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“Thank you, both of you,” Arthur said with genuine feeling. It was odd being able to trust two men so implicitly. One usually did so to their detriment where he came from, which was why he’d grown to cherish his unconventional friendship with the two lords. Nothing would get in the way of that, Arthur thought with a glance in Amberwood’s direction, no matter how tempting and delectable that something might be. If there was one positive to be had about this whole scheme, it was the excuse to leave London and remain far away from Lady Francesca Creswell.
Chapter Three
One hour in and Francesca was already regretting her decision to share a carriage with Kitty and Sophie on their journey to Festoon Hall, Jasper’s main estate. When Sophie had approached her with an invitation to this impromptu country retreat, Francesca had jumped on the opportunity to escape London. In the weeks after Vauxhall, the vicious gossip following her had not abated one bit and seemed to only grow worse by the day. This, coupled with the fact that no invitations had obviously been forthcoming aside from Lady Aircourt’s grand annual ball in a few months’ time, had made living in London almost unbearable. Mama and Papa put on a brave face in front of her, but she could see the strain her scandal was having on them and the sad, pitying disappointment in their eyes was becoming too much to bear. Francesca needed space from everything for a while, she realized, for nothing was going to improve anytime soon.
If it ever did.
Her parents had offered the use of a carriage, but Francesca had opted to ride with Sophie and Kitty, whose company she always found calming. At least when they didn’t have grumpy, squalling toddlers squirming in their laps.
“I’m sorry,” Sophie said, before the raven-haired boy in her arms let out another piercing wail that fair made Francesca cringe. His twin thrashed grumpily in Kitty’s lap. “They’re both getting their teeth at the same time.”
“Thank God Sebastian offered to take Theo for a spell, else we might lose our eardrums entirely,” the duchess added in with a laugh as she bounced the little earl on her knees. “Riding with him seems to be the only thing keeping her settled these days. I cannot count how many times my husband has had to saddle the horse in the middle of the night.”
She spied the duke as he rode next to the carriage, a securely swaddled Lady Theodosia sleeping serenely against his chest. He gave Francesca a lazy wave before her cousin trotted up beside and drew him into conversation. Francesca tried not to focus on how complete the picture felt without a certain someone there to complete the infamous trio. She had been relieved to see Mr. Barrow missing from their party when they set off from London. She supposed the man was far too busy with The White Heather to partake in something as frivolous as a country retreat. He’d likely turned up his nose at the mere invitation to such an aristocratic event, and Francesca would do well to remember that he likely viewed her with similar levels of disdain.
Distasteful? You are far from that; I assure you.Her ears burned at the memory of the words and at the way he’d almost purred their utterance. Yet, one did not have to necessarily like someone to find them attractive. She could recognize her own lust for the man, as mortifying as it was to admit, yet Francesca couldn’t dislike him more. Which is why she wasn’t disappointed with his absence. Not in the slightest.
“Quite an achievement to be woolgathering amongst this chaos.” The duchess’s voice tore her from her musings.
“Pardon?” Francesca blinked to find the two women looking at her in amusement. The twins had calmed; Lord Weston sleeping fitfully in Kitty’s lap and little Anthony staring at her with curious emerald eyes as he fisted the ribbons of his mother’s bonnet.
Kitty raised an eyebrow and gave Sophie a conspiratorial grin. “I bet it’s about him.”
“Kitty!” her cousin-in-law admonished quietly so as not to disturb the blessedly quiet toddlers. “That was far too forward.”
So, her feelings were obvious even to Sophie. Wonderful. “It has nothing to do with Mr. Barrow,” she snipped.
“We never said his name,” Kitty remarked with a satisfied smirk.
Blast.
“I certainly don’t blame you, dear,” Sophie said gently. “He is quite charming.”
“Charming?” Francesca replied incredulously. “He is the farthest thing from that.”
The women looked at each other and smiled. “Whatever you say,” Sophie replied.
“I suppose Her Grace told you about what happened at Vauxhall,” Francesca replied with a grumble, before realizing her error when Kitty did a cutting motion over her neck.
Sophie’s brows furrowed. “What happened at Vauxhall?”
She was saved from scrambling together a flimsy explanation when the duchess swiftly raised a dismissive hand. “Oh, nothing. We just caught them arguing rather badly after you and Amberwood sent us to find them. And I told you,” Kitty said playfully, fixing her attention on Francesca once more, “stop calling me that.”
Francesca sighed. “Yes, Kitty.”
But Sophie was not to be deterred. “A mere argument, you say?”
“Yes,” Francesca replied with a vigorous nod. “I was quite caustic.” Which wasn’t a compete lie. They had fought… after he’d kissed her senseless.
Sophie narrowed her eyes, and she squirmed under the scrutiny. The woman was loyal to the fault to those she considered important, and Francesca had been drawn into her protective fold not long after marrying Jasper. The marchioness paused for a moment before finally nodding in agreement. “Very well.”
By the woman’s tone, she wasn’t out of the woods yet and Francesca knew she would have to be careful regarding her behavior towards Barrow. The last thing she needed was Jasper catching wind of what happened and causing a dramatic mess. Her cousin meant well, even going as far to chase her down after the elopement and marry her fiancée’s sister, but was often prone to overreacting when distressed on his family’s behalf. Blessedly, any further interrogating was interrupted when the carriage jolted over a bump in the road, jostling Lord Weston awake and rousing the temper of his brother. With Sophie distracted with her sons, Francesca breathed a sigh of relief and pointedly ignored the knowing grin Kitty sent her way. It was time to focus on getting the most out of this country retreat. Keeping her thoughts far from Arthur Barrow was integral to doing just that.
**
It was during times like these that Arthur was reminded of just why he stuck to London. He huddled further into his coat, letting his horse deftly pick its way through the muddy road at its own pace lest the animal break a leg. His lovely stallion was further impeded by the sheets of rain pounding into the both of them. Arthur was thankful that Midas had never been afraid of lightning, a fortunate side effect of training him to not spook at the sound of gunfire. Preparing The White Heather and its staff for his lengthy absence had taken more time than he would have liked, and he’d left London nearly a week behind the others rather than the couple of days Ashford, Amberwood, and himself had previously planned. The two couples were likely good and settled by now, though he supposed that would only help the ruse of him being a last-minute addition to the retreat. He’d only been traveling for a day, but Arthur already missed home and the nightly bustle that came with it. Handling drunken misconduct and catching cards in cuffs were where his expertise lay, not livestock and crop rotations. While Ashford and Amberwood promised to guide him, Arthur knew he had a long road ahead of him in acquiring the expertise necessary to fix his inheritance, and he’d be damned if he washed his hands of it and left things to some steward he didn’t know.
“Where the bloody fuck is it?” he hissed to himself as another icy gale slammed into him. The directions to Amberwood’s manor had been clear enough when he’d stopped by the nearby village, but the thick rain and fast fading daylight had made visibility rather impossible. The horrid condition did at least prevent him from taking a detour to view his own estate. In his haste to reach his destination and not wanting to seem terribly suspicious, he hadn’t inquired about Renwood with any of the villagers and was beginning to regret not doing so. His curiosity burned, but now was not the time to sate it. He had weeks to investigate and knew from experience that impatience led to one’s downfall. He peered through the rain, blinking as droplets flicked from the brim of his hat and into his eyes. Much to his relief, the great oak that the tavern owner had told him signaled the road to the drive came into view. That relief quickly died when he spotted a feminine figure leaning against the tree, her arms huddled about herself. Arthur slowed his horse to a stop, the innate suspicion one of his origins was practically born with taking hold. The woman seemed to spot him and waved, though a rather fine-looking bonnet obscured her face. He narrowed his eyes, debating on the likelihood of a trap set by highwaymen, and slowly slid a hand into his waistcoat to finger his favorite knife nestled in the pocket.
