I bet that I could find you a husband before the end of the Season.”
Constance’s jaw dropped. For a moment she could think of nothing to say.
“I am sorry,” Francesca said earnestly, leaning forward to lay a placating hand on Constance’s arm. “I know I should not have, and I regretted it as soon as it was done. And you have every right to be angry with me. But I beg you will not. I did not mean you any harm. I still do not.”
“Not mean me any harm!” A variety of emotions rushed through Constance, hurt followed almost immediately by anger and resentment. “No, of course not. Why should I mind that I am held up to ridicule by the leaders of the Ton?”
“Ridicule!” Lady Haughston looked at her with alarm and concern. “No, how can you think that?”
“What else am I to think when I have been made the object of a public wager?”
“Oh, no, no. It was not public at all. It was between Rochford and me alone. No one else was privy to it, I assure you. Well, except Lucien,” she added honestly. “But he is my closest friend, and I can assure you that he would never tell a soul. He knows the secrets of half the Ton. I promise you that I shall not spread it about, and I can assure you that Rochford will not tell anyone. A tighter-lipped man I have never met.” She looked rather exasperated at the fact.
“And is that supposed to make it all right?” Constance asked. She had liked Francesca, and now she felt betrayed. Though she had had her reasonable doubts, she found it was a lowering thought indeed that Lady Haughston had not sought out her friendship but was only using her as a test of her matchmaking skills. “Why was I chosen? Was I the most unmarriageable of all the women at the ball? Too plain and old for any man ever to wish to marry me?”
“No, please, you must not think that!” Francesca exclaimed, her lovely features tightening in distress. “Oh, I have made such a muddle of this. The truth is, we made the wager, and then Rochford chose the woman. When he picked you, I was greatly relieved, for I had thought he was going to give me one of your cousins, and that would have been a formidable task, indeed. I am not sure why he chose you, other than that you were so clearly relegated to the background by your aunt and cousins that he must have been sure that I would get no help from them in bringing you out.”
“That is certainly true.” Constance could not keep the bitterness from her voice.
“My dearest Constance—I hope you will not mind if I call you that.” Francesca slipped her gloved hand into Constance’s and squeezed it gently. “I knew at once that he had foolishly chosen the easiest of you to turn into a belle. It is very difficult to give a person wit or beauty when they have none. But a want of fortune is not the hardest thing to overcome, at least when it is accompanied by style, intelligence, and a lovely face and figure.”
“I will not let you get around me with flattery,” Constance warned her, but in truth she found it difficult to dislike Lady Haughston. The woman was disarmingly candid, and her smile was hard to resist.
“I am not trying to get around you,” Francesca assured her.
“Then what do you want?” Constance asked bluntly.
“I am suggesting that you and I join forces. We shall work together to find you a husband.”
“You want me to help you win the bet?” Constance’s voice was incredulous.
“No. Well, I mean, yes, I do, but that is not why you would wish to help me.”
“I don’t wish to help you,” Constance pointed out.
“Ah, but you should. I might win a bet, but the advantages for you are far greater.”
Constance looked at her skeptically. “You don’t honestly expect me to believe that I will get a husband out of this.”
“Why not?” Francesca replied calmly.
Constance wrinkled her nose. “I have little liking for listing my liabilities, but surely they must be obvious. I have no fortune. I am past the age of marrying and I am no beauty. I am here only to help my cousins achieve marriages. I am a chaperone, not a young girl on the marriage mart.”
“A lack of fortune is an obstacle,” the other woman agreed. “But it is certainly not impossible to overcome. As for your looks, well, if you took off that silly cap and dressed your hair attractively and wore something to show off your looks instead of hiding them, you would be a very attractive woman. You would also look scarcely older than your cousins. Tell me something, who decided that you should wear drab browns and grays and such?”
“My aunt felt it would be more appropriate for a spinster. She did not make me dress so.”
“But you, of course, are under obligation to her, as you live with them.”
“Yes, but…it is not only that. I do not wish to appear foolish, either.”
“Foolish? Why?”
Constance shrugged. “I am used to living in the country. I have no town bronze. Indeed, I have never even been to London before. I have no desire to make a misstep before all the Ton. To embarrass myself by dressing in something unsuitable for a woman of my age.”
Lady Haughston’s face assumed an expression befitting a woman with generations of earls behind her. “My dear Constance, if you dress according to my guidance, I assure you that no one would think you appeared in any way unsuitable.”
Constance could not hold back a chuckle. “I am sure not, Francesca. But the truth is, I have given up hope of marrying.”
“Do you want to spend the rest of your life with your aunt and uncle?” Francesca asked. “I am sure you are quite grateful to them, but I do not think that you are…very happy with them.”
Constance cast her a rueful look. “It is that obvious?”
“The differences between you are clear,” Francesca told her flatly. “One could hardly expect to live a happy life with people with whom one has so few traits in common. Nor can I think that your aunt and uncle have done well by you. You told me last night that you did not have your come-out because of your father’s illness. That was a good and properly filial thing to do. But when your father passed on and you came to live with your aunt and uncle, how old were you?”
“Twenty-two. Too old for my coming out.”
“Not too old to have a Season,” Francesca retorted. “Had they done the right thing by you, they would have given you a Season. I am sure it is what your father would have wanted, and it is what you deserved. Oh, yes, I know, you were older than the silly little seventeen-and eighteen-year-old girls being presented to the Queen. But, really, it isn’t necessary to have the presentation. Many do not. You could have had a Season. There are still a number of girls who are unmarried at that age. I know I should not malign your relatives, but I must tell you that I think your aunt and uncle acted selfishly. They saved themselves the expense of a Season, and they kept you at their beck and call for the past few years. Looking after their children, no doubt, and running errands for them. Doing the little things that no one else wanted to do. Now instead of letting you enjoy yourself at these parties, your aunt has forced you into the role of chaperone, making you wear dull clothes and dull hair.”
She cast a shrewd look at Constance
