Page 74 of The Wedding Challenge

Bromwell came rushing after him, but Rochford neatly twisted away and, grabbing Bromwell’s arm, threw him against the cabinet in turn. Bromwell charged back, punching, and the two men came up hard against the sofa and tumbled over its back onto the seat and then down to the floor, still grappling and punching, the fine rules of pugilism discarded.

Callie screamed at them to stop, but to no avail. She ran to the fireplace and grabbed the poker, then turned back to the men. They were rolling across the floor, knocking into the tables and chairs, and she ran to them, poker raised. But she could not bring herself to hit either of them with it.

She was standing there indecisively, the poker still held up in her hand, when a cool female voice behind her said, “Really, Rochford…brawling in the drawing room? Before breakfast? How terribly primitive.”

Callie swung toward the direction of the voice and stared, her jaw dropping. There stood Francesca at the foot of the staircase, looking calm and unruffled in a pale blue frock.

Callie could think of nothing to say, so stunned was she by the unexpected vision. Apparently Francesca’s appearance had been enough to halt the men in the midst of their fight, for they, too, had stopped and were staring in equal astonishment at Francesca.

“Really, Rochford, do get up. You look exceedingly foolish there on the floor. As do you, Lord Bromwell. I must say, I would think you men could find something better to do than break up the furniture. I am sure whoever owns this charming house will be most upset at the damage you have caused.”

When no one answered her, Francesca strolled forward, stopping in the doorway and looking down at the men.

“Both members of the ‘Fancy,’ I presume?” she went on as the two men got to their feet, looking bewildered. “It does seem to me that you could have pursued your interest outside. You made such a dreadful amount of noise that you woke me up. Now I shall have great dark circles under my eyes, I am sure, especially after the late night that Callie and I had, driving here through the dark.”

Francesca paused, then added magnanimously, “I am glad, however, to find you all in one piece, Rochford. I did not think you would like having a broken leg and ribs overmuch.”

The duke at last found his voice. “What the devil are you prattling about, Francesca?”

“Why, your injuries, of course,” she replied sweetly. “We came as soon as we received the letter saying how badly you had been injured. You can imagine our surprise when we arrived, and you were nowhere to be found.”

“You—you mean you were here with Callie?” Rochford asked, astonished.

“Yes, of course, we came posthaste as soon as she received the note from—what was the name, Callie?”

“Mrs. Farmington,” Callie supplied, struggling to suppress the smile that wanted to spring to her lips.

“Yes, Farmington, of course. Well, I could hardly allow Callie to make the trip all by herself. We were most puzzled, of course, not to find you here, but Lord Bromwell was kind enough to allow us to put up here for the night. It was excessively late, you know, and I rather think the inn was not the sort of place where I would feel comfortable.”

“I don’t understand. What note are you talking about? Why are you here? And why is he?” He scowled over at Bromwell.

“I live here,” Lord Bromwell offered. “Or, at least, I am staying here for a week or so.”

“And Callie and I were brought here by the note. I just told you this, Rochford. Do you still have it, Callie?” Francesca asked. “Why don’t you run up to our room and fetch it, dear, so you can show it to your brother? Mayhap it will make more sense to him.”

Callie nodded and hastened to up to her bedchamber. In her absence, Rochford looked suspiciously from Francesca to Lord Bromwell, who crossed his arms and stared back at him arrogantly. Francesca simply regarded him with the same cool, faintly derisive gaze.

When Callie returned a moment later, she handed the note to her brother, and he read through it quickly, frowning. When he was done, he looked up at her and then at Francesca.

“But what does this mean? Who sent this to you?” He swung toward Bromwell, scowling. “Was this a trick of yours?”

“No!” Callie exclaimed quickly. “He knew nothing about it. He was quite as astonished as I was. Or Francesca,” she added quickly.

“We were quite tired, so we decided to go on to bed and try to clear the whole matter up this morning. But then you came in howling like a madman.”

“Why didn’t you tell me Francesca was here?” Rochford turned to Callie.

“I tried to!” Callie exclaimed, crossing her arms combatively. “If you will remember, you refused to listen to anything I said.”

“Oh.” The duke looked somewhat abashed.

“Now it is your turn, Rochford,” Francesca said. “What are you doing here?”

“I received a letter also,” he replied. “It said that my sister was here with Lord Bromwell. That they had eloped.”

“I see.” Francesca’s normally warm blue eyes turned to chips of ice.

“Yes, I think we all do,” Lord Bromwell said heavily. He turned away and busied himself with picking up an overturned chair and table, and setting them aright.