Mistress of Scandal (Greentree Sisters 3)

“What is going on, Francesca? You are shouting. Mrs. March? I demand an explanation.”

The housekeeper drew a breath, preparing to lay her grievances before him, but Francesca was too quick for her.

“Aphrodite is ill, Uncle,” she said in a quiet and reasonable voice. “I need to go to her at once. I asked for the carriage to be brought around but Mrs. March refuses to allow it.”

“She’s planning some mischief, that’s what it is,” Mrs. March insisted, a hint of a whine in her voice. “I don’t trust her, sir.”

“It isn’t your place to make those decisions,” Francesca reminded her. As she expected, Mrs. March flew into a rage.

“My place is to see that you don’t take advantage of your uncle! Who knows what she’s up to now, sir. You don’t know what—”

William hadn’t taken his eyes from Francesca. “Order the carriage around,” he said abruptly, cutting through his housekeeper’s complaints.

Mrs. March’s mouth opened and closed.

“Do it,” he said, sharply.

There was no arguing with that tone, and she turned away with an angry rustle of silk skirts, her shoes tapping, her feelings clear for all to see. Mrs. March didn’t like losing, she wasn’t used to it, and Francesca had a feeling she was the sort who would take pleasure from plotting her revenge.

“Thank you, Uncle William,” she said. Perhaps he wasn’t so bad after all, she thought. Perhaps she could even grow to like him.

“I never liked the bitch.” His voice was emotionless. “But she is your mother.”

Francesca took a step toward him, wondering if she had misheard, but he’d already turned and walked back into the library and closed the door. Such cruelty, such heartlessness, at a time when most people would expect some tact and kindness. But this was Uncle William, and all he cared about was the gossip Aphrodite and her daughters had attached to his family. He would probably be glad if she died, she thought bitterly. It would be one less scandal for him to worry about.

“Miss Francesca, the carriage will be here in a moment.”

She’d forgotten about Lil. “We’ll go and wait outside,” she said, forcing away the tears and lifting her chin. “I need to breathe fresh air.”

“Yes, miss, so do I.”

“Oh…I forgot. I should tell Mama…Mrs. Jardine.”

“I can ask one of the servants to wake her if it becomes necessary, miss.”

“Yes. Thank you, Lil.”

Outside, the square was quiet, apart from the occasional passerby. Francesca looked in the direction of Half Moon Street, and wondered what Sebastian was doing. Was he out wandering the streets and the rookeries, hunting for people who were running from their misdeeds? Or was he asleep in that magical room, like a sultan in his palace? She wanted him beside her. She felt suddenly bereft without him. But such thoughts were romantic dreams—she and Sebastian could never have that normal sort of relationship. They could never be other than brief, if passionate, lovers.

“Miss?”

Lil was there, and so was the carriage, creaking its way across the cobbles toward them. Francesca gathered her cloak about her and stepped down the stairs to meet it, and prepared herself for the worst.

Aphrodite was dreaming. Restless, feverish dreams of her famous past.

He’s dead. T. is dead. I am finding it difficult to believe such a man can be dead. My T. was so alive. My daughter, my Francesca, will be the poorer for not knowing him. I look into her smiling baby face and see T., and I weep.

The sadness makes me vulnerable. I turn to the other one. For a time I trust him, I believe in him. But he isn’t a good man.

He is not a kind man.

“My love? My dearest love?”

She blinked and opened her eyes. For a moment she saw him, the man she blamed for her life’s tragedy, but then it changed and became the face she loved above all others. What was his name? Oh, why couldn’t she remember his name?

But he seemed to sense her frustration.

“It’s only Jemmy,” he murmured, stroking the damp hair from her brow. “And you have a visitor, dearest one.”