Brenda Joyce - [Francesca Cahill 06] Read online

  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 her.” 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 enga
gement 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.

  Francesca stared, refusing to expound upon the Bill of Rights and wondering if Leigh Anne had a clue as to what she was talking about.

  “We all believe in freedom and equality,” Bartolla said with a sigh. “Let me see that ring, Francesca,” she added slyly. And before Francesca could react, Bartolla lifted her hand, exclaiming over the huge stone. Francesca felt herself blush.

  “I am certain that is from Asprey! Francesca, are you tickled pink? Imagine, bringing Calder Hart to heel like that!” Bartolla laughed heartily. “You, a blue-skirted bluestocking, a sleuth, dear God, have brought down the city’s worst womanizer! You do know that a hundred ladies are conspiring even as we speak to bring about your untimely demise?” She laughed again, as if truly enjoying herself.

  “I doubt that,” Francesca murmured, feeling herself blush.

  “He must be smitten. And I can imagine why! You are the first woman to say no, are you not?” She grinned widely then.

  “I beg your pardon?” Francesca said, her ears now burning. If only Bartolla knew that Hart was the one saying no, refusing to heed Francesca’s pleas to the contrary.

  “I think it is wonderful,” Leigh Anne said.

  “So who will be his best man?” Bartolla asked slyly. “Let me guess—Rick Bragg?”

  Francesca almost gasped, looking directly into Bartolla’s laughing eyes.

  “Well, they are brothers,” Bartolla said, clearly enjoying herself.

  Francesca could not think of a word to say.

  Calmly Leigh Anne said, “You know very well that they do not get along. I feel certain Calder will invite Rathe to be his best man.” Rathe Bragg, Rick’s biological father, had taken both Calder and Rick in when their mother had died. Calder had been ten, Rick twelve. Rathe had raised the boys with his other children.

  “And you must be thrilled!” Bartolla cried, hugging Leigh Anne. “Things have certainly changed since you first arrived in town, haven’t they? And when did you arrive, my dear? It was early February, was it not?”

  “I arrived on the fifteenth,” Leigh Anne said with a composed smile. “I must get back to my guests. Ladies?” And she swept past them, inviting them to join her.

  But neither Francesca nor Bartolla moved. They stared after Leigh Anne until she had disappeared into the salon or at the end of the hall where the ladies were dining. Bartolla sighed. “Now, I am utterly bored with this insipid little luncheon. I am meeting your brother for tea, and he is taking me shopping. Do you wish to join us?”

  Francesca shook her head. “I must mingle. How is Evan?”

  Bartolla’s eyes glinted. “Dashing, handsome, irresistible,” she laughed.

  Francesca had to smile. She was relieved at the change of topic. “I heard he finally broke it off with Sarah. How is she?”

  Sarah and Bartolla were cousins. “Happier than ever. Painting like mad. She has started on your portrait, Francesca; I’ve seen some preliminary sketches. I am truly impressed. Calder will be thrilled.” She grinned.

  Francesca winced. She had promised Hart last night that she would speak with Sarah today and reminded herself now that she must do so before going home. “Tell Evan I adore him—and that I miss him.”

  Bartolla’s smile vanished. “He will come to his senses soon. Trust me. I am certain of it.”

  Francesca did not think so. Her brother was furious with their father, and she had never seen Evan take such a stand before. “Papa blackmailed him into that engagement, Bartolla. I do not think he will return home or to the company anytime soon.”

  “He is being a child,” she said with a shrug. “An angry child. And did you hear he has taken a pitiful job as some lawyer’s clerk? Trust me. I will make sure he does the right thing.” And she smiled.

  Francesca wasn’t sure she favored Evan returning home. She was very proud of him for doing what he wanted to do with his life instead of doing as their father wished.

  Bartolla asked Peter for her coat. Then she smiled at Francesca. “I did not mean to be rude before. I am so excited for you! But things have truly changed, haven’t they? How strange life can be. Do you love Hart? Has he seduced you?”

  “Bartolla,” Francesca tried.

  “You can tell me!” she exclaimed. “I saw this coming months ago! Hart was so jealous of your sleuthing with Bragg. But he is irresistible, isn’t he? And frankly, darling, there is no one better in bed.”

  Francesca trembled. She already knew that years ago Hart and Bartolla had had a brief affair. Now, done with each other, they had mutual feelings that bordered on mild dislike for each other. Still, Francesca did not need to be reminded of his long ago affair now.

  But Bartolla knew she had discomfited Francesca. “Darling, with a man like Hart, you will be faced with his previous paramours constantly. In fact, when you walk into a room, you will always wonder who he has slept with and who he has not.”

  Francesca stared. Suddenly she was stricken. But it was true. Hart had been with so many women—suddenly she was ill. How would she ever bear it? She and Hart would attend an affair and there would always be a woman present who knew him intimately. In that moment, Francesca knew she could not bear it. It would kill her, not knowing who his ex-lovers were—and knowing would be even worse.

  Bartolla thanked Peter and took her coat. “And how is Bragg taking the news? He certainly seemed upset last night.”

  Francesca flinched, unable to stop thinking about all of Hart’s ex-lovers. “He is very happy with Leigh Anne,” she lied.

  “Oh, please. He can hardly bear to be around her—it’s so painfully obvious—although I suspect they are a good match in bed.” She shrugged on her gray brocade coat, trimmed with chinchilla. “He still loves you, Francesca. That is painfully obvious, too.”

  She froze. With Bragg, she would never have to worry about ex-lovers and his eventually breaking her heart. “He does? You think he still loves me . . . that way?”

  “How could you not see what everyone else sees?” Bartolla asked with surprise, drawing on her gloves.

  Francesca inhaled. Hart had warned her not to trust this woman, but they were friends and Bartolla was such a worldly woman. “I am confused,” she whispered unsteadily. “I am very confused, Bartolla.”

  Bartolla took her hand. “Tell me about it. Although I am sure I already know. You are torn, aren’t you?”

  Francesca nodded, suddenly miserable. “But I do adore Hart,” she whispered.

  “You adore his bed,” Bartolla said, her eyes big and sincere. “We both know that if Bragg were single, you’d never look twice at a rake like Hart.”

  She shook her head, wanting to deny it, but she was afraid that Bartolla had hit the truth. “No. Hart and I have become real friends. It simply happened.”

  “Hart doesn’t have friends,” Bartolla said.

  “I am his first,” Francesca whispered.

  Bartolla raised her dark brows, clearly disbelieving. But that was the one thing Francesca was sure of—that Hart was really her friend. He had proven it too many times to count.

  “Have you slept with him?” Bartolla asked.

  Francesca
flushed. “Bartolla . . . ”

  “I won’t tell.” She smiled.

  Francesca hesitated. “Hart insists that we wait for our wedding night.”

  “Really?” Both dark brows lifted. “How odd.”

  “He is not a predictable man,” Francesca said.

  “No, he is hardly predictable. And I daresay he will be a difficult husband, too.”

  Francesca hoped not.

  Bartolla shrugged. “Not that it matters. You will do as you choose, for you are a headstrong woman, which is one of the reasons I so like you. And marriage isn’t the end of the world, really. If you did get bored, or decided that Hart was too much of a tyrant—or became bothered by his affairs—why, you could always have an affair, as well.”

  “I’m not that way,” Francesca said, shocked.

  “But you are so bohemian!”

  “I am actually, foolishly, rather romantic.”

  “Oh, dear. Then you had better think twice about marrying Calder Hart, as he will break your heart quicker than I can utter these words.”

  Francesca turned away. She already knew this, and now her fear and panic were surging forth. She must be mad, to be marrying Calder Hart, because he would do more than break her heart; he would rip it into useless little shreds. She knew it—and Bartolla knew it, too.

  “At least Rick will always be waiting in the wings to pick up the pieces,” Bartolla remarked.

  Francesca inhaled, hard. Bartolla was so perceptive. Because that was what would happen, wasn’t it? She would eventually find Hart with another woman, she would be broken into pieces, and Bragg would be there, to hold her, comfort her, and tell her it was all right. And she knew he would never say, “I told you so.” Francesca closed her eyes, overwhelmed with the reality of her dilemma.

  But would he still be with Leigh Anne?

  “I didn’t mean to upset you so!” Bartolla exclaimed, taking her hand again.

  Francesca forced herself to smile. “I am not upset. And fortunately, I am not in love with Hart. I am fond of him and I look forward to sharing his bed.” She could not believe she had been so nonsensical, so matter-of-fact. To add to the effect, she shrugged as if she had not a care in the world.