Mistress of Scandal (Greentree Sisters 3)

“Francesca is a very proper young lady.”

“Well, then.”

Francesca tried her best to appear “proper” beneath his steely gaze, and she must have done a reasonable job of it, because he looked almost benevolently upon her.

“Very well, then. I will speak to Mrs. March about it. Thank me, girl!” to Francesca. “You are about to have more money and time lavished on you than you no doubt deserve.”

“Uncle William, I have no wish to—”

“Thank your uncle, my dear.” Amy’s eyes could be just as steely as her brother’s.

Francesca knew when she was beaten. “Thank you very much. Now, if you will excuse me. The excitement…” She closed the door and stood a moment, feeling sick in the pit of her stomach. A ball meant people she barely knew assessing her looks and her prospects and her secrets. And all the time Uncle William would be watching her, waiting for her to make a mistake. Waiting for the real Francesca to escape her bonds and scandalize London.

She shivered.

And what about Sebastian? If Uncle William knew about him, he would have an apoplexy. Two apoplexies. But was it likely he’d find out? Sebastian was not someone who would ever be invited to the ball. He belonged in the shadows, and that was where he must stay.

Francesca realized then that she’d miss him. It would have been very pleasant indeed to waltz in Sebastian’s strong arms. She would have enjoyed seeing the expression in his eyes when he saw her in her new ball gown. He wouldn’t mind if she scandalized London. In fact, she realized with surprise, he probably wouldn’t care what she did as long as she was being herself. Sebastian didn’t approve when she played at being the sort of young woman Uncle William wanted her to be.

He wanted to set her free.

Francesca couldn’t decide whether that was a good thing.

Chapter 18

“You see that man over there?”

Lil peered across the square, following the direction of Martin’s pointing finger. The house was in darkness, but there was a gas lamp nearby and she could just see a shadow, moving.

“I think so. What of him?”

Martin laughed softly, as if her abrasive manner amused him. “He’s off to visit his mistress. We’ll follow him as far as her house and then our job is done.”

“What do you mean?”

“Mr. Thorne has been engaged by the lady’s husband. The fellow has doubts about the heir she is carrying.”

Lil snorted. “He thinks he’s been cuckolded? Does he really need Mr. Thorne to tell him that? Why doesn’t he just ask her himself?”

“Ah, these society marriages, Lil. I don’t think they talk to each other at all, except at the breakfast table, and then it’s only ‘Pass the toast, beloved,’ and, ‘More jam, sweetness.’”

Lil snorted again. “What do they expect when they marry for money or position or because their father tells them to!”

Martin turned to look at her with interest. “Why do you think they should marry then?”

“Well, for love, of course!”

As soon as the words were out she bit her lip, hard. Why had she said that? And to him of all people! He’d think she was angling to marry him.

“You’re a romantic little thing, aren’t you, Lil,” he said, with that soft Irish lilt that made her heart skip a beat.

“I’m a widow,” she retorted. “There’s nothing romantic about that.”

“Oh, are you now? Is that what the black is for? I thought you’d given up color for the sake of your soul.”

She gave him a look.

“I’m sorry. Sometimes my jokes fall very flat. Did you love your husband, L