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“I fear I’ve made Edith here quite jealous of my forays into your establishment,” Lady Aircourt added with amusement. The widowed countess was a frequent patron of The White Heather on the days that he allowed women entry, and they’d built a pleasant if not distant acquaintance over the years. He hadn’t known she shared such a close relationship with Lady Clifton and was more than a bit irritated that he’d apparently let a potential wellspring of information regarding the Tremore family go beneath his notice. Though, that would require he inform Lady Aircourt of his new circumstances, and Arthur was keen to keep as many people out of the loop as possible.
“I did not know you were in the area, My Lady,” Arthur replied, putting on the most affable face he could muster. “What a pleasant surprise.” That such an infamously genial and slightly scandalous woman was at all acquainted with his stuck-up family was a mystery. But, from the look of Lady Clifton’s rather pleasant countenance, perhaps he had misjudged the situation.
“Eliza and I had our come outs together,” Lady Clifton said softly, as if unused to speaking at any volume. “We have been friends ever since, even if my time in London wound up being woefully short. My marriage to Lord Clifton had already been arranged by then, so my season wasn’t much of a season at all.” She finished that sentence with a light chortle, though Arthur detected a hint of bitterness behind her flippant attitude. It was enough for him to put the pieces together. His step-grandmother, how jarring to think of such a young woman so, had obviously been all but sold off to the old earl. The thought was rather disturbing, but that was the way of the aristocracy. Such arrangements were made every day, especially for women who struggled to do well on the marriage mart on their own. The image of Lady Francesca being pawed at by a greedy, lecherous old lord assaulted his brain and filled him with such momentary fury that he had to bite the inside of his cheek and remind himself that her parents were the rare few nobles whom actually had a care for their offspring.
“How unfortunate,” Lady Francesca’s smooth voice sounded from beside him. She shuffled around his person, her rosy scent proving a balm on his fraught imaginings, and moved to perch herself elegantly on the settee across from the other women. “Shall I ring for tea?”
“If you do not mind my imposition, then please,” Lady Clifton replied with a smile. “I have wanted to visit Festoon Hall for some time.” She pursed her lips. “Clifton would never allow it, and my stepdaughters were always in agreement with him. It was horribly rude of them, and I apologize.”
“There was nothing you could have done,” Arthur replied, finally coming to his senses enough to take the seat next to Lady Francesca. The action felt oddly right, as if sinking into the cushions by her side were the natural course of things. He suppressed the odd thought, knowing that he needed to focus on Lady Clifton. The woman might prove to be an invaluable ally in the coming months. “I am sure Amberwood would understand that your hands were tied.”
“I hear that the current is an amiable fellow, along with his marchioness. I must confess to being quite excited once I learned of the marriage last year. There are few women close to my age in the area, and I hoped we would be friends.” She snapped her mouth shut with a mild blush. “Oh, dear, that was rather forward of me.”
“I am sure Sophie would be delighted, My Lady,” Lady Francesca replied brightly. “If it will put you at ease, might I also be unfashionably forward and express my desire for further acquaintance?”
Gods, she was charming when she wanted to be. Arthur wondered what it would be like to have that cheerful expression directed at him. He swallowed the bout of longing bubbling in his heart. He was not at this retreat to foster his embarrassing infatuation with Lady Francesca. “You will find that the gathered company at Festoon Hall is quite original,” he drawled smoothly, perfectly concealing any hint that he’d been positively mooning over the woman at his side.
“The Duke of Ashford and his duchess are also in residence. We are actually in the middle of an informal house party. I am sure Jasper and Sophie would be more than happy to have you afoot as well.” Lady Francesca wore that striking smile once more, and he clenched his fists to keep from being bowled over again.
“Oh, how lovely,” Lady Aircourt replied. “We would be delighted.”
“Yes, thank you for the invitation. I will visit often in the coming weeks. I am sure I can get away with informal social calls during my mourning period.” Lady Clifton replied, her eyes brightening. She paused a moment before continuing. “The house has been in a pall since Clifton passed. Things have devolved into utter chaos after the existence of his grandson was revealed. The new earl has yet to show himself.”
“It is a fascinating mystery, the identity of our new earl,” Lady Aircourt chimed in.
And then Lady Clifton looked at him, her gaze clear and piercing. “Yes, it is.”
The benign words on his lips froze, and Arthur could do nothing but blink in shock.
She knew.
Chapter Six
Francesca gave one last wave to Lady Clifton’s departing carriage before the butler shut the front door. She made her way back to the rose parlor, rather pleased with how the afternoon had turned out. She had been expecting a battle of wills with a stodgy old dowager, not the pleasant afternoon tea with a surprisingly young widow and a friendly acquaintance. They had chatted for a good hour, Lady Clifton proving to be quite affable company. Her not seeming bothered in the slightest by Francesca’s presence, even though it was almost certain she knew of the scandal if Lady Aircourt was a close confidante, was a mark in the woman’s favor. It had been at Lady Aircourt’s ball that Francesca had run off with James Berrington on their impetuous flight to Gretna Green, so Lady Clifton almost certainly knew every sordid detail of the evening. Yet where many in her position might have taken glee in the opportunity to needle Francesca, the topic hadn’t even been brought up. If anything, she seemed eager for friendship, and Francesca was not inclined to discourage such a thing. The few friends she had boasted of before the scandal had all but abandoned her. While Kitty and Sophie had filled a sizeable chunk of that void, they were understandably busy with their own families and obligations, leaving Francesca rather bereft of companionship.
Not entirely, a traitorous voice sounded within her. That sort of companionship was not to be allowed, she reminded herself irritably. As if summoned by her scandalous thoughts, Mr. Barrow exited the parlor before she reached the doors. He stopped upon noticing her presence, a small smile quirking on his handsome face. “You seem to have enjoyed yourself.”
“Yes. She was not what I was expecting.”
“I was rather surprised myself,” he replied.
Francesca assessed him with a small frown. “Something has bothered you.” She’d noted that, for the entire visit, the man had remained oddly quiet, only speaking when directly addressed. It was strange behaviour for one normally so talkative, and Francesca could only surmise that Lady Clifton had bothered him in some way.
His smile stiffened. “Not in the slightest. She was perfectly amiable, and it was a pleasant surprise to see Lady Aircourt as well. We are good friends, you know.”
A twinge of something unpleasant settled in her chest at the thought of the beautiful widow and what Barrow’s ‘friendship’ with her might entail. Francesca wasn’t naïve and knew very well that the man before her likely had a myriad of bored noblewomen lining up for an affair. It was one reason why his perusal of her was so damned confusing. What could a passably pretty, pampered, and virginal debutante possibly have over one of the most sought-after beauties of the Ton?
“Just friends, nothing more,” he said softly.
Francesca blinked, an embarrassed blush creeping up her cheeks. “I didn’t ask.”
He smirked. “You didn’t have to.”
Mortifyingly, she felt a smidgen of relief at his words, though she would never admit to such aloud. “Didn’t you say you had a ride planned, Mr. Barrow?” Francesca replied coolly, knowing that her red face likely gave her away despite her attempts at disinterest.
“I did, though I am strongly considering accompanying you after all.”
Oh, dear. This would not do. “I find that I have grown fatigued from today’s social call.” Francesca knew that the last thing she needed was to be alone with him again, especially considering how weak her fortitude had been two days ago. Arthur Barrow was not for her, and she would do well to remember that an affair would be all the man intended for them were she to succumb to the temptation of his embrace. He had no need of a wife, and she every need for a husband. She could not and would not survive off the charity of her family for the rest of her days, and genteel employment was not an option with her scandalous past. Her dowry was large enough for some to overlook the elopement, and she would do well to focus her efforts on that front. Wasn’t that the entire reason she’d allowed her mother to send her out for another season in the first place?
