Page 22 of The Wedding Challenge

Her face turned a trifle sad as she went on, “I think perhaps the people in my family simply are not the sort to fall in love. Look at Rochford—he has been the object of every matchmaking mama in the city, and he has never fallen prey to love.”

“No, I suppose he has not, has he?” Francesca murmured.

“And can you imagine the duchess ever forgetting herself so much as to indulge in such a plebian emotion? I am sure she married my grandfather only because it was the most advantageous match.”

Francesca had to chuckle. “It is difficult to picture the duchess carried away by love.”

“Sometimes I wonder if there is something missing in us. But perhaps it is easier to be as Sinclair and I are. My mother loved my father greatly. She never stopped grieving for him until the day she died. I think she was almost happy to die so she could be reunited with him. It seems as though all I can remember of her is sadness. She passed through the days like a ghost, a shell whose heart had been stolen from her.” Callie shook her head. “I think perhaps it is better to be heartwhole.”

“Perhaps,” Francesca agreed. “Still, when one looks at Constance and Dominic…”

A broad smile spread across Callie’s face. “They are so obviously in love, the very air seems brighter around them. It must be thrilling to feel that way about someone.”

“Yes, it must,” Francesca agreed.

Callie looked a little wistful. “Have you ever been in love that way?”

“I thought I was,” Francesca replied wryly.

Callie glanced at her and quickly colored. “Oh! I am so sorry. I did not mean—how thoughtless and rude of me. I quite forgot that you had been married.”

“Mmm. More and more nowadays, I forget it, as well,” Francesca told her.

There was something in the other woman’s face that told Callie that Francesca preferred to forget her marriage altogether.

“I am sorry,” Callie said again, leaning forward impulsively and taking Francesca’s hand.

She had never known Francesca’s husband very well, as he had died the year of Callie’s first Season, and he had only rarely come to Redfields with Francesca when she visited her family there. But Callie had the distinct impression, though she wasn’t sure why, that her brother disliked the man, and she had heard her grandmother remark on one occasion that Francesca had had occasion to rue the day she married Lord Haughston.

“Do not fret yourself,” Francesca told Callie with a squeeze of her hand. “Anyway, we are not here to discuss me. We are talking about you.”

Callie released the other woman’s hand and sat back, politely following Francesca’s change of subject. “All right. Will you help me?”

“Of course I will. You should not even wonder about that. However, I am not sure what I can do that you and your grandmother could not do just as easily. The duchess knows everyone in the ton. And you certainly need no assistance on matters of style or charm.”

“It is very kind of you to say so. But my grandmother has assured me that you have a golden touch when it comes to finding someone a mate. Why, just look at the last few months. Since last Season you have brought together two couples—and very happy ones, as well.”

“I think the fact that Constance and Irene found the loves of their lives had more to do with them and their husbands than it did with me.” Francesca let out a little chuckle. “Indeed, I had intended Constance for a different man altogether.”

“I suspect that you downplay your own role in the matter,” Callie responded. “I am well aware that in all things regarding Society, you are an expert. I am certain that there is no one who could be of more aid to me in this endeavor than you. My grandmother knows many eligible men, ’tis true, and she is more than diligent about introducing them to me. But her standards are not mine. Her considerations are solely wealth and family and title, without any regard to looks or compatibility or temperament. I doubt that she even wonders whether a prospective husband has a sense of humor. But you know what people are like, not just their place in Society. Why, you realized how well suited Gideon and Irene were—even before she saw it.”

“Ah, but I was not determined not to see it, as Irene was,” Francesca told her.

“But you understand what I am saying, don’t you?”

Francesca nodded. “Yes. You wish to find a husband who suits you, not your grandmother.”

“Exactly. Not my grandmother or my brother or the ton. Just me.”

“I hope that you are not putting too much faith in my abilities,” Francesca said. “But I will certainly help you in any way that I can.”

“Good.” Callie grinned at her. “I am so glad you said that, for, you see, I have another—even larger—favor to beg of you.”

Francesca’s brows rose inquiringly. “But of course. You have only to ask.”

“’Tis terribly rude of me, I know, but I—it would be ever so nice if we could begin our search soon. And I must ask—that is, would you be so kind as to…to allow me to stay with you?” Bright spots of color stained her cheeks, and before Francesca could even speak, she hurried on. “Sinclair intends to return to the estate when he finishes his business in London. But I would like to stay here and begin my project at once. I cannot remain at Lilles House without a chaperone, of course, and while my grandmother might be persuaded to stay with me, well—frankly, I do not want her to. I don’t want her looking over my shoulder the whole time, telling me about this man or the other, any more than I want to retire to Marcastle and listen to her lecture me about doing my duty.”

“Perfectly understandable,” Francesca replied. “Of course you may stay with me. It will be quite fun. We can plan our campaign and go shopping. Look over all the suitable candidates. It will be good to get a head start on the Season, and I will enjoy having you here. But will that meet with Rochford’s approval?”