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“I doubt that.”
“One never knows.” Her mother’s gaze turned considering. “Have you thought of considering him for yourself? He’ll be in want of a wife, and you already know each other. I doubt such a man will care overly much for your past, and your father has only good things to say about him.”
“I don’t believe we’d suit,” Francesca replied tightly. “He dislikes me, I think.” There was no thinking about it. He wouldn’t avoid every gathering that included her if he didn’t, and she saw little chance of ever making amends.
Her mother tapped her chin. “If you say so. Oh! There is the Duchess of Ashford approaching. I will leave you with your friend.”
“Hello, Francesca.” Kitty smiled as she approached. Once her mother was out of earshot, the duchess leaned forward, her voice a conspiratorial whisper. “I have some new information concerning Clifton.”
Heart hammering, Francesca clutched Kitty’s hand. “Please, tell me. I’ve been going mad.”
She paused with a frown before continuing. “I believe we may have to approach our plan at a different angle.”
“What do you mean?”
“He’s being awfully stubborn about everything,” Kitty replied with a sigh. “Sebastian and I visited him at The White Heather yesterday. He’s made it quite clear that he won’t be accepting any invitations thrown his way, and I suspect any more gatherings Sophie or I organize will be avoided if he knows you are coming.”
“Oh.” It was just as she’d feared. Her heart sank.
“Don’t look so glum. I have a plan.”
Francesca looked at her warily. She knew well the sorts of schemes Kitty could come up with. “Go on.”
Kitty glanced left and right. “Call on me Tuesday afternoon and tell your mother that you're spending the night. Oh, and bring the most fetching gown you own.”
“Why Tuesday?”
But Kitty only grinned. “I’ll tell you then. Just come, alright? I’ll make sure Sophie is there, too.”
Despite the warning bells going off in her head, Francesca nodded. “Alright.”
**
“Absolutely not.”
“Come on, Sophie.”
Francesca eyed the bickering pair as she entered Kitty’s drawing room. As instructed, she’d informed her mother of plans to spend the night after a supposed dinner at the duchess’ home and had her best gown packed, though why such a garment was necessary when Francesca was reasonably certain there were no events occurring tonight was a mystery. Though, from the way Kitty was attempting to cajole a stone-faced Sophie, the answer to that question likely lay at the center of whatever argument they were having. Kitty spotted her in the doorway and waved invitingly. “Just in time. Come in and let me explain our plan.”
“Your plan,” Sophie intoned. “I want nothing to do with this madness, and if Francesca has any sense, she won’t either.”
Francesca sat herself neatly on the sofa, eyeing Kitty with curiosity and not a small amount of suspicion. “What will I not do?”
“Did you bring the dress?” She asked instead of replying.
“Yes?”
“What color is it?”
“Cerulean,” she replied warily, unsure what the color had to do with anything. The gown had been made to match her eyes, the one feature Francesca was proud of, to perfection. The waist and skirt were snug, making her appear more delicate than she was, and the fabric flowed around her legs in a way that made her feel like a queen straight out of a fairy tale. It was the only garment that she felt wholly confident in, and so was the logical choice to bring.
Kitty nodded. “Excellent, it will match well, then.”
“What will match?”
“The mask, of course.”
“Oh, dear lord.” Sophie pinched the bridge of her nose.
