Chapter Seven
February 20, 1818
William popped into the drawing room. According to the butler, his carriage was already waiting at the curb, and the time grew near that he’d need to call at Francesca’s home, but he wanted to mention his schedule to his mother.
“I’ve a full afternoon, Mother. How are you feeling today?” he asked as he pulled on his fine kid gloves. The worry over her health hadn’t gone away, and honestly, he didn’t know what he’d do when she finally succumbed to her illness.
The corgi who lay at her feet on the sofa raised his head and gave a bark of welcome.
“I’m exceedingly tired, but otherwise, I’m well.” She sat beneath a quilt with her ever-present handkerchief clutched tightly in her hand. An unexpected light infused her faded gaze. “There’s something different about you, though.”
“Rubbish, I’m the same man I’ve always been.” Heat crept over his nape. The same man? What gammon that was. Ever since he’d invited Francesca to partner with him on his case, he’d hovered around the edge of falling into sixes and sevens. With each subsequent meeting, his world tilted slightly more.
“No, that’s not entirely true,” she murmured and followed the words with a slight cough. “There’s a look in your eyes I’ve not seen in a long time.”
“What sort of look?” He frowned as he leaned over and gave the dog a through scratch beneath his ears and chin.
“I’m not sure, but it’s there. Almost as if you’ve found a bit of happiness within your work, or hope?” She rested her gaze on him, narrowed her eyes slightly. “Has something new occurred in your life?”
“Of course not.” He straightened and worked to make certain his expression gave nothing away. “The only thing different is the number of bodies piling up with unsolved cases attached to them.” If his voice were a bit gruffer than intended, he couldn’t help it.
Her smile was faint. “How did you enjoy the musicale event last night? I’m told there was a mix of talent performed and that there was a decent crush.” The look she shot him positively brimmed with interest. “And that you were seen talking to a woman, leaning rather close to her at times, in fact.”
The heat on his neck intensified. “Who told you that?” Damn London and its wagging tongues seemingly everywhere.
She shrugged. “Lady Jane dropped by earlier this morning. She and Isobel are at a modiste’s shop at present, for they both wanted new gowns for an upcoming ball.”
“Right.” Vaguely, he recalled some sort of event on his schedule in a week or so. Would Francesca attend? Should he ask that she come specifically? He cleared his throat when he realized his mother still stared at him with expectation on her face. Where was the harm in admitting to his courtship, such as it was? It would make her happy. “Actually, Mother, I was with a lady last night, or at least on the periphery of one.” She didn’t need to know he’d kissed Francesca quite thoroughly too. Even now, the lingering feel of her, the ghost of her perfume affected him, slightly tightened his shaft.
How long had it been since that had happened?
“I’m so glad.” As she tucked a tendril of hair behind her ear, she smiled. “Who is she? Are you courting her? Do you believe you can make a go of it with her?”
Oh, God.Too many questions he didn’t know the answers to. William held up a hand. “Let’s not rush our fences, hmm?” He pressed his lips together. “Her name is Miss Fanny Bancroft, er, well, her Christian name is Francesca. She’s the daughter of Viscount Nattingly, and honest to God, I really don’t know much more about her than that.” How old was she? How had she acquired her limp? What had made her into a shy wallflower that was directly at odds with the woman he was beginning to know now?
It was past time to find out.
“Ah, hers is a good family. Her mother never did manage to conceive after Miss Bancroft was born, so there is no direct heir. Does she return your regard?”
He snorted. “There is no regard to speak of yet.” Wasn’t that the truth? Kissing a woman senseless didn’t make the foundation of a solid relationship. It was only desire, nothing more. “She’s allowing someone else to court her as well, and that man has a title.”
“That matters not if there’s a strong connection between you and her.” She waved a hand. “And there is that light in your eyes. It means something.”
He chose to ignore the observation. “She’s also working with me on this current case.” Quickly, he explained that she was a budding journalist, of how she’d handled herself at the crime scene, of how she’d easily inserted herself as his assistant nay, his partner.
“It seems she’s well-suited for your life.”
“I’m not certain about that. Perhaps this is only a happy accident.”
“Nothing in life is a coincidence.” His mother folded her hands in her lap. “However, I’m happy for you all the same. You’ve never been one to chase women, but you also don’t have much patience to speak of. I look forward to seeing how this will play out. Make certain when you fall—”
“If I do, Mother. That’s a possibility far in the future,” he interrupted. “And there is much to overcome in the meantime.”
“There always is when romance is involved.” She chuckled and her smile bordered on secretive, but when he stared, she sighed. “Fine, if you fall for this woman, don’t chase her away with a gruff manner and prickly exterior or even doubts you might harbor.”
“Protective armor, if you will,” he murmured with another pet of the dog. “I didn’t have the best men to look up to when it came to happy marriages.” Where the devil had that admission come from?
“Oh, William.” A coughing fit interrupted whatever she would have said, and as she dabbed at her lips with the handkerchief and blood stained the linen, he rushed to fill a glass with water from a nearby crystal carafe. “Thank you.” She lifted the glass to her lips. “Keep an open mind with Miss Bancroft. Just because my marriage to your father was oftentimes rocky, as was that of your aunt and uncle, it doesn’t mean your relationship will follow the same path. You are a different man than them.”