Page 25 of The Wedding Challenge

“One muslin morning dress is much like any other,” Callie replied. “If she should notice, I will simply tell her that I had forgotten and left it at Lilles House last Season, and that is why she has not seen it on me recently.”

“Clever minx.” The duke grinned down at her fondly. “I suppose your ease in fabricating tales should make me nervous. But I think I will choose to ignore it. Now, Lady Francesca tells me that she has been good enough to invite you to stay with her until the Season starts. I told her I felt sure that you would enjoy that.”

“Yes, I should, very much,” Callie replied, smiling broadly. “I like Marcastle, but…”

“I know, I know, country life is beginning to pall. It is certainly all right with me if you stay here, though I must warn Lady Francesca that you will drag her through every shop on Bruton Street.”

“Indeed, you wrong me!” Callie objected, but she was laughing.

“Well, you had best get on your cloak and bonnet so that we can go home and you can set to packing for your visit. No doubt you will also have a list for the housekeeper of things that she must send in addition.”

“Oh, no,” Callie retorted. “I shall simply purchase new things.”

With another sparkling grin, she turned and left the room, hurrying on light feet back upstairs. Rochford turned to Francesca.

“Do not say I did not warn you.”

“I think that I will be able to hold my own when it comes to shopping,” Francesca responded, smiling.

“Callie has her own allowance, and she can draw on her monies for clothes and such,” he told her. “But, of course, I will direct my man of business to provide an adequate amount for her household expenses.”

Francesca stiffened. She could feel a flush rising in her cheeks. Was it possible that Rochford suspected her financial straits? Had he guessed how perilously close to destitution Lord Haughston had left her when he died five years ago? How closely she still skated to the edge of poverty, eking out a living from the “gifts” given her by grateful parents for guiding their daughters through the dangerous shoals of the Season?

“Nonsense,” she told him coolly. “I would not allow a guest to pay for her upkeep. Whatever can you mean?”

Rochford drew himself up to his full height, which was considerable, and looked down at her with an expression of frozen hauteur—so exactly the “duke face” that Callie had described last night that Francesca almost giggled despite her embarrassment.

“My dear Lady Haughston,” he said, as if he had not known her since she was a child in leading strings. “Do you honestly believe that I am so rag-mannered as to foist my sister upon you—and you need not protest, because I know quite well that it was Callie who asked to stay with you, not the other way around—and then expect you to house and feed her, all at your own expense?”

“Of course I do not—” Francesca began, then stopped. “I mean…” How was it that Rochford could always make one feel as if one were in the wrong, no matter how certain one was that she was right? His steady, haughty gaze made her want to twist and squirm, and she could not help but wonder if she had indeed offended the man.

“Very well, then,” the duke said, giving her a nod. “It is all settled.”

“But—”

“I will have my man of business make the appropriate arrangements with your butler,” he concluded. “Now, I must bid you farewell.”

He spent the short period until Callie came back downstairs thanking Francesca again for taking in his sister, apologizing for the early hour of his call, and in general keeping up a steady stream of social niceties. Then, with a graceful bow, he left the house with his sister, leaving Francesca to wonder exactly which of them had managed to outsmart the other.

CHAPTER SIX

HER RETURN TO Lilles House was not as bad as Callie had expected. Her brother did not speak again of the incident that had set this whole thing in motion, and she, too, was happy to talk about other things. And since Sinclair had kindly and cleverly hidden from the duchess that she had not slept in her room the night before, she did not have to endure a long lecture from her grandmother.

The duchess was somewhat surprised to hear that they had called upon Lady Haughston so early, and even more so when she was told of Francesca’s invitation to Callie to stay with her. She protested that she could not imagine why Callie would prefer to stay in London in the dull months before the Season began rather than return to Marcastle. But her argument was merely perfunctory, and Callie was sure that she had seen a glimpse of relief in the duchess’s face. By the end of the day, her grandmother was musing about going on to Bath to visit her friends for the next few months, instead of returning to Marcastle with Rochford.

It was easy enough to supervise the packing, as Callie would take essentially what she had brought, along with the addition of some clothes that were here at their town house. There were a few things that she decided to have shipped from home, as her brother had predicted, so she had to write out a list for him to give the housekeeper at Marcastle. But it took only a little time and effort, and she was able to take leave of her grandmother and brother that evening and go to Francesca’s.

Sinclair accompanied her, as she had known he would, but he did not stay long, merely greeting Francesca, bidding Callie farewell, and taking Francesca’s butler aside for a brief talk that seemed to leave both of them well-satisfied.

Callie and Francesca spent the rest of the evening ensconced in Francesca’s comfortable little sitting room, discussing their plans for the upcoming visit. The first order of business, they agreed, was to shop for clothes. After all, one could scarcely begin the Season in frocks from last year, and if one was starting the Season early, then it only stood to reason that one must have one’s clothes early.

Thus, they set out the very first morning of Callie’s stay for Bruton and Conduit Streets, home to the finest milliners and modistes, not returning until late that afternoon, both of them tired and chilled by the damp cold of the day, but thoroughly satisfied.

“I think we have visited every milliner in this city,” Callie commented with a sigh, gratefully taking the cup of tea that Francesca’s efficient butler had brought within moments after their return.

“If we have not, we soon will,” Francesca promised. “I still have not found exactly what I want for summer afternoons. But I thought we did very nicely with the dresses.”

“Yes, though I do wish I could wear something besides white,” Callie grumbled. “I would so love a green ball gown—or even one of palest pink.”