your back was aching just a few minutes ago. I fear a carriage ride would not be at all the thing for you." She gave her a significant look and appealed to Lady Claire. "Don't you agree, Mother?"
"Oh, yes. Lady Maura and I will be just fine here," Claire agreed, patting Maura's arm. "Won't we, dear?"
As they left the house, Francesca made no mention of Irene's clear desire to escape her sister-in-law but kept up a light conversation about the weather, her open-air brougham—"so unfashionable now, I suppose, for it must be all of ten years since Lord Haughston gave it to me, but it was his first gift to me, so I could not give it up, could I?"—and the ball at the Spences' home the evening before.
As soon as they were settled in the aforementioned brougham, the driver started forward, and they wheeled down the street and turned toward Hyde Park. For a moment they were silent, enjoying the soft golden sunshine and crisp air of the autumn day. Irene turned her head to study her companion.
Francesca, feeling Irene's gaze upon her, glanced at her, and the distinctive dimple creased her cheek as she smiled.
"I vow, I can almost hear the wheels in your head spinning," she said lightly. "Go ahead. Why start holding back now?"
A little breath of laughter escaped Irene. "You surprise me, Lady Haughston."
"Please, call me Francesca. We have known each other since your come-out. Do you not think it is time we call each other by our given names?"
"Why?" Irene retorted. "Are we about to become bosom friends?"
Her blunt words did not seem to bother Lady Haughston, whose smile merely widened. "Why, as to that, I know not. But I would not be surprised if we were to know each other better soon."
"And why is that? I do not mean to complain, for I am excessively grateful to you for inviting me for a ride this afternoon, but I confess that I am at something of a loss to explain your sudden interest in me."
"I could say that I found your candor refreshing yesterday evening—it is quite true, after all—and I thought I might liven up this afternoon with your company."
"What would you say if you were to tell me the actual reason I am in your carriage right now? Did Lady Wyngate approach you? Has she asked you to ... help me find a husband?" Red spots of anger and embarrassment bloomed on Irene's cheeks.
Francesca turned to her, surprise marking her features. "Lady Wyngate? Your mother? Why would she— No, no, she has never said such a thing."
"Not my mother. Lady Maura,. Humphrey's wife. Did she talk to you about me?"
"No. I assure you. I scarcely know Lady Wyngate. Why would you think she would say something like that to me?"
"Because she wishes me to be married and out of the house," Irene retorted with some bitterness. She cast an abashed glance at Francesca. "I am sorry. You must think me quite foolish. I know you are not friends with Maura. It is just that she was plaguing me the other day about my spinster state, urging me to talk to you. She said that any girl you took up ended by marrying well. She thinks you have the golden touch, I suppose. I was afraid ..."
"I would not have discussed you with your sister-in-law," Francesca told her mildly.
Irene looked at her and saw the sincerity in Francesca's face. "I am sorry," she said quickly. "I should not have assumed you would go along with one of Maura's schemes. It was just so odd, right after Maura telling me that I should get your help."
Francesca nodded. "I understand."
Irene could see the sympathy in the other woman's face, and she realized that Francesca understood even more than Irene had expressed. "I am sure that it is difficult for you," the older woman said delicately. "Living with a new sister-in-law."
"I despise it," Irene replied candidly. "A good deal of it is my own fault, I know. I am accustomed to running the house, you see, to being my own mistress. It is hard to give that up, I suppose."
"I would not think that you and Lady Wyngate would ever have
"Oh, yes. Lady Maura and I will be just fine here," Claire agreed, patting Maura's arm. "Won't we, dear?"
As they left the house, Francesca made no mention of Irene's clear desire to escape her sister-in-law but kept up a light conversation about the weather, her open-air brougham—"so unfashionable now, I suppose, for it must be all of ten years since Lord Haughston gave it to me, but it was his first gift to me, so I could not give it up, could I?"—and the ball at the Spences' home the evening before.
As soon as they were settled in the aforementioned brougham, the driver started forward, and they wheeled down the street and turned toward Hyde Park. For a moment they were silent, enjoying the soft golden sunshine and crisp air of the autumn day. Irene turned her head to study her companion.
Francesca, feeling Irene's gaze upon her, glanced at her, and the distinctive dimple creased her cheek as she smiled.
"I vow, I can almost hear the wheels in your head spinning," she said lightly. "Go ahead. Why start holding back now?"
A little breath of laughter escaped Irene. "You surprise me, Lady Haughston."
"Please, call me Francesca. We have known each other since your come-out. Do you not think it is time we call each other by our given names?"
"Why?" Irene retorted. "Are we about to become bosom friends?"
Her blunt words did not seem to bother Lady Haughston, whose smile merely widened. "Why, as to that, I know not. But I would not be surprised if we were to know each other better soon."
"And why is that? I do not mean to complain, for I am excessively grateful to you for inviting me for a ride this afternoon, but I confess that I am at something of a loss to explain your sudden interest in me."
"I could say that I found your candor refreshing yesterday evening—it is quite true, after all—and I thought I might liven up this afternoon with your company."
"What would you say if you were to tell me the actual reason I am in your carriage right now? Did Lady Wyngate approach you? Has she asked you to ... help me find a husband?" Red spots of anger and embarrassment bloomed on Irene's cheeks.
Francesca turned to her, surprise marking her features. "Lady Wyngate? Your mother? Why would she— No, no, she has never said such a thing."
"Not my mother. Lady Maura,. Humphrey's wife. Did she talk to you about me?"
"No. I assure you. I scarcely know Lady Wyngate. Why would you think she would say something like that to me?"
"Because she wishes me to be married and out of the house," Irene retorted with some bitterness. She cast an abashed glance at Francesca. "I am sorry. You must think me quite foolish. I know you are not friends with Maura. It is just that she was plaguing me the other day about my spinster state, urging me to talk to you. She said that any girl you took up ended by marrying well. She thinks you have the golden touch, I suppose. I was afraid ..."
"I would not have discussed you with your sister-in-law," Francesca told her mildly.
Irene looked at her and saw the sincerity in Francesca's face. "I am sorry," she said quickly. "I should not have assumed you would go along with one of Maura's schemes. It was just so odd, right after Maura telling me that I should get your help."
Francesca nodded. "I understand."
Irene could see the sympathy in the other woman's face, and she realized that Francesca understood even more than Irene had expressed. "I am sure that it is difficult for you," the older woman said delicately. "Living with a new sister-in-law."
"I despise it," Irene replied candidly. "A good deal of it is my own fault, I know. I am accustomed to running the house, you see, to being my own mistress. It is hard to give that up, I suppose."
"I would not think that you and Lady Wyngate would ever have
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