Lady Belling's Secret (19 page)

It didn’t seem to matter that he had no real idea why she had originally been angry at him, before he’d lobbed the baby bomb at her. He needed to soothe the situation over as soon as possible. Time was rapidly running out.

Who would have thought that in a million years he would have found everything he needed right under his nose. And the most amazing thing was, he had never known. Even when she’d thrown herself at him in the park that day five years ago, he had been too stupid to see the possibility.

And yet, masochistically, he couldn’t wait to see her, to hold her, make love to her again. He would go to her and make up for the misunderstanding. Somehow, this would all work out. With the one glaring exception of never having received the approval from his father that he so desperately sought, he’d never been refused anything in his life. He was confident that a new precedent was not going to be set now.

The carriage finally came to a stop in front of his townhouse in Mayfair. Once the gentle rocking stopped, both puppies awoke, lifting their shaggy heads and opening their large brown eyes.

“Well, gents, we’re home,” he said to the dogs, and he got an enthusiastic tail-thumping in response. The groom opened the carriage door, and the giants bounded out and snuffled around the front walk, inspecting their new home. Masters opened the front door and stared down the walk with a look of utter horror.

Thomas trotted up the steps to beat the dogs to the door and the usually unflappable servant. “Masters, meet the new lads.”

“My lord?” The butler’s look of total disbelief gave Thomas pause.

“I know they seem rather loud and boisterous.” As if to make Thomas’s point, one puppy tromped through the flower border, indiscriminately crushing the plants, and then ate the head off a daffodil. His brother barked avidly and bounced around the walk in front of one of the stableboys who had come to collect the carriage. The huge grin from the boy made Thomas smile anew.

“What are their names, my lord?” Masters asked, his face an indecipherable mask again.

“Well, that will be up to their mistress.” Thomas whistled, and the dogs eagerly trotted up the steps after him.

“A new mistress?” Masters sounded hopeful.

The dogs bounded down the hall in the exuberant way puppies do, slipping on the marble floor and sliding into a hall table, sending a priceless but exceedingly ugly vase into a slow but deadly teeter. Masters snatched it up and tucked it under his arm as if it was something he did every day. “I’ll just hide away all the breakables until the lads become a little less excitable.”

“Excellent thinking, Masters.” Thomas chuckled as the dogs greeted a downstairs maid with a great deal of lavish affection which was not necessarily returned in kind.

“I’ll give one of the stableboys the task of exercising them. At least until the new mistress decides what to do with them.”

Chapter Eighteen

Francesca and Anna spent the rest of the day whiling away the hours until the time came to prepare for the theater. She would see him that night. She knew he would be there like she was positive the sun would rise in the east.

Francesca absently ran her fingers over the sage-green silk gown her maid had laid out for the evening. It was one of her favorites, and she was aware of how well it showed off her assets. She sat at her dressing table so her maid could dress her hair.

She was dressing for her fiancé tonight. She was aware of what was expected of her and what needed to be done. She was going to soldier on regardless of how her heart broke. It would be in her best interest to ignore Thomas should he approach her. She would give him a withering setdown and smile for the gossips and all would be well. She’d be a married woman in a matter of days. Whether she was pregnant or not didn’t bear thinking about. Either she was or she wasn’t, but how would she ever know for sure whose child it was? Except that it may very well be painfully obvious if she didn’t have a golden-blond child. Regardless, every time she thought about the possibility it made her queasy and on the verge of weeping again, so she did everything she could to avoid the topic even in her own head.

“All done, my lady,” the maid said, pulling Francesca out of her reverie.

Once again the girl had created a masterpiece. She had piled Francesca’s auburn hair on the top of her head in a riot of curls and waves which traveled down the back, ending in a complicated knot at her nape. Braided into the curls and the knot were emeralds that would offset the pale shade of her dress but matched the green in her eyes.

Marie helped Francesca on with her dress, buttoning the tiny row of pearl buttons down the back. She turned to look at herself in a full-length mirror. The capped sleeves atop her shoulders and the scooped neck of her bodice left her collarbone and a wide expanse of her chest unadorned. The pale green of the silk rustled softly as she slowly swung the skirts, admiring the faint pattern of flowers that shimmered in the candlelight.

She smiled at the image before her. She looked at herself for a long time, debating whether to wear a necklace or let the neckline speak for itself.

“Well, Marie?” she asked her maid. “What do you think? A necklace or not?”

“I think not,” Marie said softly. “I don’t think you need anything to draw the eye, my lady.”

“I agree.” Francesca smiled, approving of the image before her very much—she looked completely normal, which was all she could really hope for at this point. She hoped Dalton would approve as well.

There was a rap on the door. Anna stuck her head inside and smiled at her friend.

“Oh my.” Anna came all the way in the room. “You look lovely. That color of green is amazing on you. He will certainly think so.”

“He who?” Francesca asked.

Anna shrugged daintily, her petite shoulders lifting and falling. “Whomever you’re dressing for tonight.”

“Thank you, sweetie.” Francesca kissed her friend on the cheek. Pulling herself out of her self-centered miasma for the first time all day, she noticed her friend, stalwart and trustworthy Anna. She was radiant in a pale yellow gown with an empire waist, emphasized by a brighter yellow satin ribbon under her breasts. It showed off her golden hair marvelously well. Her striking blue eyes twinkled with good humor.

“It is you who will impress the gentlemen tonight, I think.” Francesca smiled at her.

“Oh.” Anna waved her hand dismissively. “If only there was a gentleman I wished to impress.”

“At the risk of sounding like a horrible, ungrateful brat, I’d be happy to give you one of mine.”

“Thank you very much, but no.” Anna patted her friend’s arm with a grin. “I do not envy your position. Besides, what is it Lady Bradstone says? ‘There are lots of fish in the sea.’ I’ll just hold out for a fresh one.”

“You are not only beautiful, but wise as well. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

The smiling ladies linked arms and headed down the broad staircase for the parlor to join the rest of the party. Once they reached the landing, the duchess’s voice could very clearly be heard exclaiming, “Unconscionable!”

Francesca had a suspicion she knew what had set her mother off, and as soon as she rounded the banister and strode into the front parlor, she was proved correct. Dalton looked in no better shape than Thomas had the night before. His bruising was prodigious. In fact, he may very well look worse since his bruising had more hours to coalesce into deep purples and blues that appeared almost black. His left jaw was near black from the bruising, and one eye was quite swollen and much the same color.

Francesca felt sick to her stomach knowing she was the reason both of the men she cared about looked like absolute hell. But then again, she’d never asked for the two of them to act like complete…men. She also remembered she shouldn’t have any knowledge of Dalton’s physical condition. After all, she wasn’t supposed to have seen Thomas, and certainly not in her bedroom overnight, as that would be the only way she would know about her fiancé.

“Oh, Lord Dalton.” Francesca approached him, nauseated by the outright lie she was living, and gingerly lifted her hand to his jaw. She didn’t touch it, but let her fingers flutter a half an inch from the surface. “What happened?”

Anna merely stood across the room and stared.

“Just some male ego out of control, Frankie darling.” Her mother stood and walked to the door, dismissing any excessive displays of pity. “Are we all ready then? Onward.” She hustled the group of them from the room like a wartime general.

Once they were in the carriage, however, it was a long ride to the theater. With all the traffic to contend with, there was plenty of time to quiz Dalton.

“Excuse me, my lord,” Anna politely inquired. “I do remember hearing that you and Lord Harrington were to have a boxing match yesterday. This wasn’t from that exercise, was it?”

“You did hear correctly, Miss Sinclair.” Dalton flashed her a well-practiced smile. “You should see the other fellow.”

The duchess harrumphed over in her corner. She had seemed so intent on the goings-on outside the carriage that none of the others had even thought she was listening to the conversation.

Francesca protested his flippant attitude. “Didn’t you wear gloves?”

“It’s nothing, my dear. Don’t worry yourself over it,” was his reply.

Francesca clucked her tongue. Stupid men, running around acting like a couple of complete idiots. She would almost expect something like this from Christian. He had always had a temper and was constantly in a row with someone or other. But frankly, she was still amazed that easygoing Thomas would be in a boxing match that ended with both of the combatants looking like East End hooligans. The man had changed since they’d all been friends before. She wasn’t even sure if anyone knew just how much the experiences of war and his recent change of circumstances had affected him.

The lobby of the theater was packed to the gills with finely dressed members of the
ton
. Everywhere she looked there were ladies in fine silk creations and gentlemen at their best dressed. No matter how many times she attended the theater, she never failed to be thrilled by the splendor of it all, and this time was no different. Despite her mood, the opulence of the theater and the giddiness of the crowd infused her with excitement. Granted, no one came to Drury Lane to watch the play, in fact the place was usually so loud and the crowd in the pits so rowdy that it was impossible to hear the actors anyway. She was determined to push all her cares aside for the night and enjoy herself.

Dalton’s box had an excellent view of the stage, but most importantly, it had an outstanding view of all the other boxes. The duchess was thrilled to be in such a perfect social position. Francesca smiled, knowing her mother would be able to lord this social advantage good-naturedly over her friends for days, possibly weeks if she was able to get any good gossip out of it.

The duchess and Anna took the two seats in the front of the box while Dalton and Francesca sat directly behind them. The lights dimmed, the play began and the talking all around them only grew in volume. Francesca laughed out loud when her mother unrepentantly used her opera spectacles to peer in the boxes opposite the theater and on either side.

This was Francesca’s favorite part of the theater-going experience. It was somewhat different than a ball in that one could either set up a home base, such as one of the elegantly appointed boxes, and accept visitors or do what many of the other patrons did and make the rounds of the boxes. All without getting your toes stepped on by some hopeless clod who couldn’t dance.

Her mother had set up camp. Anna was also otherwise occupied. Dalton leaned over the short railing to the next section, deep in conversation with several other gentlemen. She eyed the crowd of the cavernous theater from the shadow of Dalton’s box. Everyone was in fine form this evening; every box was full. A teeming mass of the lower classes filled the orchestra benches, the merchant class swarmed the higher levels, and the gentry meandered about the boxes. The noise was deafening. Surely the only ones capable of hearing the entertainment were the rabble in the pit, and they were so busy yelling and heckling, the theatrical presentation was wasted on them.

Francesca glanced back at the growing crowd of people overflowing Dalton’s box and milling about in the hall. She located Dalton in the mass and focused her concentration on him. Even with the dark bruising he was a remarkably good-looking man. She would be happy with him. He was intelligent, handsome, witty, and he genuinely cared for her. Christian was in the crowd on the far side of the lobby with several of his friends. Even Anna had given up any pretense of watching the play and had drifted towards a small group of young ladies.

Francesca wove her way past the small groups mingling inside and outside of the box, nodding and smiling here and there in recognition and greeting of acquaintances. She pushed through the doorway of velvet curtains, and there he was.

She inhaled sharply in surprise. The thrill of seeing Thomas shot through her like a lightning bolt, followed quickly by dread. He leaned against the wall with one shoulder, his hands in his pockets, one knee bent and the ankle crossed over the other. He was the very image of laconic masculinity. His dress blacks were the height of fashion without being remotely foppish. The only adornment was an emerald pin in his neckcloth and a few impressive bruises.

He had been staring at the floor when she came from behind the curtain but looked up abruptly and met her gaze. Before she could say anything, he strode towards her and grabbed her hand, towing her to a recessed alcove set into the wall further down the hall. Used often for just this purpose, its original intent was unknown, but now there was a small settee and two upholstered chairs crammed into the small space, making it perfect for a more intimate conversation. There was a dark velvet curtain that could be used to conceal the area more completely. Two small wall sconces lit the room in a dim, warm light.

Thomas pulled the curtain closed, and in one fluid motion, he tugged Francesca against him and bent his head to capture her mouth with a searing kiss.