โฆ had hoped to have received a note from you by now, but of course the post is notoriously unreliable when it must travel so far. Just last week I heard tale of the arrival of a mail pouch that was a full two years old; many of the recipients had already returned to England. My mother writes that you are well and fully recovered from your ordeal; I am glad to hear of it. My work here continues to challenge and fulfill. I have taken up residence outside the city proper, as do most Europeans here in Madras. Nonetheless, I enjoy visiting the city; it is rather Grecian in appearance; or rather, what I must imagine is Grecian, having never visited that country myself. The sky is blue, so blue it is nearly blinding, almost the bluest thing I have ever seen.
โ-from the Earl of Kilmartin to the Countess of Kilmartin, six months after his arrival in India
โI beg your pardon?โ
Sheโd shocked him. He was sputtering, even. She hadnโt made her announcement to elicit this sort of reac-tion, but now that he was sitting there, his mouth hanging open and slack, she couldnโt help but take a small amount of pleasure from the moment.
โI want a baby,โ she said with a shrug. โIs there something surprising in that?โ
His lips moved before he actually made sound. โWellโฆ noโฆ butโฆโ โIโm twenty-six.โ
โI know how old you are,โ he said, a little testily.
โIโll be twenty-seven at the end of April. I donโt think itโs so odd that I might want a child.โ
His eyes still held a vaguely glazed sort of quality. โNo, of course not, but
โโ
โAnd I shouldnโt have to explain myself to you!โ
โI wasnโt asking you to,โ he said, staring at her as if sheโd grown two heads. โIโm sorry,โ she mumbled. โI overreacted.โ
He said nothing, which irritated her. At the very least, he could have contradicted her. It would have been a lie, but it was still the kind and courteous thing to do.
Finally, because the silence was simply unbearable, she muttered, โA lot of women want children.โ
โRight,โ he said, coughing on the word. โOf course. Butโฆ donโt you think you might want a husband first?โ
โOf course.โ She speared him with an aggravated glare. โWhy do you think I came down to London early?โ
He looked at her blankly.
โI am shopping for a husband,โ she said, speaking to him as if he were a halfwit.
โHow mercenarily put,โ he murmured.
She pursed her lips. โItโs what it is. And you had probably best get used to it for your own sake. Itโs precisely how the ladies will soon be talking aboutย you.โ
He ignored the latter part of her statement. โDo you have a particular gentleman in mind?โ
She shook her head. โNot yet. I imagine someone will pop to the forefront once I start looking, though.โ She was trying to sound jolly about it, but the truth was, her voice was dropping in both tone and volume. โIโm sure my brothers have friends,โ she finally mumbled.
He looked at her, then slumped back slightly and stared at the water.
โIโve shocked you,โ she said. โWellโฆ yes.โ
โNormally, Iโd take great pleasure in that,โ she said, her lips twisting ironically.
He didnโt reply, but he did roll his eyes slightly.
โI canโt mourn John forever,โ she said. โI mean, I can, and I will, butโฆโ She stopped, hating that she was near tears. โAnd the worst part of it is, maybe I canโt evenย haveย children. It took me two years to conceive with John, and look how I mucked that up.โ
โFrancesca,โ he said fiercely, โyou mustnโt blame yourself for the miscarriage.โ
She let out a bitter laugh. โCan you imagine? Marrying someone just so I could have a baby and then not having one?โ
โIt happens to people all the time,โ he said softly.
It was true, but it didnโt make her feel any better.ย Sheย had a choice. She didnโt have to marry; she would be quite well provided forโand blessedly independentโif she remained a widow. If she marriedโno,ย whenย she marriedโshe had to mentally commit to the ideaโit wouldnโt be for love. She wasnโt going to have a marriage like the one sheโd shared with John; a woman simply didnโt find love like that twice in a lifetime.
She was going to marry for a baby, and there was no guarantee that she would get one.
โFrancesca?โ
She didnโt look at him, just sat there and blinked, des-perately trying to ignore the tears burning at the corners of her eyes.
Michael held out a handkerchief, but she didnโt want to acknowledge the gesture. If she took the cloth, then sheโdย haveย to cry. There would be
nothing stopping her.
โI must move on,โ she said defiantly. โI must. John is gone, and Iโโ
And then the strangest thing happened. Exceptย strangeย wasnโt really the right word. Shocking, perhaps, or altering, or maybe there wasnโt a word for the type of surprise that stole the pulse from oneโs body, leaving one immobile, unable to breathe.
She turned to him. It should have been a simple thing. Sheโd certainly turned to Michael before, hundredsโฆ no, thousands of times. He might have spent the last four years in India, but she knew his face, and she knew his smile. In truth, she knew everything about himโ
Except this time was different. She turned to him, but she hadnโt expected him to have already turned to her. And she hadnโt expected him to be so close that sheโd see the charcoal flecks in his eyes.
But most of all, she hadnโt expected her gaze to drop to his lips. They were full, and lush, and finely molded, and she knew the shape as well as the shape of her own, except never before had she reallyย lookedย at them, noticed the way they werenโt quite uniform in color, or how the curve of his lower lip was really quite sensual, andโ
She stood. So quickly that she nearly lost her balance. โI have to go,โ she said, stunned that her voice sounded like her own and not some freakish demon. โI have an appointment. Iโd forgotten.โ
โOf course,โ he said, standing beside her.
โWith the dressmaker,โ she added, as if details would make her lie more convincing. โAll my clothes are in half-mourning colors.โ
He nodded. โThey donโt suit you.โ
โKind of you to point it out,โ she said testily. โYou should wear blue,โ he said.
She nodded jerkily, still off balance and out of sorts. โAre you all right?โ he asked.
โIโm fine,โ she bit off. And then, because no one would ever have been fooled by her tone, she added, more carefully, โIโm fine. I assure you. I simply detest being tardy.โ That much was true, and he knew it of her, so hopefully heโd accept it as reason for her snappishness.
โVery well,โ he said collegially, and Francesca chattered all the way back to Number Five. She had to put up a good front, she realized rather feverishly. She couldnโt possibly allow him to guess what had really transpired within her on the bench by the Serpentine.
She had known, of course, that Michael was handsome, even startlingly so. But it had all been an abstract sort of knowledge. Michael was handsome, just as her brother Benedict was tall, and her mother had beautiful eyes.
But suddenlyโฆ But nowโฆ
Sheโd looked at him, and sheโd seen something entirely new. Sheโd seen aย man.
And it scared the very devil out of her.
Francesca tended to subscribe to the notion that the best course of action was more action, so when she returned to Number Five after her stroll, she sought out her mother and informed her that she needed to visit the modiste immediately. Best to make truth out of her lie as soon as possible, after all.
Her mother was only too delighted to see Francesca out of her half- mourning grays and lavenders, and so barely an hour passed before the two of them were comfortably ensconced in Violetโs elegant carriage, on their way to the exclusive shops on Bond Street. Normally, Francesca would have bristled at Violetโs interference; she was perfectly capable of picking out her own wardrobe, thank you very much, but today she found hei motherโs presence oddly comforting.
Not that her mother wasnโt usually a comfort. Just that Francesca tended to favor her independent streak more often than not, and she rather preferred not to be thought of as โone of those Bridgerton girls.โ And in a very strange way, this trip to the dressmaker was rather discomfiting. It would have required full-fledged torture to get her to admit it, but Francesca was, quite simply, terrified.
Even if she hadnโt decided it was time to remarry, shrugging off her widowโs weeds signaled a huge change, and not one she was entirely sure she was ready for.
She looked down at her sleeve as she sat in the carriage. She couldnโt see the fabric of her dressโit was covered by her coatโbut she knew that it was lavender. And there was something comforting in that, something solid and dependable. Sheโd worn that color, or gray in its place, for three years now. And unrelenting black foi a year before that. It had been a bit of a
badge, she realized, a uniform of sorts. One never had to worry about who one was when oneโs clothing proclaimed it so loudly.
โMother?โ she said, before she even realized that she had a question to ask. Violet turned to her with a smile. โYes, dear?โ
โWhy did you never remarry?โ
Violetโs lips parted slightly, and to Francescaโs great surprise, her eyes grew bright. โDo you know,โ Violet said softly, โthis is the first time any of you has asked me that?โ
โThat canโt be true,โ Francesca said. โAre you certain?โ
Violet nodded. โNone of my children has asked me. I would have remembered.โ
โNo, no, of course you would,โ Francesca said quickly. But it was all soโฆ odd. And unthinking, really. Why would no one have asked Violet about this? It seemed to Francesca quite the most burning question imaginable. And even if none of Violetโs children had cared about the answer for their own personal curiosity, didnโt they realize how important it was to Violet?
Didnโt they want toย knowย their mother? Truly know her?
โWhen your father diedโฆโ Violet said. โWell, I donโt know how much you recall, but it was very sudden. None of us expected it.โ She gave a sad little laugh, and Francesca wondered if sheโd ever be able to laugh about Johnโs death, even if it was tinged with grief.
โA bee sting,โ Violet continued, and Francesca realized that even now, more than twenty years after Edmund Bridgertonโs death, her mother still sounded surprised when she talked about it.
โWho would have thought it possible?โ Violet said, shaking her head. โI donโt know how well you remember him, but your father was a very large man. As tall as Benedict and perhaps even broader in the shoulders. You just wouldnโt think that a beeโฆโ She stopped, pulling out a crisp, white
handkerchief and holding it to her lips as she cleared her throat. โWell, it was unexpected. I donโt really know what else to say, exceptโฆโ She turned to her daughter with achingly wise eyes. โExcept I imagine you understand better than anyone.โ
Francesca nodded, not even trying to stem the burning sensation behind her eyes.
โAnyway,โ Violet said briskly, obviously eager to move forward, โafter his death, I was just soโฆ stunned. I felt as if I were walking in a haze. Iโm not at all certain how I functioned that first year. Or even the ones directly thereafter. So I couldnโt possibly even think of marriage.โ
โI know,โ Francesca said softly. And she did.
โAnd after thatโฆ well, I donโt know what happened. Maybe I just didnโt meet anyone with whom I cared to share my life. Maybe I loved your father too much.โ She shrugged. โMaybe I just never saw the need. I was in a very different position from you, after all. I was older, donโt forget, and already the mother of eight children. And your father left our affairs in very good order. I knew we would never want for anything.โ
โJohn left Kilmartin in excellent order,โ Francesca said quickly.
โOf course he did,โ Violet said, patting her hand. โForgive me. I did not mean to imply otherwise. But you donโt have eight children, Francesca.โ Her eyes changed somehow, grew an even deeper blue. โAnd youโve quite a lot of time ahead of you to spend it all alone.โ
Francesca nodded jerkily. โI know,โ she said. โI know. I know, but I canโt quiteโฆ I canโtโฆโ
โYou canโt what?โ Violet asked gently.
โI canโtโฆโ Francesca looked down. She didnโt know why, but for some reason she couldnโt take her eyes off the floor. โI canโt rid myself of the feeling that Iโm doing something wrong, that Iโm dishonoring John, dishonoring our marriage.โ
โJohn would have wanted you to be happy.โ
โI know. I know. Of course he would. But donโt you seeโโ She looked up again, her eyes searching her motherโs face for something, she wasnโt sure whatโ maybe approval, maybe just love, since there was something comforting in looking for something she already knew sheโd find. โIโm not even looking for that,โ she added. โIโm not going to find someone like John. Iโve accepted that. And it feels so wrong to marry with less.โ
โYou wonโt find someone like John, that is true,โ Violet said. โBut you might find a man who will suit you equally well, just in a different way.โ
โYou didnโt.โ
โNo, I didnโt,โ she agreed, โbut I didnโt look very hard. I didnโt look at all.โ โDo you wish you had?โ
Violet opened her mouth, but not a sound came out, not even breath. Finally she said, โI donโt know, Francesca. I honestly donโt know.โ And then, because the moment almost certainly needed a bit of laughter, she added, โI certainly didnโt want any more children!โ
Francesca couldnโt help but smile. โI do,โ she said softly. โI want a baby.โ โI thought that you did.โ
โWhy did you never ask me about it?โ
Violet tilted her head to the side. โWhy did you never ask me about why I never remarried?โ
Francesca felt her lips part. She shouldnโt have been so surprised by her motherโs perceptiveness.
โIf you had been Eloise, I think I would have said something,โ Violet added. โOr any of your sisters, for that matter. But youโโ She smiled nostalgically. โYouโre not the same. You never have been. Even as a child you set yourself apart. And you needed your distance.โ
Impulsively, Francesca reached out and squeezed her motherโs hand. โI love you, did you know that?โ
Violet smiled. โI rather suspected it.โ โMother!โ
โVery well, of course I knew it. How could you not love me when I love you so very, very much?โ
โI havenโt said it,โ Francesca said, feeling rather horrified by her omission. โNot recently, anyway.โ
โItโs quite all right.โ Violet squeezed her hand back. โYouโve had other things on your mind.โ
And for some reason that made Francesca giggle under her breath. โA bit of an understatement, I should say.โ
Violet just grinned.
โMother?โ Francesca blurted out. โMay I ask you one more question?โ โOf course.โ
โIf I donโt find someoneโnot like John, of course, but still not equally suited to me. If I donโt find someone like that, and I marry someone whom I rather like, but perhaps donโt loveโฆ is that all right?โ
Violet was silent for several moments before she answered. โIโm afraid only you will know the answer to that,โ she finally said. โI would never say no, of course. Half theย tonโmore than half, in truthโhas marriages like that, and quite a few of them are perfectly content. But you will have to make your judgments for yourself when they arise. Everyone is different, Francesca. I suspect you know that better than most. And when a man asks for your hand, you will have to judge him on his merits and not by some arbitrary standard you have set out ahead of time.โ
She was right, of course, but Francesca was so sick of life being messy and complicated that it wasnโt the answer sheโd been seeking.
And none of it addressed the problem that lay most deeply within her heart. What would happen if she actually did meet someone who made her feel the way sheโd felt with John? She couldnโt imagine that she would; truly, it seemed wildly improbable.
But what if she did? How could she live with herself then?
There was something rather satisfying about a foul mood, so Michael decided to indulge his completely.
He kicked a pebble all the way home.
He snarled at anyone who jostled him on the street.
He yanked open his front door with such ferocity that it slammed into the stone wall behind it. Or rather he would have done, if his sodding butler hadnโt been so on his toes and had the door open before Michaelโs fingers could even touch the handle.
But heย thoughtย about slamming it open, which provided some satisfaction in and of itself.
And then he stomped up the stairs to his roomโwhich still felt too bloody much like Johnโs room, not that there was anything he could do about that just thenโand yanked off his boots.
Or tried to.
Bloody hell.
โReivers!โ he bellowed.
His valet appearedโor really, it seemed rather more like he apparatedโin the doorway.
โYes, my lord?โ
โWould you help me with my boots?โ Michael ground out, feeling rather infantile. Three years in the army and four in India, and he couldnโt remove his own damned boots? What was it about London that reduced a man to a sniveling idiot? He seemed to recall that Reivers had had to remove his boots for him the last time heโd lived in London as well.
He looked down. Theyย wereย different boots. Different styles, he supposed, for different situations, and Reivers had always taken a stunningly ridiculous pride in his work. Of course he d have wanted to outfit Michael in the very best of London fashion. Heโd haveโ
โReivers?โ Michael said in a low voice. โWhere did you get these boots?โ โMy lord?โ
โThese boots. I do not recognize them.โ
โWe have not yet received all of your trunks from the ship, my lord. You didnโt have anything suitable for London, so I located these among the previous earlโs belongโโ
โJesus.โ
โMy lord? Iโm terribly sorry if these donโt suit you. I remembered that the two of you were of a size, and I thought youโd wantโโ
โJust get them off. Now.โ Michael closed his eyes and sat in a leather chair
โJohnโsย leather chairโmarveling at the irony of it. His worst nightmare coming true, in the most literal of fashions.
โOf course, my lord.โ Reivers looked pained, but he quickly went to work removing the boots.
Michael pinched the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger and let out a long breath before speaking again. โI would prefer not to use any items from the previous earlโs wardrobe,โ he said wearily. Truly, he had no idea why Johnโs clothing was still here; the lot of it should have been given
to the servants or donated to charity years ago. But he supposed that was Francescaโs decision to make, not his.
โOf course, my lord. I shall see to it immediately.โ โGood,โ Michael grunted.
โShall I have it locked away?โ
Locked? Good God, it wasnโt as if the stuff were toxic. โIโm sure it is all just fine where it is,โ Michael said. โJust donโt use any of it for me.โ
โRight.โ Reivers swallowed, and his Adamโs apple bobbed uncomfortably. โWhat is it now, Reivers?โ
โItโs just that all of the previous Lord Kilmartinโs ac-couterments are still here.โ
โHere?โ Michael asked blankly.
โHere,โ Reivers confirmed, glancing about the room.
Michael sagged in his chair. It wasnโt that he wanted to wipe every last reminder of his cousin off the face of this earth;ย no oneย missed John as much as he did, no one.
Well, except maybe Francesca, he allowed, but that was different.
But he just didnโt know how he was meant to lead his life so completely and smotheringly surrounded by Johnโs belongings. He held his title, spent his money, lived in his house. Was he meant to wear his damned shoes as well?
โPack it all up,โ he said to Reivers. โTomorrow. I donโt wish to be disturbed this evening.โ
And besides, he probably ought to alert Francesca of his intentions.
Francesca.
He sighed, rising to his feet once the valet had departed. Christ, Reivers had forgotten to take the boots with him. Michael picked them up and deposited them outside the door. He was probably overreacting, but hell, he just didnโt want to stare at Johnโs boots for the next six hours.
After shutting the door with a decisive click, he padded aimlessly over to the window. The sill was wide and deep, and he leaned heavily against it, gazing through the sheer curtains at the blurry streetscape below. He pushed the thin fabric aside, his lips twisting into a bitter smile as he watched a nursemaid tugging a small child along the pavement.
Francesca. She wanted a baby.
He didnโt know why he was so surprised. If he thought about it rationally, he really shouldnโt have been. She was a woman, for Godโs sake; of course sheโd want children. Didnโt they all? And while heโd never consciously sat down and told himself that sheโd pine away for John forever, heโd also never considered the idea that she might actually care to remarry one day.
Francesca and John. John and Francesca. They were a unit, or at least they had been, and although Johnโs death had made it sadly easy to envision one without the other, it was quite something else entirely to think of one with another.
And then of course there was the small matter of his skin crawling, which was his general reaction to the thought of Francesca with another man.
He shuddered. Or was that a shiver? Damn, he hoped it wasnโt a shiver.
He supposed he was simply going to have to get used to the notion. If Francesca wanted children, then Francesca needed a husband, and there wasnโt a damned thing he could do about it. It would have been rather nice, he supposed, if she had come to this decision and taken care of the whole odious matter last year, sparing him the nausea of having to witness the entire courtship unfold. If sheโd just gone and gotten herself marriedย last
year, then it would have been over and done with, and that would have been that.
End of story.
But now he was going to have toย watch. Maybe even advise. Bloody hell.
He shivered again. Damn. Maybe he was just cold. It was March, after all, and a chilly one at that, even with a fire in the grate.
He tugged at his cravat, which was starting to feel unaccountably tight, then yanked it off altogether. Christ, he felt like the very devil, all hot and cold, and queerly off balance.
He sat down. It seemed the best course of action.
And then he just gave up all pretense of being well, stripping off the rest of his clothing and crawling into bed.
It was going to be a long night.