Page 75 of The Wedding Challenge

Francesca’s gaze was locked with Rochford’s for a long moment. Then she turned to Callie. “Come, my dear, shall we get our things? Perhaps Rochford will escort us back to London.”

“That reminds me,” Rochford said, his voice once again suspicious. “Where is your carriage? I did not see it when I rode up.”

“Why, in the stable, of course,” Francesca replied, looking at him as if he had taken leave of his senses. “Where else would it be?”

In the silence after her words, they heard the sound of horses outside. The four of them glanced at each other in surprise, and Bromwell started toward the door.

At that moment there was a sound of feminine voices and laughter, and Brom stopped abruptly. The door swung open, and Lady Swithington stepped inside, accompanied by another woman. She was talking gaily to her friend, but she stopped in midsentence when she saw her brother standing before her, his face like stone.

“Why, Brom!” she exclaimed, looking surprised. “I did not expect you to be up yet. And Lady Calandra…what an unexpected pleasure.” Her eyes went on to Callie and the duke standing beyond him. “And Rochford. Whatever are you doing here?” Her voice was as rich and smooth as cream, obviously pleased despite her attempt to look surprised.

“Hello, Daphne,” Francesca said.

Daphne’s gaze snapped over to Francesca, and her eyes widened in a much more natural expression of shock. “Francesca! What the—well, this is indeed a surprise.” She stood for a moment, seemingly nonplussed, then turned to the woman with her. “I am sorry. Please allow me to introduce my friend, Mrs. Cathcart. Do you know Mrs. Cathcart, Lady Calandra? Lady Haughston?”

“Yes, I believe we have met,” Callie answered, forcing herself to smile in greeting. “How do you do, Mrs. Cathcart?”

The sharp-faced blond woman was one of the worst gossips of the ton. Clearly, Brom’s sister had staged this scene so that the scandal she had arranged would be witnessed by someone who was sure to spread it all over London.

Lady Swithington continued with the introductions. The duke had recovered enough to roll down his sleeves and offer Mrs. Cathcart an elegant bow.

“It is a pleasure to speak with you,” he told her, smiling in his gracious way that was at once winning without letting the recipient forget that he or she was in the presence of a duke. “I do hope you will forgive the way I appear, Mrs. Cathcart. I fear I was not expecting visitors.”

“Of course, your Grace,” Mrs. Cathcart said, smiling and blushing, clearly flattered at actually being in conversation with the Duke of Rochford.

“You are rather…mussed, Rochford,” Lady Daphne agreed. “And is that blood on your cheek, Brom? Whatever have you two been up to?”

The two men glanced at each other, and Francesca rushed to fill the silence. “They have been working at righting our carriage. It is no wonder that they are rather disheveled and battered. A wheel went into a ditch, and we overturned. Such a distressing thing!”

Mrs. Cathcart made appropriate noises of shock and dismay, but Lady Daphne looked at Francesca with narrowed eyes and said flatly, “How dreadful. I am surprised that you were not hurt.”

“It was most jarring, I can assure you,” Francesca went on blithely. “Was it not, Lady Calandra?”

“Yes, indeed,” Callie said, joining into the spirit of the story. “I have a horrid bruise on my back. But luckily there were no broken bones.” She gazed steadily into Lady Daphne’s eyes, making sure that her meaning was clear.

After a long moment of silence, Daphne said, “My. You must have had a very trying day—and it is not yet noon. How fortunate that your carriage broke down here, where my brother could help you.”

“Yes, was it not?” Francesca put in sweetly. “Lord Bromwell has been most kind to us. We have all appreciated his help. Haven’t we, Rochford?” She turned to the duke, and only those who knew her well would have caught the iron undertone in her voice.

A muscle jumped in Rochford’s jaw, but he said somewhat stiffly, “Yes. I appreciate his assistance.”

“It was my pleasure,” Bromwell added. “I am sorry that your journey was interrupted.”

“You will understand, then, that we should be on our way,” Rochford put in smoothly. “It was a pleasure talking with you, Mrs. Cathcart, but I fear you must excuse us.”

“Wherever were you going?” Lady Daphne asked. “I had thought that you were in London.”

Rochford turned his most aristocratic gaze upon her, the sort he used to stop impertinent questions, but Daphne did not look in the least intimidated. “We were going to visit friends before traveling on to Marcastle.”

“Oh, really? Who were you going to visit? Perhaps I know them,” Daphne went on.

The duke’s eyebrows rose at this, and he said shortly, “I doubt it.”

“No more questions, Daphne,” Lord Bromwell put in, and there was a harshness in his voice that his sister had never heard. “Our guests must leave now. We do not want to delay them.”

“Of course not,” Daphne agreed, casting a brilliant smile at everyone.

“I shall go out to the stables and tell the driver to bring the carriage round,” Rochford said, his gaze going to Francesca as he said it.