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“Oh, please,” the duchess replied with a dismissive wave. “They would have made a spectacle of us with or without you here. And do call me Kitty.”
“That is true,” Sophie, Francesca’s cousin-in-law, chimed in. “We’re at the beginning of the new season and no one seems to have forgotten anything about our marriages.”
Or her own failed elopement, Francesca thought bitterly. A year on, and whispers of the scandal still followed her wherever she went. Though she shouldn’t have been surprised. An earl’s daughter eloping with an impoverished gentleman from one of the most scandalous families in the Ton and then being subsequently abandoned by said gentleman half way to Gretna green was a tale that few would soon forget. Her cousin Jasper, the Marquess of Amberwood, marrying the man’s sister during his frantic pursuit of them certainly did not help matters.
Said bride interrupted Francesca’s bitter musings with a gentle pat on the arm. “Are you alright to be here? I know Kitty can be pushy at the best of times. You need not have come if you were not comfortable.”
Sophie meant well, she knew, but Francesca was rather tired of being treated like a porcelain doll to be safely tucked away from the barbed attentions of society. Her dear mama and papa’s worried ministrations during the past year were tiring enough. “I am perfectly well,” she said with a smile meant to ease the marchioness’ fears. In truth, she’d hated public gatherings well before the scandal, even more so now after becoming a social pariah. But Francesca refused to wilt. Her mama seemed convinced there was still some hope for a match, and though she was feeling cynical on the matter, Francesca had decided to give it her best this season. Even so, she was already growing tired of it all. The only reason she could attend events at all was due to the influence held by her cousin and his ducal friend. While the ton feared both illustrious titles enough not to openly snub her, the whispers were hard to ignore. If she hadn’t been a wallflower before, she certainly was now.
“Francesca is made of stern stuff, my love,” Jasper said from his place beside Sophie, turning away from a conversation with the Duke of Ashford to give the two women a reassuring grin.
“Of course she is. I wouldn’t have invited her otherwise,” the duchess cut in with a charming wink in her direction.
“I recall it was more of a command than an invitation,” Ashford said dryly.
Kitty smacked his arm with her fan. “Insolent man.”
Francesca fought the urge to giggle at the couple’s antics. The duchess was a force all on her own, and Francesca had come to appreciate this during the unconventional friendship that had developed between the two of them over the past year. Despite being used to her unconventional antics, Francesca had been just a tad overwhelmed when the woman had swept into her parlor earlier this evening and declared there was to be a night out at Vauxhall, citing a need for Francesca to get some air and show everyone just how unaffected she was by the scandal. As with all of Kitty’s ideas, it seemed a rather exciting prospect but, as with all of Kitty’s ideas, the scheme appeared rather poorly thought out indeed. Now, sitting in a supper box that hadn’t received a single visitor throughout the evening and watching members of the Ton gawking at the group as they passed by, Francesca had never felt like more of a sideshow attraction.
“I hope I haven’t missed anything,” a smooth, playful voice sounded from behind her. Francesca tensed in her seat at the familiar voice, ignoring the infuriating wave of awareness at his presence.
“Barrow! There you are,” Jasper called with a wide smile. “We thought you’d never show.”
“A situation at the club required my extended attention.” There was a slight edge to the man’s voice, and Francesca turned to take him in. There was no denying Arthur Barrow was an attractive man with well-defined cheekbones and delicate lips. His sandy blonde hair always appeared slightly tussled, as if he had just left a lover’s tryst, his mouth often quirked in playful amusement. He seemed harmless at a glance, but one took him lightly to their peril. His grey eyes, whilst appearing languid, were always on alert, piercing and probing in a way that always made her feel exposed, as if he knew every one of her secrets from a mere look. Dangerous, that gaze was, dangerous and alluring. Those eyes now fell on her form, and she swallowed from the intensity of his perusal. “Lady Francesca,” he greeted, his accent the perfect imitation of a gentleman, even if he was far from holding such a title. “A pleasure to see you have emerged from hiding for this season.”
She boldly met his gaze, annoyed with the barb even as shivers tickled down her spine. “The pleasure is all mine, Mr. Barrow.”
He took the place next to her in a chair conveniently left open by the duchess. The conspiratorial grin the woman gave her from Barrow’s other side indicated that the action had been entirely on purpose. That the duchess seemed aware of the strange, heated tension between her and Barrow was something that Francesca was not sure she wished to contemplate. The notorious gambling club owner had been at a few of the private entertainments held by their small group, nettling and unsettling her unfailingly at every opportunity. Her awareness of him only grew worse once she noticed the heat hidden within his eyes whenever they sparred. Francesca supposed she shouldn’t be surprised that someone as shrewd as Her Grace had noticed, and she could only hope that her attraction to the man remained hidden, for being at all drawn to him was the last thing she wanted. After everything that had happened last year, Francesca had learned not to become infatuated so easily, even if her traitorous heart fluttered with every word exchanged.
“So, what matter of business kept you from our esteemed company?” The duke drawled.
Barrow shrugged, and she fought hard to ignore the graceful slope of his shoulders encased in the fine evening coat he wore. “A financial one.”
Francesca gritted her teeth at the reminder of the line of work the man engaged in and just why her attraction was so unwanted on her part. She’d come to detest gambling for the part it played in her ruination. How easily men were swayed by the turn of a card and the elusive mirage of more that purveyors like Barrow teased them with. James Berrington certainly hadn’t been immune to the vice’s charms, hence his plot to make off with her dowry. “Did one of your lords refuse to settle his debts?” she asked, not just a bit tartly. She regretted the impulsive statement almost immediately when every head at the table swiveled in her direction in wide-eyed surprise. Her cousin Jasper looked rather more aghast than normal, and she flushed under the attention, seemingly not at all put out. Francesca never could throw him out of sorts, no matter how hard she pushed.
“I did not realize gently bred ladies acknowledged such things in public,” Barrow said with an amused smirk.
“No, they don’t,” Amberwood chimed in, a hand coming up to rub the bridge of his nose.
Francesca notched up her chin. “It is hard for me to feign ignorance when those very things were the central cause of my ruination.” It was the first time she’d ever directly acknowledged the scandal in a long while, and she found, to some relief, that the memory of James’s betrayal constricted her heart far less than it used to.
“They are free to decide not to hurl their money on a throw of the die,” Barrow said lightly, though she could sense a touch of condescension in his tone.
Francesca pursed her lips. “No, you just wave around golden goose and fool them into thinking it’s real.”
“Only selfish, stupid men are fooled by such things,” he replied, the condescension blooming into irritation. If she weren’t so wound up herself, Francesca might have celebrated her ability to openly garner such an emotion out of him.
“Oh look! They are lighting the lamps,” The Duchess cut in, interrupting the brewing row. She grabbed her husband’s arm. “Darling, do take me on a stroll. In fact, I think we all might enjoy a pleasant walk.”
“I could certainly use one,” Sophie said, eyeing Francesca and Barrow warily.
“Let us be off then,” Amberwood declared quickly.
Barrow held out his elbow as the group rose from their seats. “Shall we, Lady Francesca?”
She eyed his arm before looking up at his smoothened face, all traces of his earlier irritation seemingly wiped away. She knew better. “Yes. Thank you, Mr. Barrow.”
The group shuffled from the room, Francesca’s fingers tingling where they lightly touched Barrow’s solid arm.
