The Wedding Challenge (29 page)

When they reached the top of the staircase, out of sight of those below, Francesca released her arm, and Callie sagged against the wall.

“Oh, Francesca,” she whispered.

Francesca shook her head and led her farther down the hallway. “Do you have a bag or anything?” she asked quietly.

Callie nodded, answering her in the same hushed voice, “Yes, it’s in here.”

She thought in that instant of what had happened in that room the night before, and a blush stained her cheeks. Brom’s discarded clothes were still scattered about the floor.

“I will get it,” she said quickly, and hurried into the room.

She was back in a moment, carrying her bag. “How will we explain this? Perhaps I should just toss it out the window or stuff it in a closet here.”

Francesca shook her head. “We shall brazen it out. That is usually the best policy.”

She took the bag from Callie and started down the stairs. About halfway down, she began in a carrying voice, “I am so glad, Callie, that we thought to bring in one of my bags. It is so difficult to put oneself in order without one’s brush and hairpins. Do not you agree?”

“Yes, very much,” Callie agreed, hiding a smile.
Trust Francesca.

“This is such a charming abode, Lord Bromwell,” Francesca went on as they stepped into the foyer, not giving anyone else time to speak. “Has it always been in your family?”

“It is my sister’s,” Bromwell said. “It belonged to her late husband.”

“Ah, I see.” Francesca turned toward Daphne. “How kind of you, Lady Swithington, to lend it to him. But, then, you are always thinking of others.”

The gaze Daphne turned on Francesca was full of venom, but Francesca merely smiled at her and turned to Callie. “We had best be on our way, lest the duke grow impatient.” She cast a droll look toward Mrs. Cathcart, adding, “Men so dislike having their plans interrupted, I have found. Do you not agree, Mrs. Cathcart?”

“Indeed, Lady Haughston,” the other woman replied. “That is invariably the way. I am sorry to see you leave so soon, before we have had a chance to chat, but I quite understand.”

“Just let me get my pelisse, and we will be out of your way,” Francesca said, and walked back through the house to the kitchen.

She returned a moment later, carrying her reticule and wearing a dark blue pelisse over her dress. Callie quickly snatched up her cloak from the bench where Brom had dropped it the evening before, and the two women turned toward the door.

“I will walk you out,” Lord Bromwell said, coming up beside them.

“There is no need,” Callie murmured, forcing herself to look at him and hoping that there was nothing in her face that reflected the emotions whirling around inside her.

“I insist,” he said shortly, stopping all argument, and offered her his arm.

Just looking at his face made her want to smile and weep, all at once. She wanted to reach up and soothe his cheek where Rochford’s blow had cut him. She ached to kiss his lips one last time and to throw her arms around him. Tears burned at the backs of her eyes. But here in front of the others, she could do none of the things she wanted to. For all their sakes, she must keep up the charade they had started. All she could do was smile politely and take his arm, as if he were nothing more than an acquaintance.

They bade goodbye to the other two women. Mrs. Cathcart was clearly quite pleased at their encounter, for she was not one who normally moved in the elite circle that Lady Haughston and the Lilles family occupied. Lady Swithington appeared far less pleased. The smile she gave them looked as though it might break her face, and the blue eyes above it were charged with resentment. Callie’s feelings toward her were, frankly, quite as unfriendly, and her nod and farewell to the woman were as brief as possible.

They walked out the front door, leaving Lady Swithington and Mrs. Cathcart behind. Callie was supremely aware of Bromwell’s large body beside her; her hand trembled a little on his arm. Francesca’s carriage was emerging from the barn, the duke walking beside it, and Francesca began to move toward it, discreetly leaving Callie alone with Lord Bromwell for a moment.

“Callie, I—” he began.

“No, don’t, please,” she said in a choked voice, turning her face up to gaze at him. She was afraid that she would begin to cry, but she had to take a last look at him. Deep inside, where the cold, hard knot in her chest resided, she knew that she would not see him again.

Despite what his sister had done, she feared that he would never turn his back on Daphne. She was his flesh and blood, whereas Callie was…indeed, she did not even know what she was to the man. They had shared a night of incredible passion, but he had said no words of love or commitment. And she was the sister of a man he had despised for years, a man with whom he had been exchanging punches less than an hour ago.

“I must stay and talk to Daphne,” he told her.

“I know.” She turned away. Her brother was watching them as he walked toward them. She could not talk any longer to Brom. She was too near tears, and if Sinclair saw a tearful goodbye, she was afraid that all Francesca’s inventive story-weaving would be for naught. And the one thing that she absolutely could not bear was for the two men she loved to fight each other again.

“Callie, wait, do not go yet,” Bromwell said, starting to reach for her.

“No. Pray, do not.” Callie looked at him. She knew her eyes were welling with tears, but she could not help it. “I must go. Goodbye, Brom.”

She closed her mouth firmly, swallowing the rest of the words that fought to surge up out of her:
I love you.

Callie turned and hurried toward the carriage door. She saw with gratitude that Francesca had gone up to Sinclair, so she was able to walk past him and get into the carriage without his looking at her or speaking to her.

The duke saw his sister walk past, but his attention was all on Francesca at the moment. He raised a skeptical eyebrow at her, then nodded toward the team pulling her coach.

“I found the driver inside rubbing down the horses. They look rather, um, bedraggled, shall we say, for having spent the night in the stables.”

“Odd,” Francesca commented lightly. “Of course, they are not my horses. We had to change on the drive up, but still, my coachman is generally quite good at taking care of the animals. Perhaps he was tired and fell asleep as soon as we arrived. I know I did.”

“Did you?” The duke’s gaze was penetrating.

Francesca gazed back at him unflinchingly. “Yes, of course, I did. Why else should I say it? You have only to ask your sister. The hunting lodge is small, so she and I were forced to share a bedchamber.”

He gazed at her for a long moment, then gave a small nod. “Very well. Let us go before that blasted woman decides to come out here and plague us with more questions.”

Rochford handed Francesca up into the carriage and strode off to mount his horse, still tied to a post by the driveway. Francesca sat down in the coach beside Callie, turning to her immediately.

“Are you all right, my dear?” she asked, reaching out to take Callie’s hand.

Callie nodded, but when she reached up to wipe the tears from her eyes, Francesca noticed.

“Are you certain? You may tell me anything, you know. I promise you that no one will ever hear of it.”

“There is nothing to tell,” Callie said in a low voice and summoned up a smile. She did not realize how very unconvincing it was.

“Very well, then, you needn’t,” Francesca assured her. “We shall talk of something else, shall we?”

Callie nodded, but then, as if she could not hold it in, she exclaimed, “Oh, Francesca! I love him!”

She had realized it last night when she had looked into Brom’s eyes and known that he was telling her the truth. In trusting him, believing him, she had given him her heart.

“And he will never ask me to marry him,” Callie went on. “I know it.”

“Are you certain?” Francesca asked. “Surely he must realize that his sister arranged that scene. Not only putting you in a compromising position, but making sure that Rochford would arrive and find you that way! And then walking in at that exact moment, with the worst gossip in London in tow. Even I was astonished at the depth of her dishonesty, and I have despised her for years.”

“I know he realizes it, but he does not want to believe badly of her. He is very close to her. He owes her a great deal, he believes. He talked to me last night about how she raised him after his mother died, about how horrid their father was and how she protected Brom from him. No matter what she did, I am not sure that he could break with her. Even if he did, how could he marry the sister of a man whom he has hated for so long? He was beginning to have his doubts about her story about Sinclair. I could see that. But he does not want to believe that she lied to him.”

“She has an amazing ability to deceive men,” Francesca said with a touch of bitterness. “Still, love is a very powerful thing.”

“I did not say that he loved me, only that I loved him,” Callie replied, and tears began to stream down her cheeks. She did not bother to wipe them away.

“I have seen the way he looks at you,” Francesca pointed out.

“That is desire, not love,” Callie retorted. “He has never said he loves me. And I fear that I will never even see him again.”

Her last words ended on a choked sob, and she began to cry in earnest. Francesca wrapped her arm around Callie’s shoulders and pulled her close. Callie rested her head on Francesca’s shoulder and let her tears come.

I
T WAS SOME TIME
before Callie’s sobs began to subside, but finally she sat up and took out her handkerchief, wiping the tears from her face. She let out a long breathy sigh.

“I am sorry. That is the second time I have cried all over you,” she told Francesca. “You must think me dreadfully prone to tears.”

“No. I think you are going through a very trying period. Believe me, there have been times in my life when I have done nothing but cry, it seemed,” Francesca replied and patted her hand. “There is no need to apologize.”

“Thank you.” Callie summoned up a watery smile. “And thank you for what you did in there earlier. You saved me. I was afraid Brom and Sinclair were going to kill each other.”

“I am just glad that I arrived in time.”

“How did you?” Callie asked. “I have never been so surprised as when you walked in.”

“Well, when I returned from my visit to the Duchess of Chudleigh, Fenton gave me your note, saying that Rochford had been hurt and where you had gone. So I had my carriage brought ’round, and I set out after you.”

“So you did not come because you had figured out it was a trap?” Callie asked.

“No. I hadn’t the slightest idea. I had realized that Daphne was behind Lady Odelia’s invitation. She let it slip as we were driving home. Lady Odelia said that ‘dear Daphne’ was right. She had not thought I would like to go, but then Daphne had assured her that I would doubtless want to see my mother’s godmama. Well, you can imagine how I felt. If Daphne had been there, I would have slapped her. Of course, I just had to swallow my bile and smile. But I did not realize that Daphne had a larger plan to get me away from the house when her message arrived. I simply assumed that she had done it in order to have a good laugh at my expense.”

“I see,” Callie said, a smile curving her lips. “Then you came rushing up to the cottage just because you thought Sinclair was hurt. You care for him, don’t you?”

Francesca seemed for once at a loss for words. She looked at Callie for a moment, then pulled herself up as straight as possible and gave her a cool look, saying repressively, “Of course I care about Rochford. After all, I have known him all my life. Besides, I assumed that you might need my help in caring for him if he was injured. I feel sure that he is a terrible trial when he is ill.”

“Oh,” Callie said, with a knowing smile. “I see.”

Francesca frowned at her and continued, “We had slow going. It was night by then, and sometimes, in the darker patches, a groom had to walk in front of the horses with a lantern. When we finally pulled into the yard this morning, I saw Rochford’s horse tied up in front. I thought that was most odd, since he was supposedly laid up in bed with broken bones. And the instant I got out of the carriage, I could hear him shouting and all the noise inside, so I knew that he wasn’t hurt after all. That is when I realized this was all some sort of plot—doubtless of Daphne’s making.”

“It was quick thinking on your part to send your carriage round to the stables.”

“I hadn’t any time for considering things. I knew I had to convince Rochford that I had been with you the whole time, so the carriage could not be sitting in the yard. I told the coachman to go to the stables and take care of the horses, and I ran around to the back and came in the back door. Then I pretended to have just come downstairs.”

“Thank goodness you did,” Callie said fervently and reached over to squeeze Francesca’s hand. “You saved us all from disaster.”

“Well, I did promise to help you in any way possible,” Francesca responded lightly.

“You have done more for me than I ever could have imagined,” Callie told her. “And I appreciate it so much.” She hesitated, then said, “But I think that I will return to Marcastle with Sinclair. I thought that I would stay through most of the Season, just to keep everyone’s tongues from wagging, but it does not seem that important anymore.”

“Oh, Callie…” Francesca’s face was filled with sympathy. “I am so sorry. I wish you would stay. Not just for the company, although I confess that I will find the house quite empty without your presence. But I hate to think that you are giving up…”

“On finding a husband?” Callie supplied the ending to her sentence. “I fear that I am no longer interested in that. I rather doubt now that I shall ever marry.”

“No. I meant giving up on finding love,” Francesca corrected her gently.

“I do not think that I am meant to do that.” Callie smiled faintly. “Do not look so sad. I do not regret the past few weeks. I would not give up what I have done and learned and felt for the world. I did not think that I was capable of great love, and I was willing to settle for something less—comfort and companionship. But I discovered what it is to truly love. I have experienced that. Now I know that nothing less would be enough.”

“Callie, pray do not give up entirely on the earl. It is clear how much you love him.”

“Yes, but it is not enough for
me
to love
him.
” Callie’s smile was sad, her tone resigned.

Francesca knew that there was nothing more to say. She nodded, aware of an old ache deep in her own heart.

After that, the two of them fell silent. As the carriage moved slowly onward, they sat, sometimes raising an edge of the curtain to look outside, but most of the time simply lost in their own thoughts. Finally, Callie, worn out from her tears, slept, wedged into one corner of the carriage.

They traveled slowly at first, for the horses were tired, and they soon stopped to change horses. Rochford even decided to leave his horse at the inn where they made the change, reluctantly handing over the care of his prized mount to Francesca’s groom, with orders to bring the animal on to London the following day.

With fresh horses, their pace picked up, and by evening they were once again in London. Callie had told her brother that she wanted to return to Marcastle with him, so he left her at Francesca’s house to pack while he went to Lilles House to arrange for their departure.

“I will send the carriage for you tomorrow morning,” he promised Callie. “I presume that you and Lady Haughston will want to spend this evening together to make your goodbyes.”

“Thank you,” Callie said, going up on tiptoe to kiss his cheek.

He looked at her, surprised. “Does this mean that I am out of your black books?”

She smiled faintly. “I did not approve of your attacking Lord Bromwell, no, but I am glad that you care enough to come racing to protect me. There is no brother as good as you, I am convinced.”

He smiled. “I shall hold on to those words and remind you of them next time you are vexed with me.”

Rochford turned to Francesca. “Lady Haughston.”

“Rochford.” She held out her hand. “I trust that next time we meet, it will be under less…strenuous circumstances.”

“Whenever and wherever that is,” he said, his mouth quirking up at the corner, “I am certain that it will not be dull.”

He took her hand and bowed over it. Somewhat to her surprise, he held her hand a fraction longer than was customary. Her eyes flew up to meet his, and she found him looking intently into her face. He squeezed her hand for an instant, and said simply, “Thank you.”

She gave him the slightest nod, acknowledging his words, with all the unspoken undercurrent attached to them. He strode away, and the two women turned to the task of getting Callie’s things ready for her departure.

Fortunately Callie’s maid had already packed a trunk of her clothes, awaiting instructions to bring them to Blackfriars Cope, so there was not as much to do as Callie had feared. It did not take them long to get it all done, as Callie was more interested in speed than in neatness. Normally she would have repaired torn ruffles and such, or made sure that all the clothes she packed were clean and ironed, but there would be plenty of time for cleaning and repairs when she was back home. Right now she wanted only to get away.

They did not need to stay up late to finish, but Callie was unable to get much sleep anyway. She tossed and turned and woke from restless, confusing dreams. She felt odd and out-of-place, as if she did not belong here in this room that had been a cozy home for her for close to two months. Once she got up out of bed and went to stand at the window, pushing aside the heavy draperies to look out.

There was little to see, only the dark street below, but after a moment she realized that the restlessness that plagued her came from a vague, deep-buried hope that Bromwell would come riding through the night to be with her. She rested her forehead against the cool glass pane, telling herself not to be foolish. He would not come.

Finally, she pulled herself away from the window and went back to bed.

T
HE DUCAL CARRIAGE ARRIVED
early the next morning, shortly after Francesca and Callie finished breakfast. It was their town carriage, not the one they usually used for traveling, as it was smaller and more dashing, a brougham rather than the heavy coach and four that was now sitting at Marcastle. The coachman explained, with a slightly aggrieved air, that the master had hired a post chaise to take them from Lilles House to their estate, not warranting the town carriage large enough for all their luggage. Indeed, it was a snug fit loading Callie’s baggage onto the brougham, and two smaller bags had to go inside with her.

Francesca walked Callie out to the carriage, where Callie turned and gave her friend a hug.

“Here,” Callie said, taking Francesca’s hand and pressing a small object into it. “I so enjoyed being here with you,” she said, tears clogging her throat. “I want to give you something.”

Francesca looked down at her palm, where a delicate ivory-and-jet cameo necklace lay on a golden chain. “Why, Callie, this is beautiful. But—”

“No, please. It was my mother’s.”

Francesca’s eyes widened. “No, Callie, think! You cannot want to give this away. I cannot take it. Really.” She tried to hand the necklace back to Callie.

Callie shook her head. “No, I want you to have it. It is not the only thing I have of my mother’s. And I would like to think that we are linked—almost like sisters. Please?”

Francesca looked troubled. “Are you certain?”

“Yes. Absolutely. It is important to me.”

“All right. If that is what you want.” Francesca’s palm closed over the cameo. Then, impulsively, she stepped forward to hug Callie again. “Please, do not immure yourself up there in Norfolk. Promise me that you will come back—for the Little Season, perhaps?”

“Perhaps. And you will come to Redfields, won’t you? I intend to persuade Rochford to spend a good long while at Dancy Park.”

“Yes. Of course I will visit there.”

Francesca felt unaccustomed tears rise in her throat as Callie gave her a last smile and climbed up into the smart black carriage. Then it rolled off down the street, with Callie leaning out to wave another goodbye.

Francesca waved back, watching until the carriage turned the corner. She turned, then walked back into the house and up the stairs to her bedroom. Her maid Maisie was there, seated on a stool by the fireplace, sewing a ruffle onto the bottom of one of Francesca’s skirts.

“Well, Lady Calandra is gone, Maisie,” Francesca told her, then sighed and sat down at the vanity table. “I shall miss her, won’t you?”

“Yes, my lady. She’s a winning one, she is.”

As much as Maisie liked the Lady Calandra, she would have to admit that what she would miss most of all was the hearty meals that the duke’s generous allowance to their household had meant. Lady Francesca would have objected, of course, if she had known just how much money had flowed in from the duke’s agent the last two months to pay for Lady Calandra’s upkeep. Indeed, she would probably have sent it back to His Grace in a temper. But, fortunately, Fenton was too canny for that; the duke’s man of business had dealt straight with Fenton, who would have been sure not to reveal the details of the arrangement with Lady Francesca.

Maisie smiled a little to herself as she considered the fact that Fenton was also canny enough to have set a good bit of that money aside for future use, so perhaps the larder would not prove to be too lean, at least for another month or two.

Francesca opened up the jewelry box that sat atop her vanity and pulled out a drawer, manipulating a catch so that a hidden drawer slid out of the false bottom. Carefully she laid the cameo down beside a glittering sapphire bracelet and a set of sapphire earrings.

“I cannot keep receiving gifts that I cannot bear to sell, Maisie, or we shall all starve,” Francesca told her maid ruefully and closed the small cabinet.

She turned to Maisie. “This Season I must find someone I don’t care about at all and marry her off.”

“Yes, my lady,” Maisie agreed placidly, biting off the thread and tying a knot.

I
T WAS A SHORT JOURNEY
to Lilles House, one that Callie would have walked if it had not been for her baggage. A post chaise waited in front of their house, and the servants were busy loading it, supervised by the butler. That good man took a moment away from his task to hand Callie out of the carriage and welcome her home, just as if she and her maid had not stopped by for a visit just last week.

She wondered if the servants, too, had heard the gossip and felt sorry for her. Probably, as they always seemed more knowledgeable than she about all the latest scandals.