Page 2 of The Courtship Dance

Of course, that must end if she was to have any success finding a wife for the man. She could scarcely bring him together with one of his prospective brides if she continued to avoid him.

“Callie told me that Rochford had been unfair to you,” Irene began carefully.

“Unfair?” Francesca glanced at her, startled. “No. How was he unfair?”

“I know not,” Irene admitted. “Something to do with Lord Bromwell courting Callie, I gathered.”

“Oh, that.” Francesca dismissed the idea with a flick of her hand. “The duke had reason to be concerned. Brom’s sister had certainly poisoned him against Rochford, but…” She shrugged expressively. “There was little I could do once they fell in love, in any case, and Rochford realized it afterwards. I am not so tender a female as to wither under a rebuke.”

Francesca glanced out again over the crowd, and Irene followed her gaze.

“Who do you seek?” Irene asked after a moment.

“What? Oh. No one.”

Irene’s eyebrows lifted. “You are most diligent in looking for no one.”

Francesca had difficulty dissembling with Irene. Something about Irene’s forthright manner seemed to call forth an equal candor in her. She hesitated now, then admitted, “I was hoping to see Lady Althea Robart.”

“Althea?” Irene repeated in surprise. “Whatever for?”

Francesca could not help but chuckle. “You dislike the woman?”

Irene shrugged. “Dislike is too strong a word. She simply is not company I would choose to keep. Too high in the instep for me.”

Francesca nodded. The lady did seem a bit stiff. But she was not sure that pride would necessarily be a detriment to a future duchess. “I do not know her well.”

“Nor I,” Irene agreed.

“What about Damaris Burke?”

“The daughter of Lord Burke?” Irene asked. “The diplomat?”

Francesca nodded. “Exactly.”

Irene thought for a moment, then shrugged. “I cannot say, really. I have never moved in government circles.”

“She seems quite pleasant.”

“Smooth,” Irene agreed. “What one would expect, I suppose, from a woman who holds diplomatic parties.” She glanced at her friend curiously. “Why are you asking? Do not tell me they have asked your help in seeking a husband.”

“No,” Francesca told her quickly. “They have not. I was just…considering them.”

“Ah, then it is a gentleman who has sought your help?” Irene guessed.

“Not really. I have been thinking. On my own, as it were.”

“Now you have completely aroused my curiosity. You are matchmaking for someone who has not even asked you? Is this another wager with the duke?”

Francesca blushed. “Oh. No, nothing like that. I had thought—well, there was someone I wronged once, and I had been looking to make it up to him.”

“By finding him a wife?” Irene asked. “There are a number of men who would not thank you for that favor. Who is the man?”

Francesca studied the woman next to her. Of all her friends, Irene knew the most about her. Though Francesca had never confided in her about her own past, Irene’s father had been a friend of Francesca’s late husband, so no doubt Irene suspected how little happiness Francesca had found in her marriage, and Francesca had never felt it necessary to maintain a pretense to Irene that she had missed Andrew in the five years since his death. She had never told anyone about what had happened between her and Rochford so long ago, but she suddenly found herself wanting to confide in Irene.

“Is he the reason for your melancholy?” Irene persisted.

“I think that is caused by the rapid approach of my birthday,” Francesca replied lightly, but then she sighed and said, “And a little by having hurt him when he did not deserve it. I am very sorry for what I did.”