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“I will admit to some curiosity after hearing about it.”
“It is quite spectacular and worth the mild trespassing onto Renwood required,” Ashford said. She was thankful for the unwitting ally. Though, from the way Ashford had been eyeing both her and Arthur lately, unwitting might not be the word. Oh, goodness, Francesca thought with an inward groan, Kitty was likely going to hear all about this along with whatever conclusions the duke came to after seeing them pop out of the forest together.
“Where is your Bonnet, Francesca?” Jasper asked again, ignoring the attempt at diversion entirely.
“I lost it after I heard the shouting and ran headlong in your direction. Worrying about the life of a dear cousin makes one quite frantic, you know. I’m not even sure when the thing tumbled off.” It was one of the most bald-faced lies that had ever tumbled from her lips, but she refused to feel guilty about it. If he found out what had happened in the forest, there would be hell to pay, she was sure of it. Jasper had grown extra protective of her after James, as if terrified she would make the same mistakes all over again. But Francesca was older and much wiser. No man would ever make a fool of her again.
Except Arthur Barrow, apparently.
She shut away the rather damning thought. Yes, she had given in to her lust and allowed rather shocking liberties. The most shocking liberties. But she had done such with open eyes. Arthur had made no promises beyond that of momentary pleasure and had given her every opportunity to back away from him. No, the only danger lie in her own foolish heart, something that was sliding further and further into his hands.
Thankfully, Jasper finally seemed to relent, his shoulders relaxing a fraction. “I’m sorry for scaring you. The scene did look more dismal than it was, didn’t it?”
“I will fetch the bonnet for you, Lady Francesca,” Ashford said and turned before she could say anything in response. She nearly ran after him, but stopped herself just in time. When he found her bonnet well into the forest path, much farther than she would have been able to see them, he would know she’d been lying. Arthur brushed some invisible fleck of dirt from his sleeve before his eyes briefly met hers. If he was at all unsettled by the events of today, his bored gaze and mild manner did not betray such. But then, this was a man who likely dallied with women often. It was perfectly reasonable that he would be relatively unmoved, but that cold fact did nothing to reduce the sting of his apparent disinterest. She walked to Jasper and began fussing over him to distract herself from her hurt feelings. At least her cousin didn’t appear to be injured, with only a few mild singes in his hair and soot smeared on his face. She reached up to swipe at the smears with her thumbs.
“I’m fine,” he said with a mild pout.
“If you think my coddling is bad, just you wait until Sophie lays her eyes on your stupid self,” she replied.
“Sent to your room without dinner, perhaps?” Arthur chimed in.
Jasper rolled his eyes. “You’ll understand when you have a wife of your own, Barrow.”
There was a pause before he replied, his voice quiet but sure. “I have no need of a wife.”
And there it was, the confirmation that nothing would ever come of them. She caught herself before her frown could surface and reveal that the statement had affected her. A tiny, traitorous part of her heart had hoped for… what, exactly? Hadn’t she declared theirs would be an awful union only a few weeks prior? Francesca rubbed Jasper’s cheeks more vigorously, her emotions in a confusing jumble. Perhaps it was only natural to feel so attached after experiencing such intimacies for the first time, and her feelings would lessen after the intensity of the moment wore off. Yes, that was likely the problem. Perhaps repeating the experience a few more times would put things into perspective. It wasn’t as if she could deny her lust any longer, and their interlude had been quite enjoyable. Maybe a dalliance really what was needed to sort things out, and she certainly wouldn’t mind feeling his hands on her again, feeling them caress across her skin, his lips following in their wake…
“Lay off, Francesca. Are you trying to drill a hole in my face?” Jasper barked.
“Oh, sorry,” she replied, lowering her hands and backing away with a flush of embarrassment.
“Are you sure you are alright?” he asked, peering at her in concern.
No, she was about as far from alright as one could possibly be. “Perfectly fine.”
Ashford appeared moments later with her dusty bonnet and presented the garment with a raised eyebrow and wry smile. “I found it with little difficulty,” was all he said.
She accepted it with a polite nod. “Thank you.” The words extended towards more than just his retrieval. For whatever reason, His Grace had said nothing of her obvious duplicity.
“Let us head back, then. Might as well get my reckoning over with,” her cousin said grimly. Arthur remained silent during the walk back to the manor, but she caught him looking at her on more than one occasion, the contemplative nature of his gaze confusing her tumultuous feelings even more.
**
“Have you considered courting her?”
“What are you on about?” Arthur glowered at Ashford, who sat in the wingback chair across from him, one ankle crossed over the other and hands resting casually on his stomach. After returning to the house, Amberwood had been shuffled off by his irate marchioness while Francesca made a beeline for the stairs. He and Ashford found themselves ensconced in the library and had been spending the last hour discussing mild topics whilst Arthur fidgeted in expectation of the conversation that was certain to come. He had obviously seen through Francesca’s fib after fetching the bonnet.
“Think about it logically,” the duke replied. “You are an earl now and will need to marry relatively soon.”
“And why should I care about the succussion of an earldom that I hadn’t even known about until a few weeks ago?”
“Because I know once you build the estate back to its former glory, the thought of things falling into the hands of some distant cousin rather than a son you can guide will utterly infuriate you.”
Arthur bristled at Ashford’s knowing smile. The man was entirely on the mark, damn him. While the legacy of The White Heather would be secured by the appropriate selection of a successor, an entail gave him no such freedom of choice. No, he would need an heir to ensure that his improvements were not temporary affairs. He had no doubt that his tenants would likely also feel far more secure with the assurance that the title would stay in his line. It was a fact that he had slowly been coming to terms with over his stay at Festoon Hall, and Arthur wouldn’t lie and say that his interlude with Francesca earlier in the day hadn’t influenced his thoughts on the matter. “Have I ever told you that your perceptive nature is supremely annoying?”
“Many times.”
Arthur drummed his fingers on the arm of his chair. “I won’t say that the thought hasn’t occurred to me. It would certainly simplify things.”
