Page 53 of The Wedding Challenge

Callie nodded. “Yes, of course. A little puzzled, I admit, but…” She finished her statement with a shrug.

Francesca nodded. Callie felt sure that she was not convinced by that answer, but Francesca was too well-bred to pry. Instead she merely said, “I suppose one should never underestimate the vagaries of men. However, I am convinced that Lord Bromwell’s behavior must have been influenced in some way by his odious sister.”

Callie could not keep from chuckling. “Dear Francesca. Trust you to make me laugh.”

“Yes. My mother once told me that I am able to make even the most serious matter trivial.” She paused and added drolly, “I do not believe she meant it as a compliment.”

Francesca, with her accustomed sensitivity, did not say anything on the rest of the drive home, and when they reached her house, she simply bid Callie good-night and went into her morning room to “see to a few matters,” leaving Callie alone.

Callie hurried up the stairs, the long-suppressed tears welling up in her. Her maid was waiting for her there, but Callie dismissed her with a few brief words, ignoring the girl’s puzzled expression.

Then, at last, for the first time tonight, she was alone. She stood there for a moment, letting down the barriers that she had kept raised all evening. She had refused to let herself feel, to even think about her pain, determined to present a cool and undisturbed face to the world. But now, at last, she let it sink in: Lord Bromwell’s ardor had cooled. For whatever reason, he was no longer interested in her. And she was going to have to live without him.

A deep, primitive sound came up out of her throat—part moan, part sob—and she threw herself across her bed and gave way to tears.

THE NEXT MORNING, Callie was listless and red-eyed, but she refused Francesca’s offer to decline all callers.

“No, I must see them sometime, and I refuse to let anyone pity me. They will gossip, I know, about the fact that Lord Bromwell has grown tired of my company, but at least I do not have to give them further food for gossip by going into a decline.”

“You are a very brave girl,” Francesca said. “Unfortunately, I suspect that we will be inundated with callers.”

As it turned out, the number was not quite as large as Francesca had feared, but their afternoon was filled, and Callie was kept busy pretending that she had scarcely noticed Lord Bromwell’s absence, and that she cared about it even less.

It was a great relief, however, when it grew too late for calls and they were able to settle down to tea. Callie did not feel like eating, really, but no one would be allowed to disturb them, at least, at this hour.

Francesca had just begun to pour their tea, however, when the house echoed with the sound of a loud knock at the front door. Francesca and Callie glanced at each other, surprised, but continued with their tea. It was more surprising when Francesca’s butler appeared at the door a moment later, looking torn.

“Ah…” He hesitated, then continued in a rush, “His Grace, the Duke of Rochford, is here to see you, my lady.” Clearly, the duke was someone whom even Fenton did not dare turn down.

Francesca and Callie looked at each other, alarm dawning on their faces. It was, Callie thought, a dreadful end to a perfectly dreadful day. Sinclair must have gotten wind of Bromwell’s visits and had come to take her to task for it.

“Yes, Fenton, show him in, of course,” Francesca said, suppressing a sigh, and rose to her feet. Beside her, Callie did the same.

A moment later the duke strode into the room. He was dressed for riding, and it was apparent from the less-than-pristine condition of his boots that he had come straight to Francesca’s home without stopping at Lilles House to change. His dark hair was disheveled, his face grim, and there was a light in his eyes that did not bode well for either of the occupants in the room.

“What the devil has been going on here since I left?” he demanded curtly. “I received a letter from Grandmother saying you have been seen everywhere about town with the Earl of Bromwell. She said several of her correspondents have even hinted that we must be expecting an ‘important announcement’ soon.”

“I am sorry if Grandmother’s letters annoyed you, Sinclair,” Callie replied coolly. “But I really do not believe it was necessary for you to come in person to inform me of that fact.”

“Blast it, Callie!” he exclaimed. “Don’t adopt that innocent guise with me. I told you not to see that man again! And you—” He rounded on Francesca. “My God, how could you have been so lax, so irresponsible, as to allow that man to dance attendance upon my sister?”

“I beg your pardon?” Francesca’s voice iced over. “You have the impertinence to upbraid me over whom I permit to call on me at my home?”

“Could you not see what he was about?” Rochford growled. “Didn’t you know better than to allow a man who hated me to try to fix his attention with my sister?”

“If you disapprove so of whom I receive at my house, then no doubt you will wish to remove Callie from my care,” Francesca shot back. “If I am so lax in my standards, so uncaring of who I see or speak to, I can only be surprised that you allowed Callie to visit me at all.”

The duke looked startled; then his brows drew together in a rush, but before he could speak, Callie stepped forward, saying crisply, “No one is ‘removing’ me from anywhere. I am a grown woman, and I will stay where I choose.” She turned toward Francesca. “Unless, of course, you no longer wish me to remain with you because of my brother’s rude behavior.”

Francesca unbent enough to smile at Callie. “You are always welcome here, Callie. You know that.” Her quick sideways glance at the duke did not extend a similar invitation to him. She turned back to Callie. “Now I think it would be best if I left you and the duke alone to discuss the matter.”

“No, Francesca, truly, you need not leave—” Callie began.

Francesca stopped her with a shake of her head. “I do not believe that your brother feels the same say. Clearly the Earl of Bromwell and his family are a personal matter for the duke.”

She turned, sweeping Rochford a cool glance, and left the room, closing the door discreetly behind her. The duke watched her go, his jaw tightening even more. He swung back to face his sister, but Callie jumped in before he could speak.

“How could you have spoken to Francesca that way?” she asked, her eyes snapping. “You were absolutely abominable, acting as though you had some right to tell her what to do! Who she could see or not see! Really, Sinclair!”