Chapter Five #3
“I could say that I found your candor refreshing yesterday evening—it is quite true, after all—and I thought I might liven up this afternoon with your company.”
“What would you say if you were to tell me the actual reason I am in your carriage right now? Did Lady Wyngate approach you? Has she asked you to…help me find a husband?” Red spots of anger and embarrassment bloomed on Irene’s cheeks.
Francesca turned to her, surprise marking her features. “Lady Wyngate? Your mother? Why would she—No, no, she has never said such a thing.”
“Not my mother. Lady Maura, Humphrey’s wife. Did she talk to you about me?”
“No. I assure you. I scarcely know Lady Wyngate. Why would you think she would say something like that to me?”
“Because she wishes me to be married and out of the house,” Irene retorted with some bitterness.
She cast an abashed glance at Francesca.
“I am sorry. You must think me quite foolish. I know you are not friends with Maura. It is just that she was plaguing me the other day about my spinster state, urging me to talk to you. She said that any girl you took up ended by marrying well. She thinks you have the golden touch, I suppose. I was afraid…”
“I would not have discussed you with your sister-in-law,” Francesca told her mildly.
Irene looked at her and saw the sincerity in Francesca’s face. “I am sorry,” she said quickly. “I should not have assumed you would go along with one of Maura’s schemes. It was just so odd, right after Maura telling me that I should get your help.”
Francesca nodded. “I understand.”
Irene could see the sympathy in the other woman’s face, and she realized that Francesca understood even more than Irene had expressed. “I am sure that it is difficult for you,” the older woman said delicately. “Living with a new sister-in-law.”
“I despise it,” Irene replied candidly. “A good deal of it is my own fault, I know. I am accustomed to running the house, you see, to being my own mistress. It is hard to give that up, I suppose.”
“I would not think that you and Lady Wyngate would ever have been likely to be bosom friends.”
“It is a wonder that we have not yet gotten into a hair-pulling fight,” Irene said with a wry smile, a little surprised to find herself talking to Francesca about her problems. Irene would never have thought that she would particularly like Francesca, but she was finding her very easy to talk to.
Francesca laughed. “Well, perhaps you should think of getting married, then. It would get you away from Maura. You would be the mistress of your own house.”
“No, I would be the mistress of my husband’s house, with nothing of my own and under a man’s entire control.
’Tis far easier to put up with Lady Maura’s barbs and petty attempts to run my life.
At least at Humphrey’s house I have a brother who defends me, at least sometimes, from his wife’s edicts.
And I am not legally under her thumb. With a husband, one is entirely at his mercy. ”
Francesca cast her a startled look, but said only, “There are those who are loved and cherished by their husbands.”
“It is always a gamble, though, is it not?” Irene shot back.
Francesca shrugged. “Most women want to find husbands. They are quite happy with the married state.”
“I must point out that you have not remarried, though it has been several years since your husband died,” Irene told her shrewdly.
Francesca blinked in surprise, but recovered quickly. “Perhaps I felt I could not again find such love as I had with Andrew.”
Irene grimaced. “Forgive me, but I was acquainted with Lord Haughston. He was one of my father’s boon companions. I am well aware of how he spent his time, for I know how my father spent his.”
Francesca replied levelly, “It would be false to say that you are wrong. However, my position as a widow is much less uncomfortable than yours as a dependent in-law. It is far easier for me to avoid marriage. Anyway, I am not a good example to use.” She turned her head away, gazing out across the street, as she went on.
“I married foolishly. I am sure you would not make the same sort of choice I did.”
“I am sorry,” Irene said, feeling a flash of regret for her blunt words. “I should not have spoken so about your husband. My tongue often gets the better of me. As you know, I have a reputation for it. I did not mean to hurt you.”
“Nay, do not worry about it.” Francesca smiled at her. “There is no harm in telling me the truth…although I would not advise you do so with others in the general course of things. Most people, I believe, would take your candor amiss.”
Irene smiled back, and they drove on in silence for a moment. Then she said, “After you introduced me to Lord Radbourne last night, he informed me that he was searching for a wife and was willing to consider me as a candidate.”
“I see.” Francesca raised her eyebrows fractionally. “The earl is not, I think, known for his subtlety.”
“Indeed. I informed him that I was not interested in marrying, and I would have thought that would be an end to it. But then you came to the house to invite me out for a ride, and here we are, once again talking about marriage. Am I to believe it is a coincidence?”
Francesca gazed back at her for a long moment, then gave a little shrug.
“Lord Radbourne’s great-aunt is Lady Odelia Pencully, and she asked for my help.
You are right in saying that I seem to have acquired a certain reputation for—” she gestured vaguely, her expression amused “—for making matches. The earl’s family is eager to find him a wife.
You know, I am sure, of the tragedy of his past. They feel that the proper spouse would facilitate his taking his rightful place in the ton. ”
“And they thought that I would be the proper spouse?” Irene asked in disbelief. “What makes me a good candidate for that position? Do they think that because I am a spinster, I must be desperate enough to wed any man, even one I hardly know?”
“There is no need to wed without coming to know him first,” Francesca pointed out mildly.
At the spark that flared in Irene’s golden eyes, Francesca held up her hands placatingly, her inviting laughter tumbling out.
“No, no, do not fire up at me, pray. I was making a jest. No one is asking you to agree to marry the man. His family wanted me to think of eligible young women who might be willing to consider marriage, and Lord Radbourne asked to meet you, so I introduced you to him. His grandmother intends to hold a party at their country estate—or at least Lady Odelia intends that his grandmother will do so, which means that it will be done. I feel it is only fair of me to point out that if you were to go to the party, you would be able to become better acquainted with Lord Radbourne.”
“I do not need to become better acquainted—with him or any man. My mind has long been set against marriage.” Irene turned to Francesca, looking straight into her face. “You knew my father, did you not?”
Francesca glanced away. “Yes. I realize the sort of man he was.”
“I am not sure you do,” Irene went on. “I imagine that much of the ton knows that he was a libertine. A rake. He gambled and drank and indulged himself with countless barques of frailty. He made my mother’s life a misery.
But her misery was not solely because of his actions outside our home.
When he was in the house, believe me, we all wished that he were out.
He was loud, overbearing and bad-tempered, and when he had been drinking, which was much of the time, he was completely unreasonable and apt to use his fists to make his point.
Everyone in the house, from my mother down to the servants, was afraid of him.
I swore that I would never put myself in the position that my mother was in.
I would never subject myself to the whims of any man. ”
“But you see, with this marriage, you would not be without power,” Francesca pointed out.
“His family is talking about an arranged marriage, a businesslike arrangement. You would have a great deal of bargaining power. No doubt you could get them to agree in writing to an assured allowance or some sort of guaranteed settlement.”
“Even so, once we were married, I would be under his control. I would no longer have any rights. I would be subject to my husband’s decisions.”
Francesca did not reply, and Irene continued.
“In any case, if I were to agree to such a marriage, it would certainly not be to the Earl of Radbourne.” Color mounted in her cheeks again, and her eyes took on a golden glow.
“He is insufferably rude and boorish. I have never met a man I would like less to marry. He is arrogant and bullheaded and—”
She stopped, visibly pulling herself back under control. She took a shaky breath. “In any case, I do not imagine that it matters now. I rebuffed him last night at the dance—rather decisively. I feel sure that Lord Radbourne would no longer be interested in me.”
Francesca, who had been watching Irene with a great deal of interest, opened her mouth to speak, then stopped.
She paused for a moment, looking thoughtful, then went on.
“Well, as to that, I do not know. And, of course, if you are so set against it, I would not push you. I would not think of asking you to do anything you would not want to. I merely thought, when Lady Odelia told me, that it might be a proposition in which you would be interested. You always were, I thought, that rare sort of woman who is more ruled by her head than by her heart.”
Irene regarded Francesca narrowly for a moment.
She was not sure whether Francesca was simply being truthful or attempting to maneuver her into changing her position.
Francesca was correct that she was a woman who believed strongly in running her life with thoughts rather than emotions, and in that regard, she supposed it did seem a trifle peculiar that she would dismiss a practical marriage, one that others would consider a logical proposition.
Could it be that she was allowing her fears to sway her from doing what was best for her and her mother?
But she quickly shook aside that thought. “I am ruled by my head. I know what can result from marriage, and so I refrain from allowing my hopes to sweep me into something foolish.”
Francesca nodded. “Of course. Then let us say nothing more about it.”
She then began to chat of other things, surprising Irene somewhat with her easy acquiescence in letting the topic drop.
Irene joined in the conversation, thinking that it was very easy to like Francesca.
She did not speak of anything serious or remarkable, perhaps, but she made conversation easy and somehow infused ordinary things with interest. Her laughter was quick and appealing, and it occurred to Irene that perhaps she had never given the other woman a chance, merely dismissed her as foolish and superficial.
Though she did not touch on important issues, she was possessed of an agile wit, and there was a certain warmth about her that took away the sting from gossip.
They made their way slowly through the park, stopping frequently to talk to a rider on horseback or the occupant of another carriage. Clearly Francesca knew most of the ton, and everyone seemed eager to address her.
Lady Fenwit-Taylor, who was riding in a lumbering old black carriage with her timid daughter beside her, hailed Francesca, leaning out of her window to carry on a conversation in a booming voice.
The woman was, it appeared, a fast friend of Francesca’s mother, and it was clear that they would be stuck there for a goodly time.
Irene settled back in her seat, paying only cursory attention to the other women’s conversation, and let her mind wander.
It went, annoyingly, back to her encounter with Lord Radbourne the evening before, and she jerked her mind away from that subject.
She would not, she told herself, allow that man to dominate her thoughts.
She heard the sound of another carriage behind them. Irene did not turn to glance back, but then a man’s voice jolted her.
“Lady Irene! I have found you.”
Hot, then cold, slashed through her. It seemed for a moment, absurdly, as if her very thoughts had conjured him up. She turned, her heart pounding.
“Lord Radbourne.”