Because We Belong (Because You Are Mine #3)(28)
“The only thing we want you to feel,” Anne said, stepping forward and taking her hand and with a significant glance, “is at home.”
* * *
Anne escorted her to her assigned suite on the second floor. While they chatted about the schedule for the next few days, a woman knocked and asked politely if she could unpack. At first, Francesca was confused by her request. The woman was young and pretty—in her twenties, probably about Francesca’s age. She didn’t wear the stereotypical clothing of a maid, but instead an attractive dark blue dress that belted at the waist, a tasteful silk scarf, and fashionable flats. She looked more like a chic young executive than a maid.
“Why don’t you come back and do it while Francesca showers,” Anne suggested warmly. “She’s going to freshen up after her flight.”
“Of course, my lady,” Clarisse said, taking her leave.
After Francesca had showered, she walked into the suite only to find Clarisse stowing her unpacked suitcase in the massive walk-in closet.
“I have a glass of club soda and lime waiting for you. Her ladyship said it was your favorite drink. I hung up this dress for you to wear tonight for Christmas Eve dinner. I thought it might be the one you had in mind, but please let me know if you’d like another,” Clarisse said kindly, waving at the dark red off-the-shoulder dress hanging on a hook just inside the open closet door. Francesca swallowed uncomfortably. It had been the nicest dress she’d packed, and she’d done so with the ball in mind, not Christmas Eve dinner.
“I . . . yes, of course. That was nice of you,” she faltered, unwilling to put her ignorance on display.
“Not at all,” Clarisse said brightly. “Is your dress for the ball going to be delivered? I only wanted to know because I can look out for it for you, air it out, and get it ready.”
“Um, it’s all still in the works. I’ll let you know,” she said, blushing. Oh no. The anniversary party must be a lot more formal then she’d realized . . . or had any experience to realize. And the “quiet Christmas Eve and Christmas, just with family” must be as well, Francesca thought with rising discomfort.
She felt too embarrassed to highlight her stupidity in front of a stranger. She’d just have to confess her ignorance and lack of preparation to Anne tonight. Perhaps there was a shop nearby where she could pick up something appropriate? Even as she thought it, she had a sinking feeling she was doomed to stand out like a red-faced fool at the ball. It was bad enough in regard to herself, but she hated the idea of embarrassing Anne and James on their special night.
She turned down Clarisse’s amiable offer to do her hair for dinner, and the maid vacated the suite. Francesca turned to stare at the dark crimson dress, her fears about highlighting her gaucheness once again taking center stage. Funny, she thought she’d outgrown her insecurities. But then again, she’d really only become comfortable at high-profile events or formal dinners because Ian was there, his effortless, complete confidence spreading to her . . . always strengthening her.
She didn’t have him to lean on now, though. She’d been kidding herself to think she could function and hold her head up in surroundings such as these.
At least the dress did good things for her complexion, she decided later as she examined herself from the front and back nervously in the full-length mirror. The skin of her shoulders and back gleamed. Ian had frequently told her that her shoulders and back were two of her best features, and often bought her dresses that highlighted them.
Stop thinking about what Ian thought, she snapped at herself as she reached for a pair of black suede leather heels that featured an ankle strap. She wore her long hair up, accessorizing with a favorite triple-strand pearl choker that Ian had given her and matching earrings. It was the best she could do, she decided grimly as she looked from the mirror to the golden clock on the sofa table. Anne had said they’d meet in the sitting room—wherever that was—at seven for a drink before dinner.
Francesca couldn’t be sure if Clarisse really just happened to be walking by when she went down the grand staircase, or if her presence there was by design. Everything seemed to happen so effortlessly in the Noble household, as if all had been choreographed by some god of graceful etiquette.
“Thank you,” Francesca said to Clarisse when she led her to a white and crimson paneled door and opened it for her. Perhaps the maid noticed Francesca’s anxiety, because she gave her a heartening smile.
The first face she saw upon entering the warm, cozy room was Gerard.
“Don’t you look like a vision,” he said, his gaze running over her with clear masculine appreciation. He looked very handsome and at ease in a tuxedo with black tie, his forearm resting on the mantel of the fireplace, highball glass in hand. Anne and James were there, calling their greetings as they stood from two plush, chocolate brown sofas that faced each another before a crackling fire.
“I have to wash off all the paint and present myself in a decent light at least a few times a year,” Francesca said breathlessly to Gerard after she’d greeted them all. She turned her chin when Gerard leaned down to kiss her, so that his warm lips brushed her cheek. She glanced around, realizing that the room was quite large with several comfortable seating areas. “What a beautiful room, Anne. What a beautiful tree,” she exclaimed, moving past Gerard to admire the eight-foot pine decorated with tiny white lights and handcrafted German ornaments, some of them clearly antiques. Her gaze lingered on the painted ornament of a miniature motorcycle. The Christmas tree in the Great Hall was all about grandeur, but this tree was clearly an intimate one for a private gathering place. “Is this where you and . . . Is this where you usually celebrated Christmas with the family?” she asked Anne, who had approached to stand next to her. She looked lovely in a winter white dress and diamonds.