One Night in London (28 page)

“Alconbury, how nice of you to come see me,” she said, holding out her hands to him. “I’ve missed you.”

“And I you.” He kissed her cheek, then stepped back to inspect her. “You look haggard this morning.”

Her laugh was despondent. “A charmer, through and through! You’ll steal my heart, talking that way.”

He reached out and brushed a wisp of hair back from her temple. “Is it still free for me to steal?”

No.
She smiled again, a bit forced this time. “Shall you stay for breakfast? I haven’t eaten yet, but I smelled coffee earlier. Mrs. Hotchkiss would be delighted to serve you a cup.”

Alconbury looked at her for a long moment without answering. “I had an odd visitor this morning,” he said. “He nearly broke down my door a few hours ago—I thought the house was being robbed, or set ablaze—but it was only de Lacey.”

Francesca’s heart gave an extra beat just at the sound of his name. “Good heavens. How rude of him.”

“Very,” Alconbury agreed. “He asked me to call on you. He thought you might need a friend this morning.”

Somehow she twisted her lips into a wobbly smile. “I’m always glad to see you, Henry . . .”

“No,” he said gently. “You aren’t. That night at the theater, you told me not to come—because you hoped he would still be here in the morning.”

She pulled her hands out of his grasp and walked out of the room, into the breakfast room where Mrs. Hotchkiss had already laid out the table. How cruel of Alconbury to jab her with that memory, when she’d been as giddy as any girl, entranced with everything about Edward and thrilled beyond measure that he had found her at the theater, daring any scandal. When she had been so wildly, blindly, in love with him.

Alconbury followed. “Francesca, what’s he done?”

She poked around the dishes on the sideboard. “Nothing, really.”

“Then what did you wish him to do?”

His perceptive question stung like nettles. She had to gulp in a few shallow breaths to keep from bursting into tears. “I told you: nothing,” she said, her wretched voice just barely trembling. “He made me no promises, and I expect nothing from him.”

“Expect,” he echoed. She continued rattling the dishes, even though she had looked in every one already and seen nothing she wanted to eat. “Then what did you
want
?”

I want him to love me as much as I love him.
Mutely she shook her head.

His hands were gentle as he took her by the shoulders and turned her to face him. “A week ago your face lit up when he walked into the room, no matter who was watching. Now you say you expect nothing from him, even though I can see the words make you sick. Do you think I can’t recognize heartache, Francesca?”

The tears spilled down her cheeks. “He doesn’t love me,” she whispered. “I thought he did—or at least
might
—but he wouldn’t say it.”

“Ah.” Alconbury drew her into his arms, letting her rest her wet face against his chest. “Not every man is as wonderful and honest as I am, my dear. Most fellows turn pale at the sound of that word, not fall to their knees and readily confess it.” He nudged up her chin until she looked at him. “If you’d said yes to me a fortnight ago, you’d have heard it every morning since.”

“I know,” she said with a watery hiccup. “I should have said yes . . .”

He chuckled, then sighed. “Of course you should not have done that. I was a fool to ask. I knew you were in love with him, or at least not with me. And unless I miss my guess, he is very much in love with you.”

She swiped at her wet eyes. “He had me investigated.
Before
.”

“He’s a controlling sort of bastard,” Alconbury said. “I’m not surprised he did it.”

“He should have just asked me, if he wanted to know who my parents were and what happened to Cecil,” she added.

“Of course he should have. Your family secrets aren’t written in the gossip papers, unlike his own.”

She winced at the thought of Edward’s family history being gleefully dissected and dirtied in every paper in town. It made him furious, but he never gave in to that anger. “He doesn’t deserve it.”

“None of us deserve it. Some merely bear it better than others.”

“You’re saying he did it because he was in such a foul mood about the gossip?” She regarded him with doubt.

Alconbury smiled sardonically. “I’m saying men are prone to moments of idiocy. If I found myself about to lose everything, with my entire family being mocked in every drawing room in London, and a troublesome red-haired wench forced her way into my life and demanded I drop everything to help her, I might commit some regrettable acts as well.” He leaned toward her, his voice dropping. “Especially if I found her irresistible.”

Francesca stepped out of his arms and away from him. Edward
had
said something like that, that he was just so drawn to her . . . “You’re only trying to make me feel better.”

“Of course I am. But it’s probably true. And whatever his motives then, he’s in earnest now. Did I mention he woke me before dawn to ask that I come comfort you?”

She lifted one shoulder. She would have preferred it if Edward had come to comfort her himself, which was irrational because she had told him not to come. She didn’t want to face him yet, but talking about him with Alconbury was making her want to see him more than ever. Most of all she hated that he had made her feel this way, irrational and confused and so bitterly sorry that she had told him to stay away. “I already agreed that was very rude of him.”

“Yes, and Edward de Lacey is so often rude,” Alconbury replied. “A veritable heathen, in his manners.” She glared at him. “What was he thinking, to show up on my doorstep before dawn, bleary-eyed with drink, looking as though he’d been dragged behind his horse to my house, and then all but order me to console the woman he happens to know I proposed marriage to? The woman he’s been seen with all over town, I might add, leading more than one person—including myself—to believe his intentions would lead to the exact opposite of what he actually did. The man must be a lunatic. Or perhaps . . . just perhaps . . . he’s only mad for you.”

Francesca had had enough. Perhaps it was true. She certainly wanted to think it might be. “Thank you for coming, Alconbury,” she said in a stronger voice. “Your advice is as always invaluable to me.”

He smiled. “Let’s hope it does you some good this time.” He paused and sniffed. “And since I’ve done de Lacey a tremendous service this morning, might I enjoy a cup of his coffee before I go? I’m not sure how I can hate the man who persuaded you to have Mrs. Hotchkiss brew coffee for me.”

Chapter 26

F
rancesca’s stomach twisted as she rapped on Ellen Haywood’s door. Today she was able to take in more details of Georgina’s surroundings. The steps were neatly swept, and a small pot of bright flowers bloomed in the window beside the door. The garden beyond was large and well-tended. It looked as though the household was doing better, and Ellen had promised things would be different now, but she still held her breath as the door opened.

“Please come in, Aunt Franny,” said Georgina, her eyes shining as she curtsied very politely.

Francesca’s heart seized with relief as she returned the gesture. “Thank you, Miss Haywood. It is a pleasure to see you again.”

Her niece laughed and launched herself at Francesca, wrapping her arms around her waist. “I’m so glad you came! It seems so long since you said you would!”

Francesca hugged the little girl tightly. “It does, doesn’t it? But I’ve brought you some things, and it took me a while to pack them up.”

“I’m just happy to see you,” said Georgina shyly, but as Mr. Hotchkiss got out the large box, her eyes grew wide and round with delight. She looked behind her almost worriedly, but Ellen, who had appeared in the parlor door, simply nodded.

“Good morning,” Francesca said to her.

Ellen bobbed her head. “Good morning, Lady Gordon. Won’t you come in?”

Mr. Hotchkiss carried his burden to the parlor, where Francesca unpacked it. She had brought some dresses for Georgina, along with several books and a locket that Giuliana had given her years ago. Her niece looked more and more amazed as Francesca dug deeper into the box, as if Father Christmas had come early. With some difficulty Francesca banished the lingering resentment that Ellen had kept her from Georgina for six months. She tried to console herself with more comforting observations: Georgina was well cared for, her long dark hair brushed to a shine, her cheeks pink and her eyes shining. She wasn’t spoiled, from the way she exclaimed over an illustrated copy of Aesop’s fables and the simple but pretty dresses Francesca had brought.

“Oh, thank you, Aunt Franny!” cried the girl at last, looking up from her new treasures. “I didn’t expect you to bring so many gifts!”

Francesca smiled. One of Ellen’s sons toddled into the room, and Georgina immediately pulled him onto the chair beside her to show him the pictures in her book. Behind her, Ellen stirred as if she would take the child away, and Francesca reached into her box once more. “I’ve brought a few other things, if Mrs. Haywood permits,” she said, looking at Ellen. “For the children.”

The look of surprise on Ellen’s face was priceless, mingled with a bit of wariness and puzzlement. It dissolved into pure blank shock when Francesca took out a set of carved wooden animals, just the right size for a toddler’s hand. She handed one to Georgina, who turned to the little boy beside her and held it out to him. “Look, Billy,” she said happily, “look what my Aunt Franny has brought for you. Wasn’t that very kind of her?”

The boy stared at the wooden horse for a moment with wide blue eyes, then took it from Georgina’s hand and put the tail in his mouth. Georgina laughed, Francesca smiled, and Ellen made a strangled gasping noise before leaping to her feet and running from the room.

Francesca gave Georgina a wooden dolphin, then followed Ellen. She found the other woman in the hall, huddled in a corner with her hands over her face. When Ellen looked up at her approach, Francesca saw she was weeping.

“You have my humblest apologies, madam,” whispered Ellen. “I—I believe I misjudged you.”

Francesca smiled faintly. “And I you. Perhaps we had both better be a little more honest with each other, and a little less inclined to lose our tempers.” She put out her hand. “There is something very special that binds us together.”

Through her tears, Ellen smiled as Georgina’s high, sweet voice floated out of the parlor, reading the tale of the honest woodcutter to her little brother. Ellen laid her hand in Francesca’s and gave a tiny squeeze. “Indeed it does. She’s a wonderful girl. I love her as if she were my daughter in every way.”

A bittersweet sigh slipped through Francesca’s lips. “You do,” she said quietly. “I see it now.”

Ellen wet her lips. “I acted out of fear, earlier. I wasn’t in my right mind, and it was too easy to believe you would take her away from us. It was never about the money, although I admit her maintenance has been invaluable to us. But if it had only been the money, Lady Gordon, I swear on my husband’s grave I would have let you take her and raise her, as he promised you. But to lose her, after losing her father so suddenly—” Ellen stopped, her throat working as grief twisted her face. “She is such a
dear
child. No one who knew her could not love her. But I acted badly, and I confess my brother did as well. Percy was so worried about providing for us, he wasn’t himself when he ordered you away that time.” Francesca still thought that was Percival’s true nature, but she said nothing. “I’m very sorry,” Ellen finished in a whisper. “You
do
love her.”

“Very much,” Francesca agreed.

Ellen nodded. “And I know what heartache it is to consider losing someone so beloved. I thought only of my own grief, if you should take Georgie, and I allowed panic to guide me.”

Francesca turned toward the parlor doorway, where Georgina’s voice had broken down into giggles at whatever the little boy was doing. “I admit in turn I lost my temper. I thought I would be doing you a favor, and when you didn’t respond as expected, I grew upset. Then angry, and then suspicious. And after that I stopped considering your point of view at all.” It wasn’t entirely true; she had thought of Ellen’s trials as a young widow, left pregnant and penniless with a dependent child not her own. But she underestimated the possibility that Ellen might grow to love Georgina as much as she herself did, and so she had never really looked on Ellen’s actions as those of a mother protecting her children. In her place, faced with the chance of losing a beloved child and knowing her legal claim to the child was weak, she would probably have done the same thing. She would have taken Georgina and run to Italy or some other place far beyond the reach of any English court. Ellen had merely been constrained by two infants and a severe lack of funds.

“So,” Francesca went on, “I hope we shall get on better now. Georgina is always welcome to visit me at any time. I’ll do my best not to spoil her, but some excess must be allowed in a fond aunt.” She glanced warily at Ellen, who responded with a shaky smile. “And if you ever have need of anything . . .”

“Oh.” Ellen flushed. “We’re doing much better. Percy’s sold a few paintings, and hopes for more. Moving away from town has been a great inspiration to him.”

Francesca said nothing. She didn’t care two farthings about Percival’s inspiration, but she did care that Georgina never felt poor or went hungry.

“You will always be welcome in my home, as long as Georgina lives here,” Ellen said, confirming their tenuous peace. “I swear it to you.”

Francesca just nodded. It wasn’t what she had wanted, what she had worked so hard and so long to achieve, but it was a fair solution. Georgina had a family who loved her, with siblings and a mother she had known most of her life. And now she had her aunt back as well, to dote upon her and visit her and ensure that she never forgot her natural mother, who had loved her every bit as much as she and Ellen did. Francesca shoved the remaining bit of loneliness and heartbreak that Georgina hadn’t wanted to live with her after all deep into the darkest corner of her heart. Hopefully in time it would wither and die, parched of the suspicion and enmity that had fed it.

She took her niece to Hyde Park, where they walked under the elms and along the Serpentine. Georgina chattered the whole while, entranced by a part of London she hadn’t seen before, and Francesca felt happiness almost soaking into her skin, from the smiles of her niece and the warm sunlight of the afternoon. Georgina had the bright, outgoing personality of her mother, and Francesca was entranced. In just six months her niece had changed from a child into a growing young lady, with unexpected humor and keen observations. She still had a child’s knack for touching on the one subject Francesca didn’t want to contemplate, though.

“That gentleman who came with you,” Georgina said abruptly. “Are you going to marry him?”

Francesca almost tripped and fell over her own feet. “Oh, dear,” she said with a shaky laugh. “Why would you ask that?”

Georgina gave her a guileless look. “Because you’re not married. And he called you ‘dearest.’ ”

“Adults may call each other ‘dearest’ and not be married.”

“I know, but he put his arm around you.”

It took Francesca a moment to regain her voice. Here in the park, far away from Edward and basking in the delight of Georgina’s company, she should have been able to keep her composure. Apparently not. Georgina’s words brought back every moment of her last conversation with Edward, and even worse, all of Alconbury’s words this morning as well. She closed her eyes for a second and could almost feel the solid, comforting weight of Edward’s arm around her, when she had suffered that cruelest shock in Ellen Haywood’s house and heard Georgina declare she didn’t want to leave. And then he had let her sob all over his shoulder as he took her home, where he made love to her and told her she belonged in his life and in his home. But he didn’t love her, at least not enough to say it aloud, not even when she demanded to know why he’d had her investigated. Surely if he loved her, he would have said it . . .

“He was being kind,” she said to Georgina’s question. “It doesn’t mean he wants to marry me.”

She cocked her head and thought. “Might it? He looked very concerned for you.”

“It doesn’t mean he wants to marry me, Georgina,” Francesa repeated in a voice of warning.

“All right.” The girl was quiet a moment, then blurted out, “Do you want him to?”

Francesca stopped short. Perhaps it did come down to that. Perhaps Alconbury was right. She of all people knew Edward didn’t wear his feelings on his sleeve, as she did, or said what he thought, damn the consequences . . . as she did. She had fallen in love with him as he was, and should have known better than to expect him to change, let alone so abruptly. She’d been so shocked and hurt, she left before he could explain, and then told him not to come see her. Perhaps she should have been more temperate. Perhaps her offended feelings were as much to blame as anything Edward had done. “Perhaps,” she said softly.

Georgina beamed. “I thought so!” Her mind was now apparently at ease; she pointed across the green and squealed. “Look, Aunt Franny! May we go see the boats?”

Francesca smiled and nodded. Yes, they could go see the model boats being sailed along the canal. And while Georgina exclaimed in delight, Francesca thought about how she should make Edward see that not only were they perfect for each other, he definitely should marry her. Or at least want to.

F
rancesca rapped the knocker of Durham House and stepped back to wait, casting a surreptitious glance up at the dark windows. The house, like the rest of Berkeley Square, was quiet this evening. Most of her trips to this house hadn’t ended well. Inside her gloves her palms were damp, and she gripped her reticule as if she would strangle it. If this visit didn’t go better than the last one, it would probably be her last.

Blackbridge opened the door. “Come in, madam,” he said, bowing as if she were still a welcome guest.

She stepped into the hall. There was only a pair of lamps lit, and it was almost as dark inside as it was outside. “Is Lord Edward in?” She wondered if he would tell her honestly, or if Edward had instructed his servants to turn her away with polite lies.

“He did not tell me, madam,” said the butler, “but I expect you would not be deterred by it in any event.”

She smiled. “No.” Behind her back, she waved at Mr. Hotchkiss, sending him home. Not having a carriage waiting at the door could only cause her to stay longer, and with any luck, she might not need her carriage again tonight.

She followed Blackbridge through the silent, unfamiliar corridors. When the butler tapped at a door and a moment later opened it, light poured out. Waiting in the shadows behind the butler, Francesca almost held her breath as she waited for his voice.

“Yes, what is it?” He sounded weary, and her heart gave a little throb.

The butler filled the doorway. “Lady Gordon is here, my lord.”

For a moment there was silence. Francesca was just steeling herself to push past Blackbridge into the room, determined to have her say whether Edward wanted to hear it or not, when the butler leaped aside and Edward himself strode into the hall, in such a rush he nearly ran right into her.

“Francesca.” His eyes roamed worriedly over her face. “Are you well?”

She nodded. “May I come in?”

“Ah—of course. Please.” He put out his hand and ushered her into the room, which turned out to be the study. Lamplight gleamed on mahogany furniture, especially the enormous carved desk covered with stacks of papers and books. The windows reflected the fire crackling in the hearth. Bookshelves held an impressive collection of handsomely bound volumes, and above the fireplace was mounted a collection of battered but polished armor. The room smelled of old leather and mellow pipe smoke and, very faintly, of Edward. Or perhaps he smelled of the room, the power and wealth and prestige held by the men who had worked here. Regardless, it was
his
scent, and she loved it.