Francesca Read online

  “Was your friend, the man who just left, not cheerful company?” Devane inquired blandly.

  “Selby Caine cheerful? Ho, is a martyr cheerful? Is Job cheerful? I’ve never seen Caine smile in my life, though he’s a sound chap.”

  “What troubles him?”

  “The world troubles him, milord. He could find mischief lurking in an essay by Hannah More. He would prefer to live in a monastery or a hermit’s cave, I fancy. How he ever got mixed up with Lady Camden—”

  “Ah, that would be the young lady I’ve seen him about with. A striking brunette?” Mr. Irwin nodded. “Lovely girl, Lady Camden. I have met her once or twice.”

  “Yes, but lovely is as lovely does, to coin a not very original phrase. A bit of a cutup, young Frankie Devlin.”

  “Is that what folks call her, Frankie?”

  “She used to be called Francesca, Fran for short, but when Camden stuck his fork in the wall, she turned into a hellion and changed her name to Frankie. Old Caine is fed up with her pranks. Damme! He asked me not to say so. Delete it from your memory, Lord Devane.”

  “Consider it deleted, but just entre nous”—he inclined his head forward in a man-to-man way that was irresistible to Irwin, especially when coming from the great Devane—”the lady is a bit of a dasher, eh?”

  “Well, she ain’t a Bath Miss, that much at least I can say without shocking even Mr. Caine. She gave young Stanby pretty short shrift just last week. In short, milord, a gazetted flirt. But Caine tells me there is no vice in her. She lets it all out-ha-ha!”

  Devane did not wish to be too obvious, and let the topic rest a moment. Irwin immediately broached the subject of names, to be precise, the name Rita. “Very popular with the muslin company this Season. You must have noticed—a man like you.”

  “I can’t say it had occurred to me. I rather thought Marie held sway this year.”

  “It’s as I said to Caine. The touch of French— they think it glamorous.” Irwin filled his own glass and topped off Lord Devane’s.

  “Speaking of exotic names—Francesca, that would be Italian, would it not?” Devane said, to return to his preferred subject.

  “Sounds like it. Where the Wilsons picked up an Italian name is a mystery to me. They’re as English as cod.”

  “Do you know Lady Camden well?”

  Irwin’s smile was becoming a trifle unsteady. “She is a new acquaintance, but I shall know her better after I have—that is—er, soon.”

  “Ah.” The single syllable was fraught with conspiratorial, gentlemanly understanding.

  Irwin put his finger aside his nose and tapped. “Diamonds,” he said, nodding sagely.

  “The lady has a fondness for diamonds, you mean?”

  “Haven’t all ladies?” Irwin asked cagily.

  “They do seem to hold universal appeal.”

  “Would you care for a hand of cards, Devane?” Mr. Irwin asked.

  “Delighted.”

  “What is the hour?” Irwin drew out his watch. “No, by gad, I must be off to Stop Hole Abbey for the diamonds. I’m visiting St. Peter’s son—the gents with fish hooks for fingers. Another time, Devane. Delightful chatting to you.” He rose, bowed two or three times, and left at an unsteady gait. Devane heard someone call him “Irwin” as he left.

  Devane sat on alone, thinking. He had already heard rumors that Lady Camden was making a name for herself. The worst he had learned was that she was a flirt. That she was about to receive a diamond necklace from Irwin suggested her flirtation was stepping up to more advanced dalliance. And Irwin, the fool, was obtaining his bribe at Stop Hole Abbey. He might count himself fortunate if he didn’t end up in Newgate for buying stolen goods.

  Devane did not by any means consider himself his brother’s keeper. His mind soon wandered off in a quite different direction. He had been to half a dozen routs and assemblies looking for Francesca. His mind played with the name. Its soft syllables suited her; Frankie, on the other hand, had a harsh, rowdy sound to it. He would call her Francesca when she was under his protection. But meanwhile, where was she hiding herself? Was the wench purposely staying away to whet his appetite?

  She had declined an invitation to two unexceptionable house parties, but apparently welcomed a set of diamonds from a Mr. Irwin, of no particular consequence. She was either mad, or considered herself uncommonly clever. Perhaps she was using Irwin to make him jealous? He soon concluded this was her strategy, and decided two could play at that game. He would be seen around with the Season’s prettiest lightskirt. Marie Mondale, perhaps? He would escort her to Covent Garden the following evening. If Lady Camden did not attend, she would at least hear of it. Let her see a lady could play too hard to get.

  The next morning Mr. Caine and Mr. Irwin came to call at Half Moon Street. “The diamonds were never sold at Stop Hole Abbey,” Mr. Irwin announced. “Whoever has them, she’s sitting on them, as I said. I haven’t been able to discover who this Rita is that Camden was seeing, but I am seeing Rita Morrow as soon as I leave you. There is no guarantee she is the right Rita. There are half a dozen Ritas this Season. I shall return and let you know what develops, Lady Camden.”

  “You are very kind, Mr. Irwin,” she said, and smiled her appreciation. “I am sorry to put you to so much bother.”

  “Why, it is pure pleasure for me, aiding a lady in distress.”

  “Still, it is a great deal of bother.”

  “If you wish to reward me, drive out with me when I return. Perhaps we will think of some other course to follow to retrieve the necklace.”

  “I will be happy to.”

  Mr. Caine stood in the corner, swaying and worrying while this conversation went forth. At its end, he left with Irwin, and Mrs. Denver said. “Mr. Irwin has an eye for you, Fran. You must not encourage him unless—”

  “Set up a flirtation with him, you mean? No, I never would when he is being so nice and helpful.”

  “Why, you sound as though you run around only with gentlemen you dislike!”

  Francesca laughed this absurd idea away, but when she was alone later, she remembered it and wondered. It was true, her requirements for flirts were two: first, that they were manageable, for she did not intend to let herself be taken advantage of. The other was that she knew in advance she could never truly care for them. If they had a touch of David’s glib insincerity, so much the better. She could punish him through them. Was that what she had been doing?

  She soon forgot Mr. Irwin. He was nothing like David. It was Lord Devane who she thought of longer. Yes, there was certainly something of David in that gentleman’s easy advances, but he failed her other criterion. He was not a safe man to trifle with. She had not heard from him since he learned she was a fine lady, however, and she considered that the end of the matter.

  Her real concern was the diamond necklace, and that was what brought the worried frown to her brow. Lord Maundley had sent a curt note. “You were the last person seen to have the diamonds. I consider them your responsibility. If they are not found, then I will expect restitution to be made.” It was as good as a threat. He obviously thought she had them.

  Lunch was a desultory meal. Neither Mrs. Denver nor Francesca ate much. “I hope Mr. Irwin learns something from that Rita woman,” Francesca said.

  “He couldn’t ask her on their first meeting. It will take a few outings to soften her up,” Mrs. Denver replied.

  “I wonder how soon Maundley will act.”

  “That is all a bluff. What can he do, when all is said and done?”

  “Hire a lawyer to harass me, I suppose.”

  “You must tell the lawyer what happened to the necklace.”

  “He would be sure to tell Maundley. I do dislike to cause them anxiety, especially Lady Maundley. She was so fond of David. It would break her heart.”

  “Better her heart than your reputation.”

  Francesca put her face in her hands and emitted a strangled moan. “As if David was not thorn enough in my side when he was al
ive, now he puts me through this hell.” She rose from the table and went upstairs.

  Mrs. Denver suspected she was having a good cry, and left her alone. When Francesca came down, there was no sign of tears. She was smiling wanly, and spoke hopefully of Mr. Irwin’s learning something to help them. When that gentleman called, she was looking very pretty in her new yellow straw bonnet and light pelisse. “Any luck with Rita Morrow, Mr. Irwin?” she asked before leaving, for Mrs. Denver would not want to be kept in the dark on this point till after the drive.

  He shook his head. “Nothing firm, I fear.”

  They drove to Hyde Park, oblivious to the blue skies, the stately parade of trees, and the soft breezes of spring. Mr. Irwin tried to assuage her fears by speaking hopefully of other schemes to assist her. He was planning to tour the jewelry shops in town, inquiring for the necklace. “No jeweler would buy it, but that is not to say they have not been offered it. If they have, perhaps I can get a lead on who offered it for sale.”

  “Would they not have notified Lord Maundley if they recognized it as a family heirloom?” she asked.

  “They ought to have, of course, but if the hopeful seller was a good customer, they might have desisted.”

  “Then they will not likely tell you, will they, Mr. Irwin?”

  This sort of common sense had no place on a lady’s tongue, in Mr. Irwin’s opinion. “There are ways of rattling their chains,” he said curtly.

  She was impressed with his surly manner as she took it for a taste of how he would deal with unscrupulous jewelry salesmen. “You mean—threats?” she asked, her eyes brimming with admiration.

  This hadn’t occurred to him, but he seized the idea as his own and nodded bravely. “I shall also keep my eyes open on any occasion when I am likely to run into members of the muslin company. Not that I would meet them by choice, but they are seen about everywhere nowadays.” His frown suggested he was every bit as much against this deterioration of society as even Mr. Caine could wish.

  “I doubt the woman would wear it in public.”

  “A year has passed, and no alarm has been raised. She may be gaining confidence that she’s pulled it off. It’s worth a thought. Tonight at Covent Garden, for instance, the cream of the muslin company will attend the opening of Kemble’s Bluebeard. It is to be a great lavish thing, with elephants and sixteen horses. You will be attending, of course?”

  “No,” Francesca said listlessly. “Till this business is settled, I haven’t the heart for it.”

  He decided the lady needed cheering, and began to rally her spirits at once. “What, give in to a thieving lightskirt? Let a female like that drive you into hiding? Bosh. You shall come to Covent Garden with me this evening. We shall ignore the stage and train our glasses on every neck that sparkles. Come along, do, Lady Camden.”

  “I’m not sure I am up to it.”

  “Why, you will give Maundley the notion you take his threat seriously. He whiddles beef and you brush. It looks like capitulation on your part if you withdraw from the fray. He’ll think you’re guilty. Withdrawal will certainly be taken as a sign of weakness at least. You must let him see you don’t give a tinker’s curse for his ranting.”

  “I wouldn’t want him to think I am afraid,” she said thoughtfully.

  “Excellent, then I shall take you to Covent Garden this evening. We’ll escape that croaker of a Caine if we can. We shall have a merry old time, I promise you, and a tidy dinner later at the Clarendon, with a few select friends.”

  “Perhaps I should go.” She agreed with very little enthusiasm for the project.

  As Mr. Irwin’s chaise left the park, it passed a dashing black carriage with a lozenge on the door. It was the spanking team of bays that drew Mr. Irwin’s attention, but it was the gentleman who nodded from the window who made Francesca’s breath catch in her throat. It was Lord Devane, and he had a beautiful woman with him. He nodded with cool politeness as they passed.

  “That was Lord Devane,” she mentioned to Mr. Irwin. “Did you recognize the lady with him? She was a redhead—very lovely.”

  “I just caught a glimpse, but it looked like Marie Mondale, one of this Season’s belles.”

  “Marie Mondale? I don’t recognize the name....”

  “No more you would, my dear. She ain’t precisely a lady, if you catch my meaning. It is as I said, one sees them everywhere.”

  Francesca understood him perfectly. She felt a burning annoyance at Devane’s blatant parading of a lightskirt in a polite park. That was the sort of thing David would have done. They were cut from the same bolt. She hardly listened as Mr. Irwin praised the bays.

  Lord Devane had no business publicly engaging a mistress when he was interested in herself, Francesca thought. He had implied he was interested at the ball the other evening. He had been running after her as hard as he could, bribing the musicians to play a waltz and trying to get her to stand up with him a second time. That augured a strong interest—but the minute her back was turned, he was out with lightskirts.

  “Let us go home,” she said angrily.

  Mr. Irwin didn’t argue. He was finding the widow very attractive and hoped to win her favor by recovering her necklace. He would run around to Rundell and Bridges and the other good jewelry shops to make enquiries. Not that they’d tell him if they had seen it, but they might have a sketch of the thing, as they had of the country’s more prized heirlooms. At least he would know what he was looking for.

  Mrs. Denver was surprised to hear that Francesca was going out that evening, but when the reason was explained, she nodded her agreement. She hoped that Mr. Irwin would succeed, and become a hero, at least long enough for Francesca to accept an offer from him. She saw marriage as the only possible solution to her charge’s problem.

  Chapter Six

  Lady Camden went to the theater with no notion of enjoying herself or even of giving more than a passing glance at the play. It proved impossible to entirely ignore a stage where an extravagant piece featuring an elephant and sixteen horses was in progress, however. She had never seen a live elephant before, and gaped in awe like the rest of the audience. Bluebeard was a great popular success and proved so distracting that it was only at the intermissions that Francesca remembered to scan the lightskirts’ throats for her diamonds.

  Lord Devane was more debonair. He had seen an elephant before, and while the throng gasped at the menagerie onstage, he lifted his glasses and scrutinized the boxes. Yes, there she was, and with her Mr. Irwin and Mr. Caine. Rather odd, that. He lowered his glasses to her creamy throat, and saw, sitting against her pale skin, not a diamond necklace, but a somewhat insignificant strand of pearls. Her late husband could not have left her well provided for, or she would be wearing diamonds. Had Mr. Irwin failed to procure her a set at Stop Hole Abbey? He lowered his glasses even farther, to look for the patch. It was missing, though he had seen patches on a few other ladies after the Incomparable introduced the notion.

  He regarded her a long time, taking in every feature of her face, and every item of her apparel. The Incomparable was introducing no new fashion this evening. Her toilette was unexceptionable, but it lacked her usual flair. He noticed the girlish smile hovering about her lips as she gazed in rapture at the stage. There was still something of the girl in her. He rather liked that. A little town bronze was all well and good, but he didn’t want a jaded sophisticate.

  Mr. Irwin had chosen his party with care to provide no competition for Lady Camden’s attention. His sister, a flat, had requested that he ask Mr. Caine as her escort. Finding escorts for Lavinia was always a problem, and he had acquiesced to having Job along. Mr. Caine’s sole comment on the first act was that the play must have cost a great deal of money to produce. Even a full house could not possibly cover the cost. The third couple were married, a Mr. Grant and his wife, who were respectable rather than tonnish.

  When the curtain closed for the first intermission, Irwin leaned over to Lady Camden and said, “Now is our chance to chec
k the ladies for the glass. You take the left side of the theater, I’ll take the right. Don’t waste time on anything but the boxes.”

  She understood this to mean that David’s flirts were too high to sit anywhere but in a box. There was a great commotion of people leaving for a stroll in the hall, to greet their friends and exercise their legs after a long sit. It was difficult to know where to begin looking. Jewelry glittered everywhere in the flickering lights of the chandeliers. The gemstones—diamonds, sapphires, and rubies—came in combinations, and they all glowed, so it was difficult to distinguish diamonds at a distance.

  Francesca found the most efficacious way was to glance first at the lady’s face, and if she recognized it as belonging to a respectable lady, she moved her glasses along. There was no point thinking Lady Jersey or Lady Castlereagh would be wearing stolen jewelry. To her consternation, she soon realized that half the women present were not ladies, which left a great many necklaces to be examined.

  From her box on the right side of the hall, she moved her glasses over the boxes on the left. One box caught her particular attention. It held three bucks and three of the loveliest young women she had ever seen, none of whom she recognized at first glance. She trained her glasses to examine their jewelry. One, a blonde, was wearing sapphires. A brunette wore pearls, and the third, a redhead, wore diamonds. A quick glimpse revealed some similarity to her necklace. She adjusted her glasses for a sharper look. No, they were similar, but far from identical.

  As she was looking, a hand appeared on the lady’s white shoulder. The fingers moved, giving the shoulder an intimate squeeze, and on the small finger sat a carved emerald. A spontaneous gasp escaped her lips, and she moved the glasses to the man’s face. There, looking close enough to touch, was Lord Devane. His lips moved in some tender endearment, then widened in a smile. Just so had he smiled at her at the ball. He hadn’t seen her.

  He inclined his head closer to the redhead. Francesca adjusted her focus for a good study of the lady’s face, and recognized the woman from Devane’s carriage. Marie Mondale, Mr. Irwin had called her. Francesca admitted that he looked extremely attractive, his hair so dark and his face so rugged. The woman opened her lips, revealing perfect white teeth, and laughed provocatively up at him. Devane inclined his head and touched his lips to her naked shoulder. The lady rose, and they left the box arm in arm.