend of Julia had been observing them quite closely. Celia Thornton resided in Boston, as did Leigh Anne’s family, and Francesca felt certain that it was Mrs. Thornton who had alerted Leigh Anne to the romance. “I fell in love with him before I even knew he was married. The day I found that out, why, it changed my life forever.”

Leigh Anne nodded. “I understand why you love him. You are so much alike. But you know the old saying—opposites attract. I am very different from Rick—and that, I believe, is why he is so greatly attracted to me. I see the same thing with you and Calder.”

Francesca tried not to think about the scrap of a negligee. “Do you love him?”

Leigh Anne smiled softly. “Very much,” she said.

She seemed so sincere. “Then why did you stay away for four years?”

She raised her brows but spoke with great calm. “Now that is impertinent. And frankly, that is my business—and Rick’s.”

Francesca wasn’t surprised by her answer. They started downstairs. Leigh Anne said, “Have you set a wedding date yet?”

“We are thinking of August.”

Leigh Anne nodded. “It will be hot. June would be better.”

Francesca stared, thinking about the divorce Bragg insisted he would have that August. Was the woman a masterful poker player? Did she manipulate and scheme, as Bragg claimed? Or was she simply the graceful and genteel woman that she always appeared to be? Francesca finally
said, as they went downstairs, “Calder insists on five months. And my parents haven’t agreed to anything.”

“Your mother seems ecstatic—and I can’t blame her.” Leigh Anne smiled.

“There you are!” a familiar female voice exclaimed.

Francesca saw Bartolla Benevente, the flamboyant auburn-haired countess, coming gracefully toward them. She smiled. As usual, Bartolla flaunted convention, wearing a daring royal blue gown more suited for a dinner party than a luncheon. Much of her voluptuous bosom was revealed; her slim arms were bare. She wore numerous sapphires and diamonds. She embraced Francesca warmly. “Connie said you would be here, but I didn’t think you would really join us,” she said, her dark eyes warm. Still, her innuendo was clear—after all, it was Bartolla who had found Francesca in Bragg’s arms on a sofa at a party two months ago.

But that had been before his wife had returned to him and their marriage.

“How could I pass up such a cause? The disgraceful state of public education is one of the issues I am most passionate about,” Francesca said. She noted that Bartolla, always a head turner, was more radiant than ever. In fact, she almost looked as if she had very recently been in bed with a man.

Francesca knew that her brother was half in love with Bartolla. Evan was a bit of a rake, and he had always gravitated toward frankly sensual and stunning women. He had been overcome from the moment he had first met the widowed countess. But at the time he had been engaged to Sarah Channing, against his will. Francesca knew he had broken off the engagement several weeks ago. He had also quit the family firm and moved out of the house that had been built for him when the Cahill mansion had been constructed. He now resided at the Fifth Avenue Hotel.

It was hard to say who had disowned whom, Evan or her father.

“It is a very important cause,” Bartolla agreed.

“Thousands of children are denied the education that is their right, due to a lack of teachers and schools,” Leigh Anne said.

Francesca stared at the petite brunette. “Some would say that education is a privilege, not a right,” she remarked, testing her.

Leigh Anne lifted her brows. “But certainly not you.”

Francesca wished to draw her into a debate—to see if she was genuinely a reformist at heart. “I believe in our Constitution,” she said, refusing to say why.

“As do I.” Leigh Anne smiled.

Francesca stared, refusing to expound upon the Bill of Rights and wondering if Leigh Anne had a clue as to what she was talking about.

“We all believe in freedom and equality,” Bartolla said with a sigh. “Let me see that ring, Francesca,” she added slyly. And before Francesca could react, Bartolla lifted her hand, exclaiming over the huge stone. Francesca felt herself blush.

“I am certain that is from Asprey! Francesca, are you tickled pink? Imagine, bringing Calder Hart to heel like that!” Bartolla laughed heartily. “You, a blue-skirted bluestocking, a sleuth, dear God, have brought down the city’s worst womanizer! You do know that a hundred ladies are conspiring even as we speak to bring about your untimely demise?” She laughed again, as if truly enjoying herself.

“I doubt that,” Francesca murmured, feeling herself blush.

“He must be smitten. And I can imagine why! You are the first woman to say no, are you not?” She grinned widely then.

“I beg your pardon?” Francesca said, her ears now burning. If only Bartolla knew that Hart was the one saying no, refusing to heed Francesca’s pleas to the contrary.

“I think it is wonderful,” Leigh Anne said.

“So who will be his best man?” Bartolla asked slyly. “Let me guess—Rick Bragg?”

Francesca almost gasped, looking directly into Bartolla’s laughing eyes.

“Well, they are brothers,” Bartolla said, clearly enjoying herself.

Francesca could not think of a word to say.

Calmly Leigh Anne said, “You know very well that they do not get along. I feel certain Calder will invite Rathe to be his best man.” Rathe Bragg, Rick’s biological father, had taken both Calder and Rick in when their mother had died. Calder had been ten, Rick twelve. Rathe had raised the boys with his other children.