Candace Camp - The Bridal Quest

“Indeed?”

Francesca nodded. “Obviously he is for some reason already interested in her. And she would suit Lady Odelia’s requirements. Her lineage is excellent on both her mother’s and her father’s sides.”

“Old Lord Wyngate was something of a rogue,” Sir Lucien objected.

“Yes, but his scandalous behavior has never reflected badly on Lady Irene, or her mother and brother,” Francesca pointed out. “And certainly she has the strength of will to make the man presentable, if any woman can.”

“And the wit to hide the faults she cannot change,” Sir Lucien added.

“Yes. And, most importantly, Irene can hold her own with Lady Odelia. She will not allow the old woman to ride roughshod over her.”

“As we all know she will try to do.”

“Naturally,” Francesca agreed. “And I think, from what I have seen of him, it might require some strength of character to deal with the earl himself, as well.”

“Really?” Sir Lucien turned toward her, intrigued. “I assumed he was, well…” He shrugged.

“Under Lady O’s thumb?”

Sir Lucien nodded.

“I think not. When he came into the room, he seemed…a trifle rough around the edges, I suppose, but not intimidated in the slightest. In fact, when I looked at Lady Odelia, it occurred to me that perhaps she was a little wary of him.”

“Well, well…That would be a first,” Sir Lucien mused.

“I thought as much myself. He seemed to be going along with her plan but not obeying her, if you see what I mean. Oh, wait.” Francesca straightened, reaching up to grasp Sir Lucien’s sleeve. “There she is. Oh, dear. She does not look at all pleased.”

Lucien looked in the direction of her gaze and saw Irene. She had just entered through the open doors onto the terrace, and she was now striding through the crowd of people, her back ramrod straight. She did not glance to either side as she walked. Her jaw was set, her face flushed, and there was a furious light in her eyes. He noticed that people stepped out of her way as she approached.

“I would not say it went well,” he murmured to Francesca.

She sighed. “No, I fear not.”

Francesca glanced aside and saw that the Duke of Rochford was making his way toward her from the direction of the card room. “Now what?” she muttered.

Sir Lucien glanced over at her and then toward the duke. He chuckled. “It could be worse. It could be Lady Pencully.”

Francesca rolled her eyes in her friend’s direction. “Curse your tongue, Lucien. Now she is certain to appear.”

Lucien smothered a laugh and said to the approaching duke, “Rochford. Dear fellow. Pleasure, as always, to see you.”

“Sir Lucien. Lady Haughston.” Rochford stopped beside Francesca, nodding to them both. “I must say, my lady, you do not look at all pleased.”

Francesca gave the man a frosty look. “That depends on whether you brought Lady Pencully with you.”

“No, I did not, I am pleased to say,” Rochford replied. Then he smiled faintly and added, “However, I do believe that I saw her in the card room a moment ago.”

“So that is why you left it,” Francesca retorted sourly.

“But of course,” Rochford admitted without a trace of guilt. “You may think yourself reluctant to see her, but you do not have the misfortune to be tied to her by blood. If you were, you would know just how craven you could be.”

“What nonsense you talk,” Francesca said reprovingly. “You have never been afraid of anything in your life.”

He studied her for a moment, a quizzical look on his features, then said, “If only you knew, my lady.”

Francesca made a face and turned away from his gaze. She was aware of a faint heat rising in her cheeks, and she was not even sure why. Rochford had the most damnable talent for unsettling her.

As her eyes swept across the room, she noticed the Earl of Radbourne entering the ballroom through the other set of doors. He looked, if anything, even more thunderous than Irene had. Francesca sighed inwardly. Obviously that opportunity had been lost for good. Perhaps she should not have introduced them so early. But he would have had to talk to Irene at some point, and it would simply all have unraveled then. Better, she supposed, to have gotten it over quickly instead of wasting her time on the match.

“Your Lord Radbourne seems a trifle fierce,” she commented to Rochford.

“Hardly mine,” Rochford protested mildly. “But I imagine he can be rather…hard. I suspect that is the only way he could survive the streets of London. He grew up in a very different world from the one in which we did, Lady Haughston.”

“Indeed. But ours was dangerous, too, in another way.” Francesca glanced toward him, and Rochford turned to look at her, his eyes sharp.

He made no answer, but Francesca looked quickly away from him, suddenly aware of Sir Lucien’s curious gaze.

The duke shifted, then said in a low voice, “Fair warning, my friends. Lady Pencully is approaching.” He bowed toward them. “I fear I must take my leave of you.”

“Coward,” Francesca whispered.

He merely smiled and strode away. Beside her, Sir Lucien made a move, but Francesca turned and pinned him with a look. With a sigh, he remained where he was and forced a smile onto his face.

“Lady Pencully.” He swept her an elegant bow. “What an unaccustomed pleasure to see you.”

“Don’t try your folderol with me, Talbot,” Lady Odelia said bluntly, though Francesca saw that she could not keep her face from softening a little. “Go sharpen your skills on someone else, why don’t you? I need to talk to Francesca.”

“Of course, my lady.” Sir Lucien cast an amused glance at Francesca as he bowed to them both and strolled away.

“I’ve decided what to do,” Lady Odelia went on without preamble. “We shall have a party at Radbourne Park.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“To search for a mate for the earl,” the older woman said with some asperity, as though Francesca were a bit dim. “That is what we are about, remember?”

“Of course I remember. I just, um, I wasn’t sure why a party—”

“It will be the best way to present him to the girls we pick. I am convinced that we will never find him a spouse in London. It is too elegant, too sophisticated. He is bound to stand out here among men of Talbot’s sort. Too smooth by half, that one, if you ask me, but he’s the sort that women like, you know. Or Rochford. Though, of course, women would fawn on him if he were as rough as an old boot. Only stands to reason, being a duke and all. But that is neither here nor there.”

She looked accusingly at Francesca, as if she had been responsible for her wandering off subject. “The point is, if we separate these women from civilization, they will no doubt find my great-nephew more acceptable.”

“I think there are a number of women who would feel the earl’s title and fortune make him acceptable enough anywhere,” Francesca replied wryly.

“Yes, perhaps, but I am unwilling to take the chance. So I shall get Pansy to arrange a house party. We will work on a guest list. Go over the girls who will do. Then you will come up early to Radbourne Park, so you can work on Gideon himself. Smooth out some of his rough edges, if you can. You know what I mean. I am sure that he will receive suggestions better from you. He seems to resent the hints I give him.”

“Surely not,” Francesca murmured.

Lady Pencully gave her a narrow look. “Don’t think I don’t know when you are being facetious, girl. I am well aware that any man would much rather get instruction from a winning girl like you than from an old lady who doesn’t couch the truth in sweet-sounding phrases.” She gave a short nod, ending the matter. “When will you be at Radbourne Park?”