She pressed her nails into her palm to keep from balking, reminding herself he wasn’t Roxbury. In all the time she had known Roxbury, she had never seen him accept blame or responsibility for anything. But here stood Winterbourne, blaming himself for her outburst. It was almost endearing.
He put his hand on the back of the chair. “Sit down. Please,” he added.
Her eyes widened.Please? He wasaskingher? She imaginedpleasewas not a word the Marquess of Winterbourne had used very often in his lifetime. Well, if he wanted her to sit that badly, she supposed it was the least she could do.
She sat, and he looked relieved. But she had no intention of giving into him. She waited, but he didn’t speak. And when she raised her eyebrows expectantly he clenched his jaw.
“Just—” He turned away from her. “Just give me a moment.”
Her chair faced away from the fire, and he went to the hearth behind her. She heard him rummaging around and craned her neck around the chair back to see him opening the wicker basket.
Why did he insist on staying? Peter could see her back.
Roxbury’s familiar refrain floated through her mind.Not very quick-witted, are you?he’d taunt.Sad, pathetic excuse for a woman. She recoiled at the memory of what usually came next and fresh humiliation coursed through her. How could she have allowed Roxbury to humiliate her so?
Thank God no one knew how Roxbury had treated her. Even her father, who’d defended her break with Roxbury when her mother had begged, scolded, and cajoled her wayward daughter to change her mind, didn’t know.
Lord Brigham might have sensed that something wasn’t right between the couple, but there was virtually no possibility he could know the truth. Roxbury was too careful, both in his timing and his well-placed aim. Her father had had no concrete reason to support her decision to end the betrothal, and every reason not to, but he’d backed her anyway, and for that support she would be eternally grateful.
Winterbourne was still rummaging behind her, and the silence made her uncomfortable. “I’m sorry I behaved as I did earlier,” she said, feeling some explanation was called for. “I don’t know what came over me.”
“Hmm.”
He shifted something, and she peered back at him again.
“You were betrothed to Roxbury for some time before you broke it off?” he said.
Her heart stopped and then skipped ahead. “Why do you ask?”
––––––––
“JUST CURIOUS.” HE DIDN’Tlook at her, so she couldn’t see the expression on his face. Knowing he could be relentless in his questioning, she was wary of the inquiry.
“Yes. We were betrothed for several months.”
“And you broke it off?” He continued to fumble in the basket, his face hidden from her. “How did your parents take it? Roxbury is an earl—a respected member of the House of Lords. He’s the type of man your father would need in order to further his own career in politics.”
Francesca wasn’t surprised at how quickly Winterbourne had grasped the situation. After all, he knew Society as well as she.
“Yes,” she answered. “Daddy was disappointed but accepted it. Roxbury isn’t wealthy. His estate is heavily mortgaged, and he’s made several bad investments.”
Financial affairs were no secret in theton, and Francesca knew Winterbourne would fill in the rest. Roxbury needed the money his marriage to her would have provided. Not that she was an heiress. Her family wasn’t fabulously wealthy—certainly nowhere near as affluent as Winterbourne was reputed to be—but the Dashings had land and not all of her father’s blunt was tied to the estate. Her father’s careful management of Tanglewilde and his business acumen had increased the family fortunes.
“You ended the affair quietly.” His voice was soft, a caress behind her.
“We hadn’t yet announced it inThe Times, so discretion was not an issue.”
“You mentioned your parents took the break well, but what about Roxbury?”
She snorted. “Roxbury was more put out by the loss of my dowry than by the loss of my affections.”
“I see.” His voice sounded tight. He stood, and to her surprise, he placed a cup of warm tea in her hands. Without a word, he dropped three lumps of sugar into it and handed her a spoon.
“What is this?” She sniffed the sweet, comforting aroma.
“Tea.” She heard him mutter. “Can’t find any milk in here, so you’ll have to make do without.”
“Don’t trouble yourself,” she answered out of habit. “I don’t take milk in my tea.”
