Kendall spoke then, as mild as ever, as though he offered help rather than interference. “If I may,” he said, “both gentlemen are worth hearing. A lady in your position need not choose quickly—or at all—but it is not unwise to know the temper of the gentlemen in your circle.”
Lady Upton looked at him again, and this time the smile she gave was approving.
“How sensible,” she said. “Mr. Kendall, you are a very… attentive man of business.”
Francesca felt heat rise at the words. It was true. It had always been true. It was precisely why her suspicion felt like treachery.
Kendall followed her glance this time—a quick, slight movement hardly visible and yet there. His eyes returned to her face at once, as if he had seen nothing.
Francesca felt her pulse quicken with guilt. Perhaps she was imagining it. Perhaps suspicion had made her vulgar. Perhaps Major Manners had planted a poison in her mind and she was now sprinkling it upon every harmless gesture… and yet…
Kendall had come to London unexpectedly.
“I must leave you to make arrangements. Please let me know about tomorrow,” Kendall added gently, as if returning them to a private thread Lady Upton could not touch.
Francesca met his gaze. “Yes, of course.” Then she prepared to endure an afternoon of callers.
CHAPTER 9
Infuriating woman.
Arch had repeated the phrase often enough during the course of the day for it to have lost none of its force and very little of its accuracy. Miss Francesca Vale, who had agreed—quite calmly and with every appearance of reason—to send him the entries from her ledgers and proceed cautiously thereafter, had apparently decided that caution did not extend to informing the gentleman assigned to guard her that she was to attend another political salon.
He would not even have known of it had his mother not mentioned it with the mild nonchalance of a woman who assumed all such matters were already understood.
“You will see Miss Vale this afternoon, of course,” Lady Upton had said as she stirred her tea. “She mentioned she was to attend a small gathering in Bloomsbury. They are quite earnest people, I believe. It has something to do with parliamentary reform. Not at all the thing for Society, though she could be advertised as a political hostess.” His mother pondered this new thought.
Arch had paused mid-sip. “A gathering?” he repeated carefully.
“Yes,” his mother said, glancing up with that vague attentiveness which suggested she had noticed the alteration in his tone but had yet to decide whether or not it was interesting. “She seemed quite determined. Her man of business was there, discussing it with her. Kenny? Kempford? No, that is not quite right. No matter.”
Arch set down his cup with deliberate composure. “I was not aware,” he said, “that she had accepted an invitation.”
Lady Upton studied him then with gentle scrutiny. “Oh,” she said lightly, “perhaps she did not wish to trouble you.”
Trouble him. Arch had left the house ten minutes later with the very strong impression that Miss Francesca Vale was about to trouble him exceedingly.
Bloomsbury in the afternoon possessed a different character from the one it displayed in the evenings, when carriages and lanterns softened its edges. In daylight it revealed its earnestness plainly: narrow streets, respectable houses, and a constant current of traffic. He did not approach the town house directly.
Experience had taught him that walking openly through a door rarely revealed anything worth knowing. Men were far more careful when they expected to be observed. Instead, he crossed the street and took up position near a bookseller’s window, where he could observe the entrance without appearing to do so.
Francesca arrived, accompanied only by her maid and a modest carriage. She stepped down with the same composed certainty he had come to recognize. The emerald gown from the previous evening had been replaced by a simple day dress of dark blue, though the colour only served to emphasize the brightness of her hair and the deliberate intelligence of her expression.
Arch watched her pause at the doorway and exchange a brief word with the servant who admitted her. She did not hesitate. The door closed behind her with a quiet finality that made his blood start to simmer.
Infuriating woman.
He waited another five minutes before moving when it seemed all of the guests had arrived. Since no butler was there to answer to, he let himself inside, but did not enter the drawing room itself. Instead, he paused in the adjoining corridor where the door stood slightly ajar. The voices inside carried clearly enough for a careful listener.
“…conditions cannot continue,” someone was saying with weary intensity. “Factory labourers are working in circumstances Parliament refuses even to acknowledge.”
Another voice responded in a sardonic tone. “We know how much Parliament cares for the working people.”
A murmur of agreement followed.
Arch shifted slightly until he could see part of the room. Francesca sat near the far side of the room, listening rather than speaking. The posture suited her. She did not lean forward eagerly as some of the younger men did; she observed, seeming to measure each argument.
The man called Tidd presided with his usual air of determined moderation. Two mill owners, who Arch vaguely recognized from before, occupied the opposite side of the room. The clergyman hovered near the window with a pamphlet clutched in both hands. Then Arch saw the man standing near the hearth. He knew at once that it was Kendall.
