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One
March 1866
Francesca was a fool… How could she have believed he loved her? She’d been hoping, and hoping for weeks now, and it was time to accept he didn’t care for her at all. He’d seduced her, and it hadn’t been particularly difficult either. She’d fallen willingly into his arms and hadn’t regretted that choice.
Until now…
She slid her hand down her belly and fought tears. Her dilemma could no longer be ignored. She had feared her condition and wished it away, but doing either didn’t change anything. Francesca didn’t know what to do. This was not a situation she’d ever believed she’d find herself in.
Her heart hurt. When Matthew hadn’t come for her she should have realized then he’d used her. She’d made so many excuses for him, and she couldn’t change that. She couldn’t change any of it. If she wasn’t facing the consequences of her choice she’d have eventually found a way to forget him, or at least not cry as much at the loss.
Francesca would like to believe she was smarter now, but there was no way to determine if she’d be so foolish over a man again. Her naïveté had already came out shining on her first interaction with a handsome scoundrel. She wished she’d been at least smart enough to ask for his full name. Francesca wanted to slap him in the face for taking advantage of her.
Someone had to know who he was. He’d been at a family gathering after all. There were always more than family at Christmastide. They had friends of friends there. The question was how to discover his name without spilling her own secret along the way…
She sighed. It seemed too difficult. Matthew had been her downfall, and soon the entire ton would be able to see for themselves the mistake she’d made. There was only so much time left before her belly gave it away. Even in that she wasn’t certain how long it would be. She’d never been enceinte before…
“There you are,” Scarlett Kendall, the Marchioness of Blackthorn, Francesca’s mother said. “Why are you hiding out here?” Francesca inherited her strawberry blonde hair from her mother, though hers was lighter than her mother’s richer red. The marchioness had hers pulled back into a simple plait, and her day dress, while elegant, was also a simple butter yellow with white lace trim around the bodice.
They had arrived in London earlier that week to prepare for the season. Her comeout ball would be in a couple of days. At first she’d been excited for it. Now she wished she could cancel it. Doing so would be a scandal in itself though, and she wouldn’t add to her family’s embarrassment. She’d sneaked out to the garden to find some peace from all the preparations. They had decided to stay at her grandfather, the Duke of Weston’s, townhouse. The ballroom was larger and could accommodate the number of guests invited. After her ball they would retire to the smaller Blackthorn house.
“It’s a lovely day don’t you think?” It was actually quite chilly, but she’d needed the cooler air to help her overheated skin. She’d been ill at odd times of the day, and some days she seemed fine. At first she’d dismissed it as nerves. It wasn’t until a couple days ago she’d realized she couldn’t recall the last time her courses had come. “And there is so many people inside. It was stifling.” That part was the complete truth. Francesca had heard balls were so packed sometimes it was difficult to move. That sounded almost terrifying now considering her condition.
“I’m sorry,” her mother said. “Sometimes when one has to endure society obligations it can become unbearable.” She lifted her hand and brushed a stray lock behind Francesca’s ear. “But the good news is once this is done you can pick and choose what balls you wish to attend. Try to have fun.”
Francesca wished and wished… But wishing didn’t work. Her fate was already sealed. Since cancelling the ball was out of the question she’d see it through, and she would make a decision later what she should do next. She would like to at least attempt to uncover her baby’s father’s identity. If that wasn’t possible then she’d confess all to her parents. She hoped it wouldn’t come to that.
“I will have fun.” She smiled, but she didn’t feel even the slightest bit happy. Francesca wondered if she would ever feel that way again. “I’ve been looking forward to this ball for a while now.” And having her one night with Matthew had ruined it for her. “How could I not enjoy it. The preparations however…”
Her mother laughed. “They are tiresome.” The smile fell from her mother’s face. “Are you certain you are all right? I’ve been having strange dreams.”
Francesca’s heart raced. Her mother had a prognostic gift, and if she had dreams…they might give away her secret. “I’m fine.” She put more effort into her smile. “I promise. What were these dreams about?”
Her mother glanced away. “They were flashes really. You didn’t look happy, there was a man but I only saw him from the back. He had dark hair…” She shook her head. “It’s probably nothing. Maybe he’s the one you’re meant to fall in love with. The path isn’t always easy on the course to true love.”
Her mother couldn’t be more wrong. Matthew didn’t love her at all, and even if she found him Francesca doubted he’d take responsibility for the baby he’d help create. Still she had to try..
“You could be right. The ball is soon, and perhaps this mysterious man will be one of the guests.”
Her mother hugged her. “I hope whoever the man is that wins your heart realizes how lucky he is to have you.”
Francesca fought tears. Her voice was a little husky as she spoke, “I’m sure he will be worthy of it. I wouldn’t pick a man undeserving now would I?”
“No you wouldn’t,” she agreed. Her mother pulled back then came to her feet. “Do not stay out here too long. It’s too cold still.” With those words she left Francesca alone with her thoughts once again…
Matthew Grant,the Duke of Lindsey stared out the window in his study at his country estate, Lindy Castle. He’d grown up there. His parents had left him to the nanny’s and governess’s to raise. He didn’t understand love, so it was no wonder he had been taken low by it when he was a green lad.
One lady, slightly older, and perhaps wiser had stolen his young heart and then crushed it cruelly. After that disastrous mistake he vowed never to give his heart to another. He had none to give either way, and now his heartless mother had decided it was time for him to marry. As if Matthew couldn’t make a decision of his own.
If he wanted to marry there was one woman… He shook that thought away. Beautiful red haired beauties didn’t belong in his world. He should never have had a taste of her innocence to begin with. He’d been a rotten bastard, and he laid awake many nights regretting making love to her. He couldn’t go back and change it, and hell, he didn’t really want to. She was the only good thing he’d had in his life and he wanted to cherish that memory.
“Are you listening to me?” Agatha, the Dowager Duchess of Lindsey demanded. His mother had finally realized that he’d stopped paying attention to her.
He took a sip of the brandy he held in his hand, then glanced briefly over his shoulder. “I do my best to never listen to you,” he replied drolly. Why wouldn’t she go away?
“You need to stop this roguish behavior. There are no heirs in the line of succession to the Lindsey title. If you don’t marry and sire an heir…”
“The title will die with me.” He rolled his eyes. “I know this and do not need you to remind me of it.” He turned around and strolled back to his desk, then lifted the decanter to refill his glass. “I don’t bloody care if no one inherits the title. That seems far better than tying myself to a woman I’ll hate.”
