The Courtship Dance Read Online Free PDF Page B

not?”
    Lady Althea offered them a measured smile. “Yes, of course. A pleasure to see you, sir.”
    Rochford bowed over her hand, assuring her politely that the pleasure was all his, as Francesca cast an assessing eye over the woman. Lady Althea was tall and slim, and her white silk ball gown was tasteful, if somewhat lacking in dash in Francesca’s opinion. And if her lips were a bit too thin and her face a trifle long for real beauty, she did have a wealth of dark brown hair, and her brown eyes were large and lined with thick, dark lashes. Many men, Francesca was sure, would call her pretty.
    She cast a sideways glance at Rochford, wondering if he numbered among those men.
    Lady Althea inquired politely after Rochford’s grandmother and Francesca’s parents, then moved on to compliment Callie’s wedding. It was the sort of polite chitchat in which Francesca had engaged for much of her life, as had Lady Althea and Rochford, and theywere able to spend several minutes talking about almost nothing at all.
    When they had finished praising Lady Whittington’s ball—perhaps her finest, in Lady Althea’s opinion—as well as commiserating over the sad state of Lady Althea’s mother’s nerves, which had kept her in bed tonight instead of attending this event, they moved on to the latest play at Drury Lane, which, as it turned out, none of them had actually seen.
    “Why, we must go!” Francesca exclaimed, looking at Lady Althea.
    The other woman seemed faintly surprised, but replied only, “Yes, certainly. That sounds quite pleasant.”
    Francesca beamed. “And we shall press the duke to take us.” She turned toward Rochford expectantly.
    His eyes, too, widened a trifle, but he said evenly, “Of course. It would be my privilege to escort two such lovely ladies to the theater.”
    “Wonderful.” Francesca glanced back at Althea, who, she noticed, appeared more eager about the invitation now that the duke was attached to the expedition. “Let us set a night, then. Tuesday, shall we say?”
    The other two agreed, and Francesca favored them with a smile. She had, she knew, ridden roughshod over them. She was customarily more deft in her maneuverings than she had been tonight. She was not sure why she had been clumsier than usual, but at least neither of the others looked disgruntled or suspicious.
    She made a few more minutes of small talk, then slipped away, leaving Rochford with Althea. She made her way across the room, greeting some and pausing to chat with others. She should have felt a sense of triumph, she knew. She had finally set her plan in motion.
    But, in truth, all she felt was the beginning of a headache.
    She paused and glanced around her. She saw Irene in the distance, and a moment later she spotted Sir Lucien on the dance floor. She could make her way to Irene or wait for Sir Lucien—or, indeed, she could find half a dozen others to talk to, and there were any number of men who would doubtless ask her for a dance.
    However, she found herself unwilling to do any of those things. Her temples were beginning to pound, and she felt bored and curiously deflated. All she really wanted, she reflected, was to go home.
    Pleading a headache, which for once was real, she bade good-night to her hostess and went outside to her carriage. The vehicle was ten years old and growing somewhat shabby, but it felt good to be in it, snugly away from the music and lights, and the noise of a multitude of people chattering.
     
    F ENTON, HER BUTLER , was surprised to see her home so early, and immediately hovered over her solicitously. “Are you well, my lady? Have you caught a chill?”
    The man had been her butler for over fourteen years;she had hired him soon after she and Lord Haughston were married. He was intensely loyal, as all her servants were. There had been many times when she had been unable to pay their wages, but Fenton had never grumbled—and she felt sure he had made quick work of any servant who