“Impatient, are you?” Mama said, laughing as she entered the drawing room with Ellie. “Miss Hadley will be down shortly. Mary wanted a few more minutes to work on her hair.”
Jack bowed to Ellie. It was still a shock to see how pretty she was now that she’d finally stopped hiding herself in hideously ill-fitting, fussy dresses. “You look beautiful,” he murmured. “Not that you care what I think.”
Ellie laughed. “Of course I care, Jack.” She grinned. “Just not very much.” Her eyes had already moved on to Ned, who was gazing at her with an embarrassingly besotted expression. She hurried to his side.
Jack checked his watch again. Miss Hadley didn’t have that much hair—what could be taking the extra time? Not that getting to Rothmarsh House earlier meant they’d be done earlier, but he could hope.
“Are you sure Miss Hadley will come down if you aren’t there to push her, Mama?” he asked. Mama was standing by Father—who also had a vaguely besotted expression. Damn it, the man was too old for such things.
Mama laughed. “Oh, I think so. You know Mary. It would take a woman even braver than Miss Hadley to defy her.”
Mary had been Mama’s maid for as long as Jack could remember; she was used to dealing with strong-willed females. Still, Miss Hadley was a special case. “Perhaps you should—”
“Ah, here she is now,” Mama said. “Do come in and join us, Miss Hadley.”
Jack turned.
Zeus! Lust slammed into his chest . . . and lower organs.
Miss Hadley looked nothing like a grubby young schoolboy now. An emerald-green dress highlighted her creamy skin. It hugged her small breasts, skimmed her hips, and tumbled down to hide her long, slender legs.
He wished his coat would hide his suddenly overly enthusiastic greeting.
He forced his eyes up. Mary had indeed worked wonders with Frances’s hair. Soft red curls, threaded with green ribbon, framed a face . . . that was white with terror. Her wide green eyes gave it its only color.
“Frances,” he said, stepping forward and taking her gloved hand. It trembled in his grasp.
Would she want him to compliment her? Or would she snap his head off if he tried?
Anger was better than fear. “You look lovely.”
She blushed—and then scowled at him. “I couldn’t look much worse than I did, could I? I thought Mary would never be done.”
“Well,” Mama said, clapping her hands, “now that we are all here, we should be off. Frances and Jack, come with me; Ned and Ellie, you take the second carriage.”
Jack offered Frances his arm; she clutched it tightly.
“Don’t be nervous,” he murmured.
“I’m n-not n-nervous.” Her chin was up, her jaw was tight, and her eyes were still wide with panic.
He felt a sudden flood of fierce, protective tenderness.
Ridiculous. Miss Hadley was perfectly able to take care of herself once she got over all this newness.
“Your grandparents are not so alarming,” he said, following his parents out to the carriage. “Rothmarsh can be a bit loud and blustery, but he has a kind heart, and Lady Rothmarsh is very sweet. She
is
prone to hugging, though.” He’d been enveloped in the marchioness’s soft, perfumed clasp more times than he cared to count.
Frances wrinkled her nose. “I am not a hugger.”
“I didn’t think you were.” He handed her into the carriage and took his seat beside her as she adjusted her skirt. It caught under her for a moment, outlining her thigh—
He adjusted his legs. Damn, things—well, one particular male thing—had been far more comfortable when he’d thought Frances a boy. However, looking on the bright side, he could now imagine consummating a marriage if he had to wed the woman.
Actually, he could imagine doing a lot more, in far too intimate detail.
He shifted his legs again. He needed to think about something else.
“Have you told Miss Hadley who will be at dinner tonight, Mama?” he asked as they jerked into motion. It seemed a good idea to prepare Frances for the crowd she’d be meeting. The Rothmarsh family could be somewhat overwhelming, and Frances was on edge enough as it was.
“No, I don’t believe I have. Let’s see . . . there will be your grandparents, the marquis and marchioness, of course, and I’m certain their three sons—your uncles—and their wives will be present: the Earl of Whildon and Lady Whildon, Lord and Lady Ambrose, and Lord and Lady Geoffrey. And then there are your cousins. Whildon has three sons, Lord Ambrose four, and Lord Geoffrey two, none of which is yet married, which I suppose, at the moment, is fortunate as wives would certainly add to the confusion, wouldn’t they?”
“Y-yes.”
Perhaps having Mama list all Frances’s relatives had been the wrong approach.
“Don’t worry about remembering names,” Father said. “No one expects you to keep everyone straight, and frankly, the cousins all look alike.”
“Ah.”
Were his parents
trying
to terrify Frances? “And of course we’ll help you,” Jack said.
Mama laughed. “Of course we will, but you won’t need any help. Everyone will be so delighted to meet you. You’re part of their family—that’s all that matters.”
“Y-yes.” Frances was sitting bolt upright, her gloved fingers clasped tightly in her lap. “I d-don’t have m-much experience with family.”
Mama leaned across the carriage to pat Frances’s hands. “I know, dear. But don’t worry. It will be fine—you’ll see.”
The coach rocked to a stop, and poor Frances jumped two inches. She looked desperately at Jack as the footman let down the stairs. Father and Mama climbed out, but when Jack started toward the door Frances grabbed his arm.
“I can’t go in there,” she hissed.
“It can’t be worse than dressing as a boy to come to London,” he whispered back. “You managed that; you can manage this.”
She jerked her head once from side to side. “No.” Her breath was coming short and fast. “They’ll all be
staring
at me.”
He couldn’t deny that. “They probably will at first, but then they’ll stop. And I’ll stay by your side as long as you need me.”
Her grasp tightened. She might leave bruises. “You promise?”
“Yes.” If she needed him, he would not desert her.
Mama looked back at them. “Are you two getting out of there tonight? Ned and Ellie have arrived; we should go in.”
Frances made a small noise that sounded like a whimper and pulled back.
“Of course, Mama,” Jack said, squeezing Frances’s hand in what he hoped was a reassuring manner. “We’re coming right now.”
What was the matter with her? She’d almost turned into a sniveling, sobbing blancmange back there in the carriage. It had been a very near thing whether she’d get out at all, and now she was clinging to Lord Jack’s arm as if it was the only thing holding her upright as they followed everyone up the stairs. He must seriously doubt her sanity.
She glanced up at him.
He was so bloody handsome. He’d been very attractive in his regular clothes or—she flushed—almost no clothes at all, but he was breathtaking in evening wear. No wonder he was such a successful rake. Women must trip over each other to pursue him.
He smiled at her, and she felt an odd fluttering in her belly.
She whipped her eyes ahead to study the duke’s back. She was insane. When had a male
ever
improved a situation? She should not have this idiotic feeling that Lord Jack was the one solid thing in the tempest of anxiety and confusion that raged inside her.
She tightened her grip on his arm.
But what if the duchess was mistaken? What if Lord and Lady Rothmarsh hadn’t written any letters? What if they’d invited her here just to sneer at her? They must have heard the rumors; they knew what a complete hoyden she was—as disreputable as her father.
This was a huge mistake. She should leave now. She could get back to Greycliffe House some way . . .
And how would she explain her sudden flight?
“It really will be all right, Frances,” Jack whispered. His breath tickled her ear.
“What?” She jerked her head away; if she turned toward him, their lips might have—
She was sick, that was it. She must have some bizarre brain fever.
“You are holding my arm so tightly, you’ve about cut off my circulation.”
“Oh! I’m so sorry—”
“The Duke and Duchess of Greycliffe,” the butler announced. “Lord Ned and Miss Bowman; Lord Jack and Miss Hadley.”
She was going to see her grandparents now. There was no escaping it.
Her fingers tightened again—and she noticed Jack flinch just a little. She forced her grip to relax. Both Ned and the duke were tall. She couldn’t see past them—
Someone shrieked.
“That’s Lady Rothmarsh,” Jack murmured. “Prepare to be hugged.”
The duke and Lord Ned stepped aside, and a tall, thin, white-haired woman dressed in a dark blue gown rushed toward her.
“Frances!” she said. “Oh, Frances.”
And then the woman—it must be her grandmother—wrapped her arms around her, and she was breathing in lily of the valley, hugged fiercely by soft, wrinkled arms.
Her arms went round her grandmother of their own accord, and she hugged her back in dazed self-defense.
She couldn’t remember ever being hugged. It felt good. Very good. She’d thought she’d feel smothered, but she didn’t. She’d thought she didn’t like being touched. But this . . . there was something here she hadn’t realized she’d been missing.
Surely her mother had hugged her when she was a baby, though then again, her mother had likely been overwhelmed with twins.
“Let me look at you,” Lady Rothmarsh said, taking a step back, her hands moving to Frances’s shoulders.
Lady Rothmarsh’s face was soft and wrinkled, and she had green eyes like Frances’s.
“Oh, you are so much like your mother. Sebastian, doesn’t she look just like Diana?”
The tall, broad-shouldered man with thick white hair standing just behind Lady Rothmarsh nodded. He looked a little like Frederick. His eyes were damp, and his voice had a slight catch. “That she does, Imogen.”
Lady Rothmarsh’s eyes started to water as well. “I never thought to see this day.” She sniffed before pulling Frances back into a tight hug. “I am so glad you’re here, dear.”
“I-I’m glad to be here.”
Surprisingly she thought maybe she was.
And then Lady Rothmarsh let Frances go to search her pockets, taking out a handkerchief and blowing her nose.
“We’ve waited far too many years to meet you, Frances,” Lord Rothmarsh said, taking her hand and kissing it. “Welcome—and now come meet your uncles and aunts and cousins who also wish very much to make your acquaintance.”
It was a good thing no one expected her to remember names, Frances thought later as she looked down the table at dinner. She had so
many
new relatives and, except for her three aunts, they were all male.
She didn’t know what to feel besides overwhelmed. Everyone was talking, laughing, teasing each other. She’d never experienced anything like it. At Landsford, she’d taken to having her meals on a tray in the study while she worked on estate affairs. It was more efficient . . . and her aunt’s constant carping tied her stomach in knots.
She glanced down the table at Lady Rothmarsh. Her grandmother was smiling at her, a sort of wonder and joy in her eyes. It was impossible to miss how happy her presence at this table made the woman.
How could her mother and Viola have cut her off so completely from this part of her family? She’d missed twenty-four years of dinners and birthdays and all manner of celebrations. She would have missed
this
dinner, if Jack hadn’t dragged her out of the carriage.
He might be a rake of the worst sort, but she’d have to be thankful to him for this, at least.
“Where is your brother, Frances?” Lord Rothmarsh asked. “I believe he is in London, too?” The marchioness had dispensed with any formality and seated Frances next to the marquis.
“I’m not sure where he is, my lord. When he married and moved from his boardinghouse, he didn’t leave his new direction.”
“Ah, well, I’m sure Lord Jack can find him. He’s very resourceful, isn’t he?”
“Yes. And I plan to ask our man of business tomorrow. He may know Frederick’s whereabouts, my lord.”
Lord Rothmarsh frowned and put his large, blue-veined hand over hers. “Please, don’t
my lord
me, Frances.”
“But what am I supposed to call you, my, er, sir?” That was certainly wrong.
He smiled. “Grandpapa.”
Frances’s mouth opened, but she couldn’t get anything to come out. Call this impressive, elderly lord
grandpapa
?
The marquis patted her hand. “I know this is all new to you, my dear, but my wife and I would be very happy if you could bring yourself to call us grandmamma and grandpapa like our other grandchildren do.”
“I . . .” She looked into his eyes and saw an almost painful yearning.
“Please, Frances? Your mother was our daughter.” His voice broke, and he glanced away for a moment. When he looked back, his eyes were wet again. “You are very like her.”
“But I’m not her, your lo—” She saw pain flicker in his eyes and swallowed. “Gr-grandpapa.” Saying the word felt odd, but if it made the elderly man at her side happy, it seemed like a little thing to do.
“We know you aren’t Diana, Frances, but you remind us of her and all the happiness she brought us.” He smiled. “And the arguments, too. Your mother was a wonderful, bright, determined woman—as I’m sure you are. We’d like to get to know you, if you’ll let us.” He nodded at the noisy group around the table. “We would like you to be part of our family.”
Part of a family—of this big, noisy, happy family.
A deep, gut-wrenching longing rushed through her like a sudden windstorm.