by Brenda Joyce
If he was surprised to see her, he gave no sign. Impassive, he inclined his head and stepped aside so she could enter. Ahead, on Francesca's right, was the dining room. But no sounds emitted from it and she knew it was too small to host a luncheon for thirty ladies. Still, the sounds of animated conversation and laughter drifted to her. "They are in the salon?" she asked nervously.
He nodded. "And his study," he said. "Mrs. Bragg has made a buffet."
She winced, handing him her navy blue coat, which remained a mud-splotched mess. Then she wished she had thought to wear a dress that day—not that she had any pleasant day dresses. As always, Francesca wore a simple navy blue skirt and a white shirtwaist. It was her daytime uniform, so to speak. She also wore Hart's ring as she had promised she would.
She twisted it nervously. And she had to face the fact that it always bothered her to see Leigh Anne.
"Follow me," he said.
She gripped his arm impulsively. "Are the girls upstairs? I would so love to see them for a moment, first."
His eyes flickered. "Yes. Shall I show you up?"
She flushed, as he knew she did know the way. "I'm fine, thank you, Peter." She quickly started up the narrow staircase that was before her in the front hall.
His next words made her pause. "It is good to have you back, Miss Cahill."
Surprised by his declaration, she turned and smiled, but felt how anxious her expression must remain. "It is good to be back," she said, but in truth, she doubted the veracity of her own words now.
He was about to leave. Francesca could not help herself. "Peter?"
He hesitated.
"How are the girls? I mean, how have they fared with Mrs. Bragg in residence?" She began to blush. The question was highly inappropriate.
"They adore her," he said.
Francesca had to grip the smooth wood banister to keep from falling. "What?" Then she caught herself. "How wonderful," she said, feeling ill.
She turned and hurried up the stairs, almost devastated. But Peter was a man of few or no words. She had learned that if he did bother to speak, his every word was an honest one.
The girls adored Leigh Anne. She should be thrilled— she wanted to be thrilled—but she was upset, terribly so. Leigh Anne was beyond gorgeous—Bragg clearly thought so, never mind his protestations that he despised her—and she was holding a charitable luncheon, the girls adored her, and damn it all, she would make such a perfect senator's wife.
You have Colder Hart now, she told herself grimly. And her heart tightened as his image came to mind.
She did, and if anything, she felt even firmer in her resolve to go through with the engagement and marriage, even if their attraction was based on lust and not love. But that did not make being in Leigh Anne's house now any easier.
She had reached the top of the stairs. The children's room was on her right, but she turned to her left. The door there was ajar. It was the master bedroom and Francesca knew it.
It was wrong, but extreme curiosity propelled her now and there was simply no denying what she must do. She opened the door and stepped inside.
Francesca inhaled, hard. Leigh Anne had changed the simple and stark decor. The room was painted a rich golden hue, gold-and-red-striped brocade drapes hung from the window, the bed was covered with red paisley bedding, and a gold Chinese rug with a floral design was underfoot. She trembled wildly. She could even smell Leigh Anne's perfume. It enveloped her, heady, sensual, and strong.
Her glance wandered to the dressing room, which had no door. A red Oriental rug was there, along with a red velvet stool. The vanity remained the original one, the wood old and scarred, but Francesca gazed upon perfume bottles, a pretty silver box she suspected contained powder, and several jars of cheek and lip rouge. Her gaze caught something else.
A long scrap of nude-colored silk was hanging on a peg beside the vanity.
Don't, she told herself.
She grimaced and hurried forward and lifted up the garment. It was a transparent nightgown, and the bodice was nothing but black lace.
Francesca dropped the sensuous and clearly revealing gown as if it had burned her hand, which it had not. But it did seem to burn her heart.
Upset, she hurried from the bedroom, and as she crossed the short hall, she told herself that she had gotten what she deserved for snooping so unconscionably. His private life with his wife was just that, private, and none of her affair.
"Frack!"
Francesca blinked at the familiar little screech, and then saw a blond blur racing toward her just before Dot hugged her around her knees, screaming, "Frack! Frack!"
It was simply too much—Francesca felt tears rising, fast and hard, as she bent to embrace and lift up the two-year-old. "Hello, darling," she murmured, hugging her hard.
Dot beamed at her, an angelic child with a head of blond curls and big blue eyes.
Francesca smiled back, wishing she had a free hand so she could wipe away all traces of the tears trickling down her face. "I missed you, baby girl," she whispered.
"Dot hap," Dot said, dimpling with laughter. "Hap hap!"
"That means she's happy."
Francesca looked past Dot and saw Katie, dark and unsmiling, standing in the doorway of the children's room, her skinny arms hugging her chest tightly. "Katie, how are you?" Francesca cried eagerly.
Katie simply stared accusingly at her, then turned and disappeared back into the children's bedroom.
Francesca's heart lurched. Katie remained sullen and hostile, at least with her, and she had a very good idea why. "Hello, Mrs. Flowers," she said to the tall, bespectacled woman who had come out of the room. As she spoke, she was aware of Dot playing with her hair. Her weight had become uncomfortable, so Francesca shifted her in her arms, ignoring Dot's grip on her hair. She was expecting a friendly reply to her greeting but not the one that she received. For Mrs. Flowers never spoke—as she did not have the chance.
"Hello, Francesca," Leigh Anne said from behind her.
Francesca whirled.
Leigh Anne was smiling slightly at her. As always, she was more than stunning and she made Francesca feel like a clod. The first thing one saw was her breathtaking face— pale skin, black lashes, emerald-green eyes, a tiny nose, and full lips. Her long jet-black hair was neatly swept up, a startling yet perfect contrast to her fair complexion. She wore a pale green silk dress that was extremely plain and on other women would have appeared drab, but on her it was perfection. The gown revealed every single perfect curve: her tiny waist, her full bosom, her lush hips. Francesca instantly saw her in that scrap of a negligee she had espied in the boudoir, and she was sickened.
Of course Bragg was smitten with this woman. Why wouldn't he be?
"I heard the doorbell and Peter said you had come up to see the girls," Leigh Anne said. Her gaze moved over Francesca's face slowly.
Francesca suddenly realized that Leigh Anne had noticed her tears. She was horrified. "Yes, I hope you do not mind." To make matters worse, her tone was thick.
"Of course not. Dot, do stop playing with Miss Cahill's hair," Leigh Anne said in a firm tone, but it was too late. Francesca's hair spilled free from its pins, landing wildly about her shoulders, a mass of honey-hued waves.
"Dot, that wasn't nice," Leigh Anne said, quickly taking Dot from Francesca before she could react and protest.
But Dot beamed at Leigh Anne. "Momma play," she demanded. "Momma play!"
Francesca felt the floor tilting beneath her feet.
"No, Dot, I have guests, but if you are a good girl, Mrs. Flowers will bring you and Katie down and you may have dessert with us." Leigh Anne spoke softly and firmly, but then she kissed the toddler hard on the cheek, her eyes closing as she did so.
Francesca stared, forgetting to wipe the tears from her cheeks. She was stunned. Leigh Anne loved Dot. And Dot was calling her Momma....
"Mrs. Flowers? We will be serving dessert in a half an hour. I'd love for the children to come down," Leigh Anne sa
id, slipping Dot gracefully to her feet.
"Of course," Mrs. Flowers said.
Dot clung to Leigh Anne's hand. "Frack! Desert! Frack come desert!"
Francesca could not speak.
"Dot, darling, it's dessert. Katie?" Leigh Anne called, walking to the doorway, still holding the grinning Dot's hand. "Have you said hello to Miss Cahill?"
Francesca now wiped her face with her fingertips and turned so she could see into the bedroom. Katie had been standing rigidly with her back to the door. She turned stiffly. "Yes," she said, unsmiling.
"Katie! What is wrong?" Leigh Anne asked, releasing Dot and rushing to the six-year-old. She slid her arm around her. "What has happened?"
Katie looked up at her and said, "I don't want her coming here."
"What?" Leigh Anne stroked her hair. "Dear, what are you talking about?"
Katie cast a baleful look at Francesca, who became horrified. "Tell her to leave."
Leigh Anne was startled, and she straightened, glancing at Francesca. Then she swiftly turned back to Katie. "Katie, a lady always minds her manners. That was beyond rude. Please apologize to Miss Cahill. And have you forgotten how kind Miss Cahill has been to you? Please apologize."
Katie bit her lip, cast an angry glance at Francesca, and said, "Sorry," clearly not meaning it.
Leigh Anne stared at the child and Francesca knew she was debating whether to take Katie to task now or later. Then Leigh Anne said, clasping Katie's thin shoulder, "I know how much you have been through in the past two months. We'll talk about this later, after the ladies have left."
Katie nodded, suddenly looking close to tears, and to Francesca's shock, she suddenly threw her arms around Leigh Anne, hugging her hard, sobbing.
Leigh Anne rocked her, murmuring, "There, there, darling, there, there."
Francesca backed away, realizing that this was all her fault. Katie had felt abandoned even before her mother had been murdered, due to Mary's hectic work schedule, and then her death had escalated those feelings. Francesca realized that Katie felt abandoned by her now, as well, as she had disappeared for an entire month. "Katie, I'm sorry," Francesca heard herself say. "I had to go out of town, and I am so sorry."
Katie stopped crying, sniffling now and wiping her eyes. She ignored Francesca.
"Do you feel better?" Leigh Anne asked, her arm still around her.
Katie nodded.
"You don't have to join the ladies and me for dessert if you do not want to."
Katie hesitated. "Did Peter buy those chocolate éclairs?"
Leigh Anne smiled. "Yes, he did."
Katie smiled back. "I'll come."
"Good." Leigh Anne kissed the top of her head, told Dot to be a good girl, and joined Francesca in the hall. Their gazes met and held, both women pausing.
Francesca stared into her unusually dark green eyes, thinking that any woman who cared for two orphans this way was a good person.
"Shall we?" Leigh Anne asked, staring back at Francesca as intently.
Francesca realized then that Leigh Anne was also thinking about her, not that she had a clue as to what the other woman's thoughts or real feelings about her were. She nodded grimly, but before either one of them moved, Leigh Anne's gaze dropped to Francesca's hands. A silence ensued; then Leigh Anne looked up and said frankly, "That ring is simply stunning."
An image of Hart, smiling and confident, flashed through Francesca's mind. In spite of the terribly uncomfortable encounter with Katie and Leigh Anne, his presence seemed to touch her and it was vastly reassuring. "Thank you. It's far too much for me, however."
"No, it's not." Leigh Anne smiled a little then.
Francesca thought about the way Leigh Anne had been with the girls and then thought about the extremely daring negligee in her boudoir. "You are truly fond of the children."
Leigh Anne pinkened slightly. "I always wanted children. But when Rick and I separated, I assumed it would never be."
Francesca hadn't known that. "Did he know?"
"Of course. When he was courting me we discussed our dreams and made so many plans." She became somber. "It feels like a bad but fading dream. How can two people fall in love, share so much—and then have it all vanish almost overnight?"
"I don't know," Francesca said hoarsely, because that was exactly how her brief and unrequited love affair with Bragg could be described.
Leigh Anne glanced again at Francesca's hand. "You and Calder make a stunning couple."
"Do we?" Francesca didn't believe it, and she was almost certain Leigh Anne was being polite.
"Yes, you do. He's so strikingly dark, you're so golden, it's almost magical," she said.
Francesca looked her in the eye. "You didn't seem surprised when he announced our engagement." What she really wanted to say was, You didn't seem pleased.
"I was surprised. Every single person in that room was surprised." Leigh Anne then smiled. "There are a hundred women in this city who are green with jealousy, Francesca."
Francesca shrugged. "I truly doubt anyone is jealous of me."
"Hart is a catch. You know, it's almost incredible that he is in love, that he wants to marry. The man I met four years ago was a sworn bachelor."
Francesca wasn't about to tell her that love was not involved.
Now Leigh Anne appeared ever so slightly anxious. "May I ask you something? It's personal and impertinent."
"At least you are honest." She hesitated. "Only if I may ask you something in return."
Leigh Anne smiled genuinely then. "A barter. Very well."
"You first?" Francesca also smiled.
Leigh Anne nodded. "Do you love Calder Hart?"
"That is personal." She hesitated, knowing she did not have to answer. "I enjoy being with him. Very much so. And..." She stopped. "Marrying him seems like the right thing to do." She did not add, Given the circumstances I now find myself in.
"But you were in love with Rick, not so long ago."
Francesca tensed.
When Leigh Anne had first come to the city in February, she had confronted Francesca immediately, making it clear that she would not abandon her husband after all. The interview had been terribly unpleasant. To this day, Francesca was not certain how Leigh Anne had learned of her romantic entanglement with Bragg. But they had been seen together frequently, in the most public places, and the world knew how closely they were working on the various cases they had solved. Once, at the theater, a friend of Julia had been observing them quite closely. Celia Thornton resided in Boston, as did Leigh Anne's family, and Francesca felt certain that it was Mrs. Thornton who had alerted Leigh Anne to the romance. "I fell in love with him before I even knew he was married. The day I found that out, why, it changed my life forever."
Leigh Anne nodded. "I understand why you love him. You are so much alike. But you know the old saying— opposites attract. I am very different from Rick—and that, I believe, is why he is so greatly attracted to me. I see the same thing with you and Calder."
Francesca tried not to think about the scrap of a negligee. "Do you love him?"
Leigh Anne smiled softly. "Very much," she said.
She seemed so sincere. "Then why did you stay away for four years?"
She raised her brows but spoke with great calm. "Now that is impertinent. And frankly, that is my business—and Rick's."
Francesca wasn't surprised by her answer. They started downstairs. Leigh Anne said, "Have you set a wedding date yet?"
"We are thinking of August."
Leigh Anne nodded. "It will be hot. June would be better."
Francesca stared, thinking about the divorce Bragg insisted he would have that August. Was the woman a masterful poker player? Did she manipulate and scheme, as Bragg claimed? Or was she simply the graceful and genteel woman that she always appeared to be? Francesca finally said, as they went downstairs, "Calder insists on five months. And my parents haven't agreed to anything."
"Your mother seems ecstatic—and I can't blame he
r." Leigh Anne smiled.
"There you are!" a familiar female voice exclaimed.
Francesca saw Bartolla Benevente, the flamboyant auburn-haired countess, coming gracefully toward them. She smiled. As usual, Bartolla flaunted convention, wearing a daring royal blue gown more suited for a dinner party than a luncheon. Much of her voluptuous bosom was revealed; her slim arms were bare. She wore numerous sapphires and diamonds. She embraced Francesca warmly. "Connie said you would be here, but I didn't think you would really join us," she said, her dark eyes warm. Still, her innuendo was clear—after all, it was Bartolla who had found Francesca in Bragg's arms on a sofa at a party two months ago.
But that had been before his wife had returned to him and their marriage.
"How could I pass up such a cause? The disgraceful state of public education is one of the issues I am most passionate about," Francesca said. She noted that Bartolla, always a head turner, was more radiant than ever. In fact, she almost looked as if she had very recently been in bed with a man.
Francesca knew that her brother was half in love with Bartolla. Evan was a bit of a rake, and he had always gravitated toward frankly sensual and stunning women. He had been overcome from the moment he had first met the widowed countess. But at the time he had been engaged to Sarah Channing, against his will. Francesca knew he had broken off the engagement several weeks ago. He had also quit the family firm and moved out of the house that had been built for him when the Cahill mansion had been constructed. He now resided at the Fifth Avenue Hotel.
It was hard to say who had disowned whom, Evan or her father.
"It is a very important cause," Bartolla agreed.
"Thousands of children are denied the education that is their right, due to a lack of teachers and schools," Leigh Anne said.
Francesca stared at the petite brunette. "Some would say that education is a privilege, not a right," she remarked, testing her.
Leigh Anne lifted her brows. "But certainly not you."
Francesca wished to draw her into a debate—to see if she was genuinely a reformist at heart. "I believe in our Constitution," she said, refusing to say why.
"As do I." Leigh Anne smiled.
