“How dare you pass judgment on me,” Francesca whispered. She was trembling inside, but her anger had replaced her fear.
“I dare because I am head of the family.”
“Not head of my family,” Francesca retorted.
“While you are under my roof you will obey my rules,” he shouted.
Amy gasped, but Francesca refused to be browbeaten. “Then I’ll leave your house tomorrow. Now! I don’t need your roof, I don’t need you. You may frighten poor Helen, but you don’t frighten me.”
He glared at her a moment more, the sinews of his neck standing out with his anger, and then suddenly he relaxed, folding his arms. For a moment Francesca thought he was going to be reasonable, but a moment later she understood that he was still upset with her. He was simply shifting his angle of attack.
“It must be lonely, being an unwanted child. I suppose you think by throwing yourself at men like Thorne you can find love.”
“William, what are you saying?” Amy wailed.
“He’s saying that my parents were glad to be rid of me,” Francesca answered for him, her face pale.
“Yes, something like that,” William agreed. “Your father certainly was. He vanished and has never been seen again, and then your mother was so careless of you—too busy with her own tupping, no doubt—that she mislaid you for over twenty years.”
Amy began to protest, but Francesca spoke over her. “You’re wrong! My mother loves me and my father…he loved me, too.”
“You don’t even know his name!” William retorted, his pale eyes challenging her.
“I do. It was Tommy!”
He stilled, something stirring in his face, but she couldn’t read him. She’d never been able to read what he was thinking. Perhaps she’d never cared enough to try.
“I suppose it was your mother who told you that?” he said dismissively. “How do you know it’s true? She could have plucked the name out of the air. The woman is a liar and always has been.”
“She had a letter from him before he died,” Francesca replied triumphantly. “In it, he spoke about me and his plans for my future.”
“Where is the letter now?”
“Lost. You’re wrong, admit it. I was loved. Just because my birth wasn’t as you’d have liked it doesn’t mean I wasn’t wanted.”
Amy slid an arm about her shoulders. “Of course you were, dear. William, that is enough.” Her face was wan and angry, and even her brother could see that she’d been pushed beyond her tolerance. “I am taking Francesca to bed, and in the morning we will be packing and returning to Yorkshire. I’m sorry it had to end like this between us. I had hoped for some sort of reconciliation, at least for Helen’s sake, if not for our own.”
“What about the ball?” William reminded her. “Is that to be canceled at this late date?”
Amy put a hand to her eyes. “I had forgotten about the ball. Helen will be devastated. Well”—with a deep breath—“she will just have to come and stay with us and we will hold a rustic ball of our own.”
“You are too hasty,” William said mildly.
His sister gave him a suspicious look, and he raised his eyebrows at her.
“I haven’t asked you to leave, nor did I intend to. The ball can go ahead as planned. I won’t interfere, spend what you will, as long as there is no breath of scandal. Is that understood?”
Amy turned and looked at Francesca, and she realized her mother was waiting for her to speak, to make the decision. She was very tempted to say no. She had seen a side to her uncle tonight that made her very wary of him, and he had said things that were beyond forgiveness. But there were other considerations, such as Helen and Amy, and the many guests they’d invited.
And the fact that London suddenly held an appeal for her that it had never held before. Sebastian was here. She reminded herself that while she remained, there was a chance she might see him again.
“Very well,” she said. “We will stay.”
William smiled as if they had never been anything other than friends. “Good,” he said, and poured himself another glass, ra
ising it like a toast in their honor. “To family,” he said, “and the lengths we must go to to protect our good name.”
Chapter 28