With a breeziness she didn’t feel, she turned for the door. Her hand was reaching for the handle when the door flew open and Lady Brigham leapt inside.
Her mother’s head whipped around frantically, her blue skirts billowing and her golden curls bouncing. When she spotted Francesca, she squealed and dove. Before Francesca could dart out of the way, her mother grabbed her by the shoulders and shook her. Francesca’s head felt as though a board slammed into it.
“Mia figlia, preziosa! Is it true? Tell me it’s true,dolce!”
“Tell you what’s true,Mamma?” Her voice rattled between her mother’s shakes. “What are you talking about?”
“Your betrothal,naturalmente! Do not tease me,mia cuore.” Her mother thrust her away with a wounded expression.
“Mybetrothal? Of course, it’s n—”
She felt warmth encircle her waist and a firm squeeze. Winterbourne stood beside her, his arm encircling her. “It’s true, my lady,” he interrupted. “I see your husband wasted no time in telling you. I only asked his permission an hour ago.”
Francesca stared at Winterbourne, dumbfounded. She hadnotagreed to this ridiculous mock engagement, and she had certainly never agreed to lie about it to her mother.
Angry, she looked back at her mother, ready to reveal the truth and end the farce once and for all.
The words died on her lips.
Tears filled her mother’s eyes. With her hands on her tremulous lips, her face was such a beacon of happiness that for a moment Francesca wished with all her heart that the betrothalwasreal. She glanced back at Winterbourne, now fastened firmly to her waist, and saw that his mouth had quirked into a half smile in response to her mother’s obvious elation.
“B-but—how?” her mother sputtered. “When?”
Winterbourne looked down at Francesca, a tender expression on his face. “I fell in love with your daughter the first time I saw her.”
Francesca stared into his eyes, the honey-gold flecks trapping her in the amber surrounding them. It’s not true.It’s not true, she repeated to herself.
As if he could read her thoughts, Winterbourne gave her mother a sheepish look and said with a chuckle, “Well, the second time I saw her. I barely remember the first.”
Francesca swallowed hard. She wanted to say something, to deny all of his lies, but the muscles in her throat were paralyzed.Not true. Not true, she silently chanted instead, trying to at least convince herself.
“Oh, how romantic!” Her mother clasped her hands together over her heart. “And when did you askmia figlia,mia figlia dolce, to marry you?”
He looked down at Francesca again and squeezed her side. Her skin came alive under his hand, warmth radiating into her body from every inch making contact with him. Then he took her hand, brought it to his lips, and kissed her knuckles.
Gaze still locked on her face, he said, “I asked her last night, and she agreed.” He glanced back at her mother with that charming, roguish smile of his. “Not without a few stipulations, of course.” He raised one mischievous eyebrow, and her mother tittered with laughter.
“Naturalmente!”
He was still staring at her and holding her hand lightly between his fingertips when Francesca finally pried her gaze away from his to glance at her mother. The poor woman was euphoric, not to mention completely convinced.
And Francesca realized thatshewanted to be convinced as well. More than anything, she wanted to believe that this betrothal was real. That—just for one day—the Marquess of Winterbourne wanted her, loved her.
A tiny but insidious thought crept into her mind. Perhaps if she played along, perhaps if they pretended to be betrothed, it might somehow become reality.
No.
Francesca squeezed her eyes shut and pushed the idea away.
No. This was wrong.
She couldn’t fathom what her father might have been thinking, but perhaps somehow Winterbourne had convinced him that tricking her mother into believing this betrothal was real was the best course of action. For her own part, she couldn’t bear to lie. Couldn’t bear to watch her mother so happy, when Francesca knew that in a few days, when the truth came out, she would be equally unhappy, if not more so.
She took a deep breath, “Mamma,” she began, her tone full of regret.
Winterbourne must have realized her intent because he squished her hand. She darted a glance at him. A warning flickered in his eyes. The gold flecks had changed from languorous molten honey to gold sparks of fire. She narrowed her eyes in challenge. How dare he try to intimidate her? This washermother, not his, and he couldn’t bully her into lying to her own mother. She shot him a defiant look and turned back to her mother. Lady Brigham was watching her expectantly, her face bright in anticipation of another surprise.
Francesca sighed, her shoulders sagging. Lord help her, she couldn’t do it. With all that had happened in the past day, she couldn’t dishearten her mother any further. Tomorrow would be soon enough to break the poor woman’s heart.
