Julia Quinn - When He Was Wicked

Or maybe it was nothing so precise. Maybe it was just a wordless moment of understanding.

The sort she’d had with John.

Francesca swallowed, uncomfortable with this sudden realization. She reached for her tea with a slow and deliberate movement, as if her control over her body might extend to her mind as well.

What had just happened?

He was just Michael, wasn’t he?

Just her friend, just her longtime confidant.

Wasn’t that all?

Wasn’t it?

…

– nothing more than hatchmarks, caused by the tapping of the Countess of Kilmartin’s pen against paper, two weeks after the receipt of the Earl of Kilmartin’s third missive to her

“Is he here?”

“He’s not here.”

“Are you certain?”

“I’m quite certain.”

“But he is coming?”

“He said he was.”

“Oh. But when is he coming?”

“I’m sure I don’t know.”

“You don’t?”

“No, I don’t.”

“Oh. Right. Well… Oh, look! I see my daughter. Lovely seeing you, Francesca.”

Francesca rolled her eyes-not an affectation she espoused except under the most severe of circumstances- as she watched Mrs. Featherington, one of the ton’s most notorious gossips, toddle off toward her daughter Felicity, who was chatting amiably with a handsome, albeit untitled, young man at the edge of the ballroom.

The conversation would have been amusing if it hadn’t been the seventh-no eighth, mustn’t forget her own mother-time she had been subjected to it. And the conversation was always the same, truly down to the very word, save for the fact that not everyone knew her well enough to use her given name.

Once Violet Bridgerton had let it be known that the elusive Earl of Kilmartin would be making his reappearance at her birthday party-Well, Francesca was quite sure she would never be safe from interrogation again, at least not from anyone with any attachment to an unmarried female.

Michael was the catch of the season, and he hadn’t even shown up yet.

“Lady Kilmartin!”

She looked up. Lady Danbury was coming her way. A more crotchety and outspoken old lady had never graced the ballrooms of London, but Francesca rather liked her, so she just smiled as the countess approached, noticing that the partygoers on either side of her quickly fled to parts unknown.

“Lady Danbury,” Francesca said, “how nice to see you this evening. Are you enjoying yourself?”

Lady D thumped her cane against the ground for no apparent reason. “I’d enjoy myself a dashed sight more if someone would tell me how old your mother is.”

“I wouldn’t dare.”

“Pfft. What’s the fuss? It’s not as if she’s as old as I am.”

“And how old are you?” Francesca asked, her tone as sweet as her smile was sly.

Lady D’s wrinkled face cracked into a smile. “Heh heh heh, clever one you are. Don’t think I’m going to tell you.”

“Then surely you will understand if I exercise the same loyalty toward my mother.”

“Hmmph,” Lady Danbury grunted by way of a response, thumping her cane against the floor for emphasis. “What’s the use of a birthday party if no one knows what we’re celebrating?”

“The miracle of life and longevity?”

Lady Danbury snorted at that, then asked, “Where’s that new earl of yours?”

My, she was blunt. “He’s not my earl,” Francesca pointed out.

“Well, he’s more yours than anyone else’s.”

That much was probably true, although Francesca wasn’t about to confirm it with Lady Danbury, so she just. said, “I imagine his lordship would take exception to being labeled as anyone’s but his own.”

“His lordship, eh? That’s rather formal, don’t you think? Thought the two of you were friends.”

“We are,” Francesca said. But that did not mean she would bandy about his given name in public. Truly, it wouldn’t do to stir up any rumors. Not if she needed to keep her reputation pristine in her search for a husband of her own. “He was my husband’s closest confidant,” she said pointedly. “They were like brothers.”

Lady Danbury looked disappointed with Francesca’s bland characterization of her relationship with Michael, but all she did was pinch her lips as she scanned the crowd. “This party needs some livening up,” she muttered, tapping her cane again.

“Do try not to say that to my mother,” Francesca murmured. Violet had spent weeks on the arrangements, and truly, no one could find exception with the party. The lighting was soft and romantic, the music pure perfection, and even the food was good-no small achievement at a London ball. Francesca had already enjoyed two eclairs and had spent the time since plotting how to make her way back to the table of refreshments without appearing a complete glutton.

Except that she kept getting waylaid by inquisitive matrons.

“Oh, it’s not your mother’s fault,” Lady D said. “She’s not to blame for the overpopulation of dullards in our society. Good God, she bred eight of you, and not an idiot in the lot.” She gave Francesca a pertinent glance. “That’s a compliment, by the way.”

“I’m touched.”

Lady Danbury’s mouth clamped together into a fright-eningly serious line. “I’m going to have to do something,” she said.

“About what?”

“The party.”

An awful sensation took hold in Francesca’s stomach. She’d never known Lady Danbury to actually ruin someone else’s fete, but the old lady was clever enough to do some serious damage if she put her mind to it. “What, exactly, do you plan to do?” Francesca asked, trying to keep her voice free of panic.

“Oh, don’t look at me like I’m about to kill your cat.”

“I don’t have a cat.”

“Well, / do, and I assure you, I’d be mad as Hades if anyone tried to harm him.”

“Lady Danbury, what on earth are you talking about?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” the old lady said with an irritated wave of her hand. “You can be sure that if I did, I’d have done it already. But I certainly wouldn’t cause a scene at your mother’s party.” She lifted her chin sharply in the air and gifted Francesca with a disdainful sniff. “As if I would do anything to hurt your dear mama’s feelings.”

Somehow that did little to assuage Francesca’s apprehension. “Right. Well, whatever you do, please be careful.”

“Francesca Stirling,” Lady D said with a sly smile, “are you worried for my welfare?”

“You, I have no qualms about whatsoever,” Francesca replied pertly, “it’s the rest of us for whom I tremble.”

Lady Danbury let out a cackle of laughter. “Well said, Lady Kilmartin. I do believe you deserve a reprieve. From me,” she added, in case Francesca didn’t grasp her meaning.

“You are my reprieve,” Francesca muttered.

But Lady D obviously didn’t hear her as she looked out over the crowd, because she sounded quite singleminded as she declared, “I do believe I shall go pester your brother.”

“Which one?” Not that they all couldn’t use a bit of torture.

“That one.” She pointed toward Colin. “Hasn’t he just returned from Greece?”

“Cyprus, actually.”

“Greece, Cyprus, it’s all the same to me.”

“Not to them, I imagine,” Francesca murmured.

“Who? You mean the Greeks?

“Or the Cypriots.”

“Pfft. Well, if one of them chooses to show up tonight they can feel free to explain the difference. Until then, I shall wallow in my ignorance.” And with that, Lady Danbury thumped her cane against the floor one last time before turning toward Colin and bellowing, “Mr. Bridgerton!”

Francesca watched with amusement as her brother tried desperately to pretend that he hadn’t heard her. She was rather pleased that Lady D had chosen to torture Colin a bit-he undoubtedly deserved it-but now that she was on her own again, she realized that Lady Danbury had provided her with a rather effective defense against the multitude of matchmaking mamas who saw her as their only link to Michael.

Good God, she could see three of them approaching already.

Time to escape. Now. Francesca quickly turned on her heel and started walking toward her sister Eloise, who was easy to spot by the bright green of her dress. In truth, she would have much rather bypassed Eloise entirely and headed straight out the door, but if she was serious about this marriage business, then she had to circulate and let it be known she was in the market for a new husband.

Not that anyone was likely to care one way or another until Michael finally showed his face. Francesca could have announced her plan to move to dark Africa and take up cannibalism, and all anyone would have said was, “And will the earl be accompanying you?”

“Good evening!” Francesca said, joining the small group around her sister. It was all family-Eloise was chatting amiably with their two sisters-in-law, Kate and Sophie.

“Oh, hullo, Francesca,” Eloise said. “Where’s-”

“Don’t you start.”

“What’s wrong?” Sophie asked, eyes all concern.

“If one more person asks me about Michael, I swear my head will explode.”

“That would certainly change the tenor of the evening,” Kate remarked.

“Not to mention the cleaning duties of the staff,” Sophie added.

Francesca actually growled.

“Well, where is he?” Eloise demanded. “And don’t look at me like-”

“-I’m trying to kill your cat?”

“I don’t have a cat. What the devil are you talking about?”

Francesca just sighed. “I don’t know. He said he would be here.”

“If he’s smart, he’s probably hiding in the hall,” Sophie said.

“Good God, you’re probably right.” Francesca could easily see him bypassing the ballroom entirely and ensconcing himself in the smoking saloon.

Away, in other words, from all females.