had spilled flagrantly out, almost completely uncovered. She had smiled at Francesca like the cat that had just gotten into the cream. And Francesca had shattered inside.
“When I saw them, I realized what a fool I had been. I had not been so deluded that I believed that Rochford was madly in love with me. He had, after all, pointed out to me all the very practical reasons why he and I were a good match. He had not spouted declarations of love or written odes to my smile or any such foolishness. But I believed that he cared for me. I had been sure that he would never harm me or treat me with anything but respect. And I had known that I would be such a good wife to him, make him so happy, that someday he would come to love me as much as I loved him.”
“Instead he had been bedding down with Lady Daphne while he was engaged to you.”
“Yes. Well, no, not really. It was all a lie. But I did not know that at the time, and I could not bear what I believed to be true. No doubt there are other women who would have ignored it, reasoning that they would still be his duchess, even if another had his heart. But I could not. I broke it off with him.”
“But in fact Daphne had arranged that little scene and sent you the note?”
“Yes. She told me at Callie’s wedding that it had all been a lie. He had not slept with her, just as he swore to me then that he had not. I did not believe him when he tried to tell me that, of course. I refused to listen to him. And afterwards, when he called on me, I would not see him.”
“And that is why you married Lord Haughston?” Irene asked shrewdly.
Francesca nodded. “He was everything that Rochford was not—full of romantic words and extravagant gestures. I was his stars, his moon, he told me.” She gave a little grimace. “His words were like balm to my wounded heart. This, I told myself, was what love was really like. So I married him. Our honeymoon was not yet over before I realized what a mistake I had made.”
“I’m so sorry.” Irene slipped her hand into Francesca’s and squeezed.
“Well, ’tis long past now,” Francesca replied, and forced a little smile.
“I can scarcely believe that Lady Daphne admitted that she had lied to you.”
“It was not done with any good will, I can assure you. I think she wanted me to realize what an idiot I had been. I am sure she hoped I would regret throwing away my chance to be a duchess.”
“And, instead, of course, what you regretted was having misjudged Rochford. The hurt you did to him.”
Francesca admitted, “His pride must have suffered greatly. He would have hated having his honor impugned, even though he knew he was not at fault.”
“Oh, Francesca…what a terrible thing. Certainly he was not the only one hurt.”
“No. But at least I was at fault. One could say I deserved what happened to me. I was the one who believed her lies. I was the one who would not listen to the truth when he told it to me. But Sinclair had done nothing wrong.”
“And you think finding the duke a wife will set this right?” Irene asked.
Francesca recognized the skepticism in her friend’s tone. “I know it cannot make up for what I did. But I fear that… What if it is because of me that Rochford has never married?” She colored a little. “I am not saying that I think his heart was forever broken. I do not rate myself so high as to think no other woman could take my place. But I fear that I led him to mistrust women so much that he has not wanted to marry. He was already used to being alone, I think, and it was easier, perhaps, for him to live that way. Sinclair came into his title at such an early age, and he had already learned that people courted his favor simply because of his title and wealth. I think that is one of the things he found appealing about marrying me—we had known each other since we were children, and I was not in awe of him. I knew him for himself, not for his title or anything else. But then, when I did not believe him, when I acted in a way that must have seemed a betrayal to him, I fear that he became even more distant and distrustful.”
“That may be, but if he does not want to marry…”
“But he must. He knows that as well as I do. He is the Duke of Rochford. He must have an heir, someone to inherit the title and estate. Rochford is far too responsible not to realize that. I will simply be helping him to do what he knows must be done.” She threw an impish grin at her companion. “And you, more than anyone else, cannot deny that I am adept at bringing to the altar even those who profess a determination not to wed.”
Irene acknowledged her words with a wry smile. “I will admit that you are expert at joining even the wariest together. However, I cannot help but wonder how the duke will take to this plan.”
“Oh, I do not intend for him to know about it,” Francesca responded blithely. “That is why you must not tell even Gideon about this. I am sure that Rochford would consider it a great interference on my part and would order me to stop it, so I have no intention of giving him that opportunity.”
Irene nodded, looking amused. “It should not be difficult to find women eager to wed the duke. He is the most eligible bachelor in the country.”
“True. I am certain that any number would wish to become his wife, but not just anyone will do. I had to find the right woman for him, which has proven to be a more difficult task than I had expected. But, then, Rochford is deserving of only an extraordinary woman, so it is no wonder that there are not many of them about.”
“Althea and Damaris are two of them, I gather. Who else have you picked out for him?”
“I have narrowed the field to three. Besides Damaris and Althea, there is only Lady Caroline Wyatt. I must talk to the three of them tonight and decide on how to throw each of them together with the duke.”
“What if he doesn’t like any of them?” Irene asked.
Francesca shrugged. “Then I shall have to find others. Someone is bound to suit him.”
“Perhaps I am being obtuse,” Irene began, “but it seems to me that the best candidate would be you.”
“Me?” Francesca cast a startled glance at her.
“Yes, you. After all, you are the one woman whom we are certain Rochford would want to marry, given that he has already asked you once. If you were to tell him you had discovered the lie, that you were sorry for not believing him…”
“No. No,” Francesca said, looking flustered. “That is impossible. I am almost thirty-four, far too long in the tooth to be a suitable bride for the duke. I shall, of course, apologize to him and confess how stupid and wrong I was. I must. But the two of us—no, that is long in the past.”
“Really?”
“Yes. Really. Pray do not give me that disbelieving look. I am certain of this. You know that I am done with marriage. And even if I were not, it has been too long, and too much has happened between us. He could never forgive me for breaking it off with him—not to that extent. Rochford is a very proud man. And whatever feeling he might have had for me once, by now it is long dead. It has been fifteen years, after all. I do not still love him. Even less would he harbor any love for the woman who rejected him. Why, for ages he scarcely even spoke to me. It has only been in the past few years that we have been something like friends again.”
“Well,
