Page 18 of Haunted
“And before,” she admitted. She met his gaze and finally answered the question. “No, I don’t mind. I am glad because he has gone where he should be.”
He nodded. “You loved him very much.”
“I did.” Raising her hand, she touched his cheek. He had shaved recently and did not smell of smoke, just of soap and cleanliness and George. “My life is not over. Even for this—especiallynot for this.”
Somewhere not too far away, birds were singing. She could hear cattle lowing and chickens making a racket. She wondered vaguely what had happened to hers.
George said, “Do you think you might ever love again?”
“Yes,” she said softly. “I think I might.”
His breath caught. “Do you think that you might ever fall in love withme?”
Her heart thudded. “You might try to convince me.”
He smiled with his lips and his eyes, and then just with his eyes as he bent his head and finally kissed her mouth.
The kiss was everything she had imagined and more. Gentle and sweet and tender. She clung to his lips, and when it ended, she kissed him back, and this time it was lazily sensual, exploring, arousing.
“Sir George,” she whispered against his lips. “I have not known you two days, but I think I am already half in love with you.”
“Good,” he said. “For I might be wholly in love with you.”
“How will we know?”
“A little more kissing might help.”
It did.
*
Two days later,Mrs. Paston was “at home” to her gently born neighbors. Whether because of Francesca’s misfortune or Mr. Paston’s influence, she was now distantly kind to Francesca. If not friendly, she was at least hospitable in a condescending sort of a way. Francesca, grateful for the roof over her head and Mark’s, and delighted that it was the same roof that currently harbored George, did not resent the condescension. It was a sort of truce.
Naturally, since the Hazel House fire was the main topic of speculation in the village, the “at home” was well attended. Francesca was there, and the guests were quite avid to see her. She was sure they were disappointed to find that she and George sat on opposite sides of the room, but they asked innumerable questions.
She repeated several times that the hall was completely ruined, that she and Mark had been unharmed in the fire, and that the Martins were slowly recovering, having been rescued by Sir Arthur Astley. And yes, Jack and Bill were bound over to stand trial. The vicar’s wife listened without actually speaking to her. The vicar himself had called on her the day before with his sympathies and good wishes.
A footman entered once more and presented Mrs. Paston with a visiting card on a silver salver. She picked it up, blinked,and blurted, “The Duchess of Cuttyngham! Of course, show Her Grace in at once.”
Francesca’s gaze flew to George’s face, but he was deliberately not looking at her.
“You are acquainted with the duchess?” the vicar’s wife asked with a gasp.
A war waged visibly across Mrs. Paston’s face, but reluctant truth won out. “Why, no, though I suppose Cuttyngs is not so very far away…” She rose to greet her august guest, nervously smoothing out her skirts.
An instant later, two young, fashionably dressed ladies swept into the room. The first lady held out her hand as she approached Mrs. Paston, who curtseyed before taking the hand in a bemused kind of way.
“Your Grace is most welcome. I am Mrs. Paston.”
“Olivia Cuttyngham,” said the duchess informally. “My sister-in-law, Lady Hera Rivers. I hope you will forgive the intrusion, but I have been searching for my friend, Mrs. Hazel, and just learned that her home has burned down! Could you possibly direct me to her?”
Francesca was stunned. She had forgotten George’s plan, which hardly mattered now.
“But of course,” Mrs. Paston said, clearly torn between shock at discovering Francesca’s connection to a duchess, and delight at being able to oblige Her Grace. “Mrs. Hazel is staying with us while she decides the best way to go forward.”
NowGeorge was looking at Francesca, his gaze oddly commanding. With an inward shrug she rose and went to Her Grace. “How pleasant to see you, Duchess,” she said. “I should have written to you…”
“Oh, stuff,” said the duchess graciously.
