Eloise actually laughed, fiendish turncoat that she was. “Oh, my poor delusional Francesca,” she said, “once he arrives the questions will redouble. They’ll simply change from ‘Where is he?’ to ‘Tell us more.’”
“I fear she’s right,” Kate said.
“Oh, God,” Francesca groaned, looking for a wall to sag against.
“Did you just blaspheme?” Sophie asked, blinking in surprise.
Francesca sighed. “I seem to be doing quite a bit of it lately.”
Sophie gave her a kindly look, then suddenly exclaimed, “You’re wearing blue!”
Francesca looked down at her new evening gown. She was quite pleased with it actually, not that anyone had noticed besides Sophie. It was one of her favorite shades of blue, not quite royal and not quite marine. The gown was elegantly simple, with a neckline adorned with a softly draped swath of lighter blue silk. She felt like a princess in it, or if not a princess, then at the very least, not quite so much the untouchable widow.
“Are you out of mourning, then?” Sophie asked.
“Well, I’ve been out of mourning for a few years now,” Francesca mumbled. Now that she had finally shrugged off her grays and lavenders, she felt a little silly for having clung to them for so long.
“We knew you were out and about,” Sophie said, “but you never changed your clothing, and-Well, it’s of no matter. I’m just so pleased to see you in blue!”
“Does this mean that you will consider remarrying?” Kate asked. “It has been four years.”
Francesca winced. Trust Kate to get right to the point. But she couldn’t keep her plans a secret forever, not if she wanted to meet with any success, so all she said was, “Yes.”
For a moment no one spoke. And then of course, they spoke all at once, offering congratulations and advice and various other bits of nonsense that Francesca wasn’t positive she wished to hear. But it was all said with the best and most loving of intentions, so she just smiled and nodded and accepted their good wishes.
And then Kate said, “We shall have to set this about, of course.”
Francesca was aghast. “I beg your pardon?”
“The blue dress is an excellent signal of your intentions,” Kate explained, “but do you really think the men of London are perceptive enough to grasp it? Of course not,” she said, answering her own question before anyone else could. “I could dye Sophie’s hair to black, and most of them wouldn’t notice a thing.”
“Well, Benedict would notice,” Sophie pointed out loyally.
“Yes, well, he’s your husband, and besides that, he’s a painter. He’s trained to actually notice things. Most men-” Kate cut herself off, looking rather irritated with the turn in the conversation. “You do see my point, don’t you?”
“Of course,” Francesca murmured.
“The fact of the matter,” Kate continued, “is that most of humanity has more hair than wit. If you wish for people to be aware that you are on the Marriage Mart, you shall have to make it quite clear. Or rather, we shall have to make it clear for you.”
Francesca had horrible visions of her female relatives, chasing down men until the poor fellows ran screaming for the doors. “What, precisely, do you mean to do?”
“Oh, goodness, don’t cast up your dinner.”
“Kate!” Sophie exclaimed.
“Well, you must admit that she looked as if she were about to.”
Sophie rolled her eyes. “Well, yes, but you needn’t have remarked upon it.”
“I enjoyed the comment,” Eloise put in helpfully.
Francesca speared her with a glare, since she was feeling the need to give someone a dirty look, and it was always easiest to do so with one’s blood relatives.
“We shall be masters of tact and discretion,” Kate said.
‘Trust us,“ Eloise added.
“Well, I certainly can’t stop you,” Francesca said.
She noticed that even Sophie did not contradict her.
“Very well,” she said. “I am off to obtain one last eclair.”
“I think they’re gone,” Sophie said, giving her a sympathetic look.
Francesca’s heart sank. “The chocolate biscuits?”
“Gone as well.”
“What’s left?”
“The almond cake.”
“The one that tasted like dust?”
“That’s the one,” Eloise put in. “It was the only dessert Mother didn’t sample ahead of time. I warned her, of course, but no one ever listens to me.”
Francesca felt herself deflate. Pathetic as she was, the promise of a sweet was the only thing keeping her going just then.
“Cheer up, Frannie,” Eloise said, her chin lifting a notch as she looked out over the crowd. “I see Michael.”
And sure enough, there he was. Standing on the other side of the room, looking sinfully elegant in his black evening kit. He was surrounded by women, which didn’t surprise Francesca in the least. Half were the sorts who were pursuing him for marriage, either for themselves or their daughters.
The other half, Francesca noted, were young and married, and clearly pursuing him for something else entirely.
“I’d forgotten how handsome he was,” Kate murmured.
Francesca glared at her.
“He’s very tanned,” Sophie added.
“He was in India,” Francesca said. “Of course he’s tanned.”
“You’re rather short of temper this evening,” Eloise said.
Francesca schooled her features into an impassive mask. “I’m just weary of being asked about him, that’s all. He’s not my favorite topic of conversation.”
“Did the two of you have a falling out?” Sophie inquired.
“No, of course not,” Francesca replied, realizing belatedly that she’d given the wrong impression. “But I have done nothing but speak of him all evening. At this point I would be quite delighted to comment on the weather.”
“Hmmm.”
“Yes.”
“Right. Of course.”
Francesca had no idea who’d said what, especially when she realized that all four of them were just standing there staring at Michael and his bevy of women.
“He is handsome.” Sophie sighed. “All that delicious black hair.”
“Sophie!” Francesca exclaimed.
“Well, he is,” Sophie said defensively. “And you didn’t say anything to Kate when she made the same comment.”
“You’re both married,” Francesca muttered.
“Does that mean / might comment upon his good looks?” Eloise asked. “Spinster that I am.”
Francesca turned to her sister in disbelief. “Michael is the last man you’d want to marry.”
“Why is that?” This came from Sophie, but Francesca. noticed that Eloise was listening closely for her answer as well.
“Because he’s a terrible rake,” Francesca said.
“Funny,” Eloise murmured. “You flew quite off the handle when Hyacinth said the same thing a fortnight ago.”
Trust Eloise to remember everything. “Hyacinth didn’t know what she was talking about,” Francesca said. “She never does. And besides, we were talking about his punctuality, not his marriageability.”
“And what renders him so unmarriageable?” Eloise asked.
Francesca leveled a serious stare at her older sister. Eloise was mad if she thought she should set her cap for Michael.
“Well?” Eloise prodded.
“He could never remain faithful to one woman,” Fran-cesca said, “and I doubt you’d be willing to put up with infidelities.”
“No,” Eloise murmured, “not unless he’d be willing to put up with severe bodily injury.”
The four ladies fell silent at that, continuing their shameless perusal of Michael and his companions. He leaned down and murmured something in one of their ears, causing the lady in question to titter and blush, hiding her mouth behind her hand.
“He’s quite a flirt,” Kate said.
“A certain air about him,” Sophie confirmed. “Those women haven’t a chance.”