Page 9 of Her Rogue of a Duke
Francesca nodded. “Yes, that would be acceptable.”
The maid offered her a deep curtsy before she spun and left the room. Francesca watched her leave, feeling a sense of unease and uncertainty settle in, in regard to her decision to ask the Duke for help. In the clarity of the new day, the choice seemed rather hasty, despite the fact she was at a loss for alternatives.
Still, she couldn’t say she felt good about the decision. She hated being in such a predicament.
If her father were still alive, none of this would be happening.
Oh, papa…
Francesca’s heart clenched and she had to fight the urge to curl back up on her side. She just wanted to keep crying, but she knew she had to hold herself together. She would not be alone for long, as the maid would return any moment now.
Throwing the bed covers aside, Francesca slid her feet to the floor and stood up. She gathered her dressing gown before wrapping it around her figure, securing the sash at her waist. Drifting across the room, she sat at the mirrored vanity and gazed at her reflection. She looked exhausted. Pale. She had dark circles under her eyes and they were slightly puffy from all the crying.
Francesca thought she looked like a corpse, and she felt as lifeless as one.
Picking up a silver-handled hairbrush, she began to brush through her long hair mindlessly, taking some comfort in the motion. It was soothing and helped to slow her heartbeat and calm the worst of her anxiety.
It was not long before the maid returned with a tray bearing a teapot and cup, toast, porridge, and fruit. She set it down on the small table by the fireplace and poured Francesca a cup of tea.
“You should eat, my lady,” the maid said in a gentle tone. “You shall need your strength for tonight.”
Francesca released a long breath and set the brush down, her gaze never leaving her reflection.
“Yes,” she murmured. “Yes, I suppose you are right.”
She rose and walked over to the table, picking at the food and sipping the tea thoughtfully. Meanwhile, the maid set about lifting Francesca’s suitcase off the floor to place it on the bed and begin unpacking it. Francesca watched her for several moments before sitting down on the settee by the table. The maid worked quickly and efficiently, unfolding the few dresses Francesca had brought with her and hanging them up in the armoire.
“Ah, apologies, I almost forgot. A bath is being prepared for you, my lady,” the maid suddenly said, offering Francesca a warm smile. “You will have the chance to freshen up and relax before the evening. I shall personally assist you in getting ready. Oh, and His Grace has provided you with a gown for tonight—”
“Pardon?” Francesca paused mid-bite, taken aback, her gaze snapping to the maid. “He has? But how could he have chosen a gown without my measurements? And he hasn't even seen me to...”
The maid interrupted with a gentle shake of the head. “Oh, my lady, His Grace has a unique talent for estimating people’s measurements just by looking, a skill he honed due to the former Duchess’ interest in fashion.”
Francesca's thoughts abruptly flashed back to the previous night, her attire so sheer. He would have seen right through to the silhouette of her body…oh my, that thought alone was mortifying. Francesca was suddenly even more pleased that she had chosen to dine alone. Her cheeks flushed a vivid red and she quickly turned away from the maid, hoping to conceal her blush.
When Francesca did not speak, the maid continued, “He did not want you to have to concern yourself with the last-minute effort of procuring a gown on top of everything else you may be presently burdened with, so he had it prepared over the night.”
Over the night? He can do that? Of course, he can do that, he is a Duke for heaven’s sake!
Francesca stared at the maid once more for several moments, stunned. “That was rather considerate of him.”
“Yes, my lady,” the maid added. “His Grace has coordinated all details for your evening. Your arrival and departure will be arranged separately. You shall not have to fret about any other arrangements. His Grace has seen to everything.”
Francesca released a breath of relief at that. She could not fathom why the Duke would be going to such lengths for her, but she was begrudgingly grateful. That evening was going to be vital for her and her future, and she couldn’t let anything muck it up, including the Duke himself.
She was going to have to seek out Lord Liam Terrell and do whatever she could to secure a marriage between them. Theexact plan was still unclear to her, but she knew if she did not figure it out, she was going to lose everything… not just her father’s fortune and inheritance, but the life he had fought so hard to build for her until his final breath.
CHAPTER SIX
Breathe. Just breathe.
Francesca endeavored to calm her racing heart as she entered the Pembroke’s ballroom later that evening. She had attended many balls before, including a few others thrown by the Pembrokes, so it was not the event itself that unnerved her. It was knowing that she had to put on a smile and pretend all was well in the world. The thought of not returning to her father's warm and welcoming presence as she ordinarily would, made her stomach twist and her hands grow damp with unease.
As she took in the sight of the floral garlands adorning the ballroom and the hundreds of candles lighting the large space, Francesca had to stop herself from turning around and leaving right at that moment. She did not want to be here. She did not care to make small talk with people who barely tolerated her presence, or dance with gentlemen who would have no interest in her by the end of the night. She just wanted to go home, but she could not even do that.
Nevertheless, amidst all her reluctance, she took comfort in the fact that she looked the part for once. She looked like she truly belonged. The elaborate gown the Duke had chosen for her was exquisite and she delighted in the manner in which it snugly fit her figure. It was emerald green with white lace along the collar, as well as a white sash and matching long silk gloves that extended past her elbows, and it all made her feel genuinely elegant. She was appreciative of the Duke's gesture, though the reasoning behind his thoughtfulness remained a mystery to her.
Making her way deeper into the ballroom, though, Francesca set aside her thoughts on the Duke, focusing instead on her search for Lord Terrell. The sooner she was able to talk with him and explain her predicament, the sooner she would be able to convince him to marry her. She had faith he would do so without hesitation, especially once she had explained everything. Despite Mr. Campbell's advice to keep her circumstances secret, Francesca felt she could trust Lord Terrell, convinced of his honorable nature. And, if he knew of the urgency of her situation, he would be more than willing to expedite their union.