I know you’re scared of me.” Her tone indicated no regret over this fact.
Francesca’s gaze went past Lady Odelia to the man who had followed her down the hall. Tall, with an aristocratic bearing, he was as elegant as he was handsome, from the top of his raven-black hair to the tips of his polished black boots, made by Weston. Not a hair was out of place, and his countenance was politely expressionless, but Francesca could detect the glimmer of devilish amusement in his dark eyes.
“Lord Rochford,” she acknowledged him, her voice cool, with just an overlay of irritation. “How kind of you to bring your aunt to visit me.”
His mouth twitched a little at her words, but his expression remained imperturbable as he executed a politely perfect bow. “Lady Haughston. A pleasure to see you, as always.”
Francesca nodded toward the maid. “Thank you, Emily. If you would bring us some tea…”
The girl left, looking relieved. Lady Odelia strode past Francesca toward the sofa.
As the duke moved forward, Francesca leaned in a little toward him, whispering, “How could you?”
Rochford’s lips curled into a small smile, quickly gone, and he replied in a low voice, “I assure you, I had no choice.”
“Don’t blame Rochford,” Lady Odelia boomed from her seat on the sofa. “I told him I would come to see you with or without him. I suspect he is here more to try to curtail me than anything else.”
“Dear aunt,” the duke responded. “I would never be so audacious as to curtail you in any way.”
The old lady let out another snort. “You’ll note I said ‘try.’” She cast him a roguish glance.
“Of course.” Rochford inclined his head respectfully toward her.
“Well, sit down, girl,” Lady Odelia commanded Francesca, nodding toward a chair. “Don’t keep the boy on his feet.”
“Oh. Yes, of course.” Francesca quickly dropped into the nearest chair.
The duke took a place beside his great-aunt on the sofa.
Francesca felt about sixteen again, as she always did in the intimidating Lady Pencully’s presence. She had no doubt that Rochford’s great-aunt had immediately seen her dress for what it was—over four years old and resewn into a more contemporary style—and at the same time had noted that the draperies were faded and that one leg of the table against the wall had a large nick in it.
Francesca forced herself to smile at Odelia. “I must admit, I am rather surprised to see you here. I had heard you no longer traveled into London.”
“Don’t, if I can help it. I’ll be frank with you, girl. Never thought I’d come asking you for help. Flighty thing, I always thought you.”
Francesca’s smile grew even stiffer. “I see.”
The duke stirred a little in his seat. “Aunt—”
“Oh, don’t get your feathers ruffled,” the old lady barked. She cast a glance at Rochford. “Don’t mean I don’t like her. Always had a soft spot for the girl. Not sure why.”
Rochford pressed his lips tightly together to suppress a smile and carefully avoided looking at Francesca’s expression.
“Francesca knows that,” Lady Odelia went on, giving her a nod. “Thing is, I do need your help. I’ve come to beg a favor of you.”
“Of course,” Francesca murmured, her mind skittering anxiously over what no-doubt unpleasant task the woman could have in mind for her.
“The reason I am here…well, I’ll just be plain about it. I am here to find a wife for my great-nephew.”
CHAPTER TWO
THERE WAS A MOMENT of stunned silence in the room after the formidable old woman’s announcement. Francesca gaped at the woman, and her eyes slid involuntarily toward Rochford.
“I…um…” she stammered, feeling a blush rising in her cheeks.
“No, not him!” Lady Odelia exclaimed, and let out a crow of laughter. “Been trying for the best part of fifteen years with this one. Even I have given up hope. No, the Lilles line will have to go down through that foolish Bertrand, if it is to continue at all.” She heaved a sigh at this prospect.
“I’m sorry.” Francesca’s cheeks were thoroughly aflame now. “I didn’t—I am not sure I understand.”
“I’m talking about my sister’s grandson.”
“Oh! I see. I’m not—um, I don’t believe I know your sister, my lady.”
“Pansy,” Lady Odelia said, and sighed. It was clear from her expression that Lady Odelia found her sister lacking. “There were four of us—besides the three children that died in childhood, of course. I was the eldest, and then there was my brother, who, of course, grew up to be the duke. He was Rochford’s grandfather. After him was our sister Mary, and finally, the youngest, Pansy. Pansy married Lord Radbourne. Gladius, his name was. Damned silly name. His mother chose it, and a more foolish woman never lived. But that’s neither here nor there. The problem is Pansy’s grandson, Gideon. Lord Cecil’s son.”
“Oh.” Francesca recognized the name. “Lord Radbourne.”
Lady Odelia nodded. “Aye, you understand me now, I warrant. You’ll have heard the gossip.”
“Well…” Francesca demurred.
“No point trying to deny it. It was all over the ton the last few months.”
Francesca nodded. “Of course.”
Lady Odelia was right. Francesca—along with all the ton and, indeed, much of the rest of London—had heard the gossip. Many years ago, when he was only a lad of four, Gideon Bankes, the heir to the Radbourne title and estate, had been kidnapped, along with his mother. Neither the boy nor his mother was ever seen again. Then, years after he had been long-presumed dead, Gideon Bankes had reappeared.
His reappearance, and his inheritance of the title and estate of the Earl of Radbourne, had been the talk of the town for several weeks. Everyone Francesca knew had had an opinion on the matter—what the suddenly reclaimed heir was like, where he had been all these years and whether he was, in actuality, an imposter. There had been more questions than there were facts, for few people had actually met the new earl, and very few of those had offered any gossip.
Francesca looked again at the duke. She had seen him here and there, at various parties, over the past few months, but never had he said a word about the recovery of the lost heir. Indeed, she had not even realized that Rochford was in any way connected to the Bankes family. This fact only served to confirm her opinion that the Duke of Rochford was the most tight-lipped gentleman she knew. It was, she thought with a little flash of irritation, quite typical of the man.
“I am sure that what you have heard is mostly wrong,” Lady Odelia remarked. “I might as well tell you the whole of it.”
“Oh, no, I am sure
