Page 57 of The Courtship Dance

LOST IN SUCH MUSINGS, Francesca went straight to her room when she returned home. It was already time to start preparing for her evening out with the Sherbournes. She bathed and ate a quick supper, which was brought to her on a tray in her room. It was often what she did when she dined at home alone in the evenings, especially when she had to dress for an evening out. It was easier on the servants, and, besides, she invariably felt a trifle foolish dining alone at the long table.

She hummed to herself as she sat down before her mirror and Maisie began the lengthy process of putting up her hair. Maisie was an artist at arranging hair, and she would not be rushed. Francesca opened her jewelry box and glanced over the earrings within. She picked up a pair of jet bobs, then set them down, and opened the small, secret drawer in the bottom. She took out the sapphire earrings Rochford had given her fifteen years ago and laid them in her palm.

She studied the rich, dark blue stones, their depth brightened by the tiny diamonds surrounding them. She had never worn them. At first she had not done so because their engagement was secret, and after that, the thought of wearing them had been too painful. Even when the years had worn away most of the pain, she had been reluctant to put them on. It had seemed somehow wrong.

However, it struck her now that it was quite foolish to hide away such lovely jewelry. Especially tonight, when she was going to wear an evening gown of deep blue. She put the earrings in her earlobes and turned her head from side to side, studying the effect as the diamonds caught and reflected the light.

“Oh, my lady!” Maisie sucked in her breath in appreciation. “Those are beautiful, those are. And won’t they look a treat with your dress?”

“I was just thinking the same thing.” Francesca smiled at her maid in the mirror.

“Are you going to wear the bracelet, as well?”

“I don’t know.” Francesca pulled out the circlet of diamonds and sapphires.

It was not a heavy bracelet, but the work was exquisite, and the jewels were of the highest quality, exactly the epitome of taste and elegance that one would expect Rochford to choose. She slipped it on her wrist and admired it.

“You know…I believe I will.”

Maisie helped her into the blue ball gown, a gossamer voile dress of deep blue laid over a lighter blue underskirt, the contrast of colors repeated in the sleeves. Francesca had just stepped into her slippers when there was the sound of a thunderous knock downstairs.

Maid and mistress looked at each other in surprise. It was too early for Sir Alan’s arrival, and in any case, he would not have pounded so rudely upon the door. Curious, Francesca went to the door of her bedchamber and opened it as Maisie went on about her business, pulling out Francesca’s light evening cloak, fan and gloves, and laying them out on the bed.

A man’s voice reverberated downstairs, strident and aggressive. Francesca stiffened. She did not recognize the voice so much as the manner. What was Mr. Perkins doing here? He had promised to wait until Saturday.

Her hand tightened on the doorknob, her insides clenching. She should have known that he would not keep to his promise. She hesitated. She did not want to go down and face him, and for a short moment she was tempted to stay there and let Fenton deal with the man.

It was only a fleeting thought, however, for she knew there was no way Fenton could make Perkins leave, and Perkins was exactly the boorish sort who would refuse to go. Indeed, it would not surprise her at all if the man decided to bully his way up the stairs to find her. She had to get rid of him before Sir Alan arrived.

So, with a sigh, she started downstairs. The voices were rising in volume and heat as she approached, and as she rounded the corner of the stairway, she saw Perkins reach out and grab her butler by his shirtfront, bunching the material in his fist and giving the man a shake.

“By God, she will see me, or I’ll know why!”

Fenton’s face turned dangerously purple with rage, and Francesca ran quickly down the last few steps.

“I am here, Mr. Perkins, so you can stop your bellowing.”

He let go of Fenton and swung around. Only a few feet from him now, Francesca could see that his eyes were bloodshot and his face puffier than the last time she had seen him. The distinct smell of alcohol hung on the air around him.

“You,” he said heavily.

“Yes. I.”

“My lady,” Fenton began, almost quivering with rage.

“Yes, Fenton, I know. You did all you could to stop him. But I think it is best that I speak to Mr. Perkins. If you will come with me…?” She gestured toward the drawing room, then strode off in that direction, and Perkins followed her.

When they reached the drawing room, she turned around to face him. “Now. What are you doing here? I have plans for this evening. I did not expect you until Saturday.”

“Maybe I don’t want to wait until Saturday,” he retorted. “After the way you tossed me out of your party last week, I decided I needn’t stand on formalities.”

With an insolent grin, he plopped down in a chair without waiting for her to sit first.

Firmly suppressing her distaste, Francesca took a seat on the couch across from him, saying evenly, “I had nothing to do with that. However, when one arrives at a party uninvited, I imagine one might expect a bit of rudeness.”

“I expect nothing else from the high and mighty duke,” he sneered. “He’s always held himself better than the rest of us. Haughston’d be spinning in his grave if he knew Rochford was sniffing around you.” Perkins cast a baleful glance at her. “No doubt he’s hoping to set you up as his next mistress.”

Francesca drew in her breath sharply, startled by his words. Anger followed an instant later, and she jumped to her feet. “How dare you speak such lies? Rochford would never do such a thing.”