Candace Camp - The Courtship Dance

“Exactly right.”

“Someone told me that you were known to work wonders with young girls who had been, well, left behind in the social race, so to speak. I know you have no reason to help me, not knowing us, but I hoped that you might consider favoring me with some advice. I was told you were most generous in that regard.”

“Of course I should be happy to help you,” Francesca assured the man.

She liked her first impression of Sir Alan, and, in any case, she could scarcely turn down an opportunity that had happened along so fortuitously. She should have been combing the ranks of the new marriageable girls, looking for those who could benefit from her expertise—and were willing to open their purses, of course, to achieve results.

“I am not sure exactly what it is that you can do,” her guest continued a little uncertainly.

“Nor am I,” Francesca admitted. “It would help, no doubt, if I were to meet your daughter.”

“Yes, of course. If it would be acceptable for us to call on you, I should be most happy to bring her to visit you.”

“That sounds like just the thing. Why don’t the two of you come to see me tomorrow afternoon? Lady Harriet and I can become acquainted, and I can get a better idea of the problem.”

“Excellent,” Sir Alan responded, beaming. “You are very kind, Lady Haughston.”

“In the meantime, perhaps you might tell me a bit about what you, um, would like to happen for Lady Harriet this Season.”

He looked puzzled. “What do you mean?”

“Well, I find that parents often have different expectations. Some hope for their daughter to make a quick match, others a highly advantageous one.”

“Oh.” His face cleared. “I have no expectations of marriage, my lady. I mean, if Harriet were to meet a suitable young man whom she wished to marry, that would be very nice, of course. But she is still young, and I have not heard her express a great interest in marrying. I wish only for her to have a pleasant Season. She never complains, but the past few years she has had to take on more responsibility than a girl her age should. She is entitled to a little fun. That is why we came here for the Season. But, truthfully…well, I believe she is bored at these parties. She would like to dance and converse. My mother has been sponsoring Harriet, but she is getting up in years. It is a burden to her to take the girl about. And I sometimes wonder if the parties she attends are really, well, entertaining to Harriet.”

Francesca nodded, the picture growing clearer for her. “Of course.”

Sir Alan seemed a kind and pleasant man, one who wanted only the best for his daughter, which was certainly a refreshing change from many of the parents who had come to her. Most of them seemed more interested in an advantageous marriage than a happy one, and few expressed, as this man had, an interest in their daughter enjoying her come-out.

Of course, kindness did not necessarily translate into a willingness to spend money to accomplish his goals. There had been far too many parents who had expected her to work wonders for their daughter without purchasing different clothes, or to purchase an adequate wardrobe on a cheeseparing budget.

“I have found that bringing a girl out properly often demands adjustments to her wardrobe, entailing further expenses,” Francesca said, probing delicately.

He nodded agreeably. “Of course, if that is what you think is best. I would leave that matter entirely in your hands. I fear that my mother was not, perhaps, the best person to choose my daughter’s frocks for the Season.”

“And doubtless you will need to host a party yourself.” At the man’s dismayed expression, she hastily added, “Or we can hold it here. I can take care of the preparations.”

“Yes.” His face cleared. “Oh, yes, that would be just the thing, if you would be so kind. Just direct the bills to me.”

“Certainly.” Francesca smiled. It was always a pleasure to work with an openhanded parent, especially one who was happy to put all the decisions and arrangements into her hands.

Sir Alan beamed back, clearly quite pleased with the arrangement. “I don’t know how to thank you, Lady Haughston. Harriet will be so pleased, I’m sure. I should not take up any more of your time. I have already imposed on you more than enough.”

He took his leave, giving her a polite bow, and Francesca went back upstairs, feeling a good bit more cheerful. Taking Harriet Sherbourne in hand would give her something to do, as well as provide her with some much-needed coin in the coming weeks. Given the quality of the last few meals her cook had prepared, she knew that Fenton must have run out of the money the duke’s man of business had sent them for Callie’s upkeep while she was living with Francesca. The butler and her cook had, of course, worked their usual economic magic with the cash, managing to apportion the money so that it lasted several weeks longer than the time Callie had been there.

The household was still solvent and would remain so for the rest of the Season, due to the gift that Callie’s grandmother, the dowager duchess, had sent. When Callie had left Francesca’s household, she had given Francesca a cameo left to her by her mother, a gift so sweet and instantly dear to Francesca that she had been unable to part with it, even for the money it would have brought. However, shortly thereafter, the duchess had sent her a lovely silver vanity set as her own thanks for taking the burden of arrangements for the wedding ceremony off the duchess’s hands. Francesca hated to give up the engraved tray and its set of small boxes, pots and perfume bottles, simply because it was so beautifully done, but yesterday she had turned it over to Maisie to take to the jeweler’s and sell.

Still, the cash the set would bring would not last forever, and after the Season ended, there would be the long stretch of fall and winter, in which there were few opportunities to make any more income. Whatever she could earn by helping Sir Alan’s daughter would be very welcome. Besides, life always seemed better when she had a project to work on. Two projects, therefore, should utterly banish the fit of the blue devils she had suffered the other evening.

Her spirits were further buoyed by the fact that, in her absence, Maisie had recalled some silver lace that she had salvaged from a ruined ball gown last fall, and which would, the maid was sure, be just the thing to spruce up Francesca’s dove-gray evening gown for her visit to the theater.

The two women spent the rest of the afternoon happily remaking the ball gown in question, replacing its overskirt with one of silver voile taken from another gown, and adding a row of the silver lace around the hem, neckline and short, puffed sleeves. It took only a bit of work on the seams and the addition of a sash of silver ribbon, and the dress seemed entirely new and shimmery, not at all like the same gray evening dress she had worn a year ago. Francesca thought that she would look quite acceptable—and not at all like a woman fast approaching her thirty-fourth birthday.

When Tuesday evening came, bringing with it the trip to the theater that Francesca had arranged, the duke arrived, unsurprisingly, before his appointed time. It was much more unusual that Francesca, too, was ready early. However, when Fenton informed her of Rochford’s presence downstairs, she dawdled a few minutes before going down to greet him. It would never do, after all, for a lady to appear eager, even if the man in question was a friend, not a suitor.

The butler had placed Rochford in the formal drawing room, and he was standing before the fireplace, studying the portrait of Francesca that hung over it. The painting had been done at the time of her marriage to Lord Haughston, and it had hung there so long that she never noticed it anymore, regarding it as one of the familiar pieces of furniture.