Page 22 of The Courtship Dance

“Pardon me if I am prying—you know my manners are not polished,” Gideon began. “But do you mean not to marry?”

“Of course not. I will marry. I must. Eventually.”

“You do not sound eager.”

Rochford shrugged. “I have simply not found anyone I want to marry. Everyone reminds me of my duty to have progeny, and I suppose they are right. The line must go on. And my cousin Bertram has no desire to inherit all the work and responsibility that go with being a duke. But surely there is time yet. I am not quite ready to ‘shuffle off this mortal coil.’” He swirled the brandy around in the bottom of the snifter, watching the dark liquid broodingly. “I will find a wife someday. And I will do it in my own way, without any help from Lady Haughston.”

“I must say, she did rather well for me,” Gideon pointed out mildly, watching his cousin. “I cannot imagine a mate better suited for me than Irene.” He paused, then added, “You might let her try.”

Rochford snorted. “It would serve her right if I did.”

This thought seemed to arrest him, for he stopped speaking and stared off into space for a long moment. Finally a slow smile curved his lips, and he thoughtfully took another drink.

“Maybe I should,” he murmured. “Let Lady Haughston see just how much she enjoys finding me the proper duchess.”

CHAPTER SIX

SIR ALAN CAME to call on Francesca the following afternoon, bringing his daughter with him. Francesca was relieved to see them. She had felt dispirited all day, fearing that she had lost Rochford’s friendship forever. She had stopped and started several tasks, unable to concentrate on anything, for her thoughts kept returning to Rochford’s anger. It seemed terribly unfair, she thought, that he had been so angry at her when all she had done was try to help him. Perhaps she had been a trifle clumsier than she normally was about such matters, but surely he could see that she had bore him no ill will in the matter.

If he had just allowed her to explain, she was sure that she could have made him understand—or at least kept him from becoming enraged. It was not like him to be quick to anger or disinclined to listen to reason. But Francesca was becoming aware that she apparently had that effect upon him. It was, she suspected, her frivolous nature that had grated on him. Rochford had always been serious—well, not serious, exactly, for he had a quick sense of humor and a wonderful laugh. And, of course, when he smiled, the room seemed to light up. He was not one of those dreadfully boring sorts who was always grim.

But he was so responsible, so dedicated to his duty, so careful and well-planned in everything he did. He was well-read, even scholarly, and his interests ranged over a wide variety of subjects. He corresponded with scientists and scholars in many different fields. She knew that he must consider her far too flighty and shallow, a woman interested only in clothes and hats and gossip. It was for that reason, when they had been engaged, that Francesca had feared he would one day grow tired of her or, worse yet, come to view her as an annoyance.

Now he obviously did view her that way, since his infatuation with her was long gone. Still, she was surprised that his reaction had been so extreme. She wished that she had been smoother in her dealings with him and Althea, and she spent much of the day going over and over what she could have done differently.

When Sir Alan arrived, she met him with cordiality, glad to turn her attention to someone else. Sir Alan smiled when she greeted him, and she saw again in his eyes a certain masculine appreciation. She would have to be careful in dealing with him, she thought; she certainly did not want to encourage any romantic inclinations.

Francesca turned quickly to say hello to his daughter, then rang for tea and settled down for a chat, studying Harriet covertly as they talked.

The girl was pretty enough, with nice brown eyes, a snub nose and thick brown hair. Her skin was too brown; she obviously was not careful about wearing a hat in the country. But at least she was not spotty or freckled. She had a frank, open face and a friendly smile—not the cool, aristocratic look that was deemed correct by society mavens. But Francesca had never found that that particular look attracted a man, anyway.

A different style for her hair would work wonders, as would a lesson in plucking her eyebrows. And her dress did not suit her at all. It was dowdy and prim—and Francesca had no difficulty in believing that Sir Alan’s mother had picked out the girl’s clothes.

“Your father tells me that you are interested in making a bit of a splash this Season,” Francesca began in a friendly tone.

Harriet grinned back at her. “Oh, I would not aim so high as a ‘splash,’ Lady Haughston. I think mere notice would be an improvement.”

Francesca smiled, liking the girl’s forthright response. Of course, she would have to school some of that out of her if Harriet hoped to be a success. “I think we can do better than that—if we put our minds to it.”

“I am willing,” Harriet replied. She cast a smile at her father as she went on. “I fear Papa has wasted his money so far. I would hate for it all to have been for naught.”

“Now, Harry,” her father protested fondly. “You needn’t worry about things like that.”

“I know you do not mind,” she responded. “But I despise waste in any form.”

“Then you are, um, willing to be guided by me in these matters?” Francesca inquired. There was nothing worse than a recalcitrant student.

“I put myself entirely in your hands,” Miss Sherbourne assured her. “I know that I haven’t sufficient town bronze. I can tell that sometimes the things I say make people look at me askance. But I am a quick learner, and I’m willing to change in whatever way I have to—at least for the length of a Season.”

“I think that a shopping expedition is the place to start,” Francesca said, with a quick glance at Harriet’s father. He nodded agreeably, and she continued. “I also think it would be a good idea, Sir Alan, if we put on some sort of party. We could invite some of the people whom I think would be helpful in getting your daughter noticed. Now, the other day, you mentioned that you would prefer that I—”

“Oh, yes, Lady Haughston,” Sir Alan jumped in eagerly. “If you would—my mother, you see, is not in the best of health. Nor does she move about in Society that much. I think it might be too much for her. Not, of course, that she wouldn’t be willing.” The expression on his face put the lie to that last sentence.

“I could easily have a small soiree or a dinner here,” Francesca suggested.

The man heaved a sigh of relief. “Just the thing, I’m sure. It is a great deal to ask of you, I know, but I am certain that you would handle everything so much better. Just direct all the bills to me—as you must do with the dresses, of course.”

“I shall be happy to play hostess,” Francesca assured him honestly. She enjoyed arranging parties, and it was much more fun to do so when she was not limited by her own financial situation.