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Francesca blushed. “I didn’t want to cause a fuss.”
“Well, Jasper is causing a mighty one at the moment. I’ve left Ashford with him. He is terribly confused, and I can only hope His Grace is savvy enough to settle things down.”
Embarrassment and anxiety pulled at her. “I’m sorry.”
“Enough about what’s already been done,” Kitty interrupted. “The real problem is figuring out how to fix your mess with Barrow...er, Clifton.”
“It sounds like you’ve wounded him terribly,” Sophie said. “But I am sure your argument had only a small part to do with it.”
Even if he hadn’t entirely been fleeing from her, Francesca knew that his haste in doing so was likely due to her and her alone. That he had no wish to speak to her again was more than apparent. Her eyes burned once more. “Even so, I am not sure much can be done.”
They remained silent for a moment before Kitty piped in. “I say we go with the original plan.”
Sophie raised an eyebrow. “The original plan? If you came up with it, Kitty, then I am sure it is a terrible idea.”
Francesca wanted to sink into the ground, even if she knew the plan had merit. There was little hope to be had elsewhere, and she wouldn’t lie and say she wasn’t desperate. Whether she had to guts to see things through was another matter entirely. “I don’t know…”
“It’s the only way he’ll listen to you,” Kitty replied with assurance.
“And what is this grand scheme, exactly?” Sophie asked.
Francesca put her warm face in her hands, unable to speak the words aloud. Kitty was under no such reservations. “Nothing grand about it, Sophie,” the duchess said with a grin. “She’s going to go back and seduce the hell out of the most scandalous man in London.”
Chapter Thirteen
Arthur scanned the floor from his spot on the balcony, searching for trouble as he often did throughout his evenings at The White Heather. After the whirlwind of Renwood, he’d never felt more at ease. Patrons bustled from table to table, raucously throwing die and flipping cards, some encouraged by the ladies at their side and others loosing ludicrous sums to them in equal measure. Tonight was a Thursday, and the women of London had arrived in full force to play their luck and mingle amongst the gentlemen, their masks protecting them from the censure of society. Outside of uncaring courtesans and a few notorious widows, very few eschewed their disguises. The Duchess of Ashford was one exception, having even done so once while unmarried, but she was one of the rare few who cared little for society outside of how much it could entertain her. Ashford certainly didn’t seem to mind, and Arthur was sure that such a riotous wife made him the envy of many a husband. As if summoned by his thoughts, the duke and duchess strolled through the main doors. Ashford scanned the balconies and, after spying him, leaned down to whisper into his wife’s ear. Kitty looked up and gave Arthur a cheerful wave.
He hadn’t known the couple was back in London, though he supposed it was only a matter of time considering a good two weeks had already passed since his departure from Festoon Hall had made the true reason for the house party moot. But if Ashford and his duchess were in London, then Amberwood likely was as well.
Which meant Francesca was back.
Arthur gave the couple a tight smile and gestured for them to come up. He wasn’t in the mood to meet them on the floor and deal with prying eyes of his patrons. As he had feared, William Tremore’s loud investigations had tipped off the rumor mill. By the time he’d returned to London, his ascension to the earldom had been splayed across every scandal rag in the city. In the following weeks, it seemed that nearly everyone wanted to get a look at him, their scrutiny only worsening when it became apparent that he had no intention of selling The White Heather. Things would only become worse once his bequeathing of Renwood to Mr. Tremore got out. The documents had been finalized only yesterday; him selling the property to a far more amenable Tremore for the grand price of fifty pounds. An earl, even a newly minted one, giving away his lands for a pittance and remaining in trade? He wouldn’t be surprised if half the Ton had an apoplexy right there. If there was one good thing to be had about the whole affair, Arthur mused with an inward sigh as his best friend approached, it was the marked increase of new members. While he was sure they’d only come to gawk at first, Arthur knew that a good deal of them would stay for the excellent service and amenities. He couldn’t have asked for a better way to get feet through the door, even if it came at the cost of his sanity.
“How is our new earl faring?” Ashford called as he and Kitty strolled down the balcony.
“About ready to tear his hair out from all this silly attention,” Arthur replied, accepting Ashford’s proffered hand and clapping the duke on the shoulder. He grasped Kitty’s fingers and kissed her knuckles with an elegant bow. “And how is our mother-to-be?”
Kitty laughed. “Exhausted and just about ready to throw her coddling husband out of the window. This is my last outing here before I slow down my social activities.”
“You will be sorely missed.”
Ashford let out a long-suffering sigh. “Be sure to call whenever you like. I’ve discovered my duchess causes all sorts of mayhem when bored, and I’ve been commissioning our friends to distract her in the coming months from her mischief. Just last night I came home to find her stuffing our daughter into this rather horrifying costume she’d made.”
“It was a bumblebee,” Kitty insisted with a mild pout, “And I thought Theo looked adorable.”
Ashford raised an eyebrow. “Those bizarre shapes were supposed to be stripes?”
“I’ll be sure to visit often,” Arthur chimed in. And he would, on the days that he was sure Lady Francesca wouldn’t also be there. His thoughts drifted to the woman. No doubt she spent her nights loitering on the edge of a ballroom, hoping for someone to take notice. The image of her, alone and unsure of herself, was enough to send a pang of melancholy through him. He ruthlessly swiped the feeling away. Her isolation was her own doing.
Please, Arthur I lo…
He’d known what she’d been about to say and hadn’t wanted to hear a word of it. How could he trust the sincerity of those words after the accusations she’d made? She’d thought him beneath her from the very beginning, that almost confession leaving her lips only after discovering his title. No, she despised The White Heather and everything that made him himself, and though he’d allowed himself to slip just a little in love with her, Arthur would give the woman no further place in his heart. So why did he still yearn for her presence? Why could he only remember her shy smiles and quiet exuberance, the way her blue eyes sparkled when he entered the room, the adorable turn of her mouth whenever they sparred, and the blinding smile she’d given him during their walk to the village?
“Will you be attending Lady Aircourt’s ball next week?”
Arthur blinked. “Pardon?”
“The Aircourt ball,” Ashford repeated with a frown. “Will you be going?”
