Page 49 of The Courtship Dance

She tried not to be obvious about the direction of her attention, but at one point Sir Lucien, standing beside her, commented dryly, “Spying on the duke, are we?”

“What?” Startled, Francesca turned at him. “No, of course not. Don’t be silly.”

However, she feared that her words of innocence were spoiled by the blush she felt creeping up her face. Confirming her fears, Sir Lucien cast her a knowing look.

“Mmm-hmm. Then I am sure that you are not interested in hearing the word going around the clubs.”

“Word? What word? About Rochford?”

“The very same.”

“People love to talk,” Francesca said casually, looking off across the room as if she had no interest in the matter. However, when Lucien did not continue, she finally had to prompt him, “What do they say?”

A little smile touched his lips, but he said only, “Oh, that the duke seems to be in the market for a bride.”

“Really?” She turned to him, abandoning all pretense of disinterest. “Has he said something?”

“I doubt it. He’s a closemouthed one. But it has been noticed that he has been far more social than in other years. Attending parties and plays. Making social calls. Taking rides in the park in the company of ladies. And at those parties, he rarely leaves soon after his arrival, as he has been known to do in the past. He is often seen conversing, not only with friends and family, but with a number of young women—few of whom he even seemed to notice in years past.”

“I see.” Francesca paused. She knew all this, of course. Indeed, she was the one who had urged him to do these things. But somehow this information, coming as it did from general Society gossip, made it seem terribly real—and final. “And do they link him with any name in particular?”

“One I have heard more than once is Lord Calderwood’s youngest.”

“Mary.”

“Yes. She is a shy sort, yet she has been observed in animated conversation with the duke. Moreover, he has called on her and taken her for a ride in his phaeton. All unusual signs of interest.”

Francesca shrugged. “I suppose so. Still, it seems little enough to make people speak of marriage. Rochford is a notorious bachelor.”

“Which is precisely why such small signs are pored over and declared proof of wife-shopping. He is so disinclined to have his name linked with any lady that even the smallest indication is magnified. In one man, being in the market for a wife might involve showering a young girl with attention—flowers, walks, calls, rides, poetry. In Rochford, however, a few visits might suffice.”

“Still, I think people are being a bit premature. It could be only that he is making a bit more effort now that Callie is no longer living at Lilles House. He might want company.”

“Perhaps. But usually that entails spending more time at White’s, not taking up with marriageable young women.”

Francesca nodded a bit absently, turning to glance around. She could not find Rochford now. But she spotted Mary Calderwood sitting against the wall with one of her sisters.

Beside her, Lucien followed her gaze. “Of course, he would have to put up with Calderwood as a father-in-law. That should be sufficient deterrent.”

Francesca smiled. “That hardly seems reason not to choose a girl.”

“I don’t know. One would have to talk to him if he was one’s father-in-law, and the chap is a dead bore.”

“True. Perhaps you ought to point it out to Rochford.”

He let out a little snort of derision. “You won’t find me attempting to give the duke advice on his love life. Some may find my life of little worth, but it’s quite valuable to me.”

Francesca tilted her head, considering Lady Mary and her sister. “She seems a bit…bland for Rochford, don’t you think?”

Sir Lucien cut his eyes toward her speculatively. “I don’t know. She is shy. Perhaps when one gets to know her, she sparkles with wit.”

“I cannot imagine her being able to meet the duke’s social obligations. She blushes and drops her gaze whenever she is introduced to someone.”

“Becoming modesty, some would say,” Lucien suggested.

“Nor are her looks exactly what one would expect Rochford to be drawn to.”

“Do I detect a note of jealousy?” Sir Lucien drawled.