Because We Belong (Because You Are Mine #3)(32)
Later that afternoon, she held up the brushed and freshened red dress next to the white and silver gown. Her heart sank. Of course she’d wear the delivered gown. She realized the diamond choker would look stunning with it. Was that why Gerard had chosen it?
But no. She would return that choker to Gerard. It was too much. Far too much. Her triple strand of pearls would look just as lovely with the dress, along with the diamond pins Ian had once given her to wear in her hair. She tried to convince herself that her choice to return the necklace had nothing to do with Gerard’s comment on Christmas Eve about Ian leaving a choker on her as he’d touched the pearls. No, he hadn’t meant anything by giving her a diamond choker, as if to replace Ian’s pearls. It was all ridiculous anyway. Ian had certainly not left a hold on her of any kind.
“Exquis,” Elise said wide-eyed later that afternoon when Francesca showed her the gown. She and Lucien had arrived just before an especially lavish afternoon tea—Anne had explained that a traditional dinner wouldn’t be served at the ball since it officially began at nine p.m., but instead hors d’oeuvres and then a midnight supper buffet were planned. After the filling tea of sandwiches, fruit, and pudding, Elise had accompanied Francesca to her suite to chat before it was time to prepare for the ball. Elise seemed to notice her puzzlement at her exclamation. Francesca’s French was not good. “That dress rocks,” Elise translated succinctly. “And you say Gerard gave it to you?”
Francesca nodded, unable to disguise her disquietude.
“He is a handsome one,” Elise conceded doubtfully, plopping down on the couch. “Seems nice enough as well. Course he’s not Ian.”
“Isn’t that for the best?” Francesca said dryly, hanging up the gown.
“I guess that all depends on what you think. Francesca?” Elise added when she didn’t immediately turn around, but busied herself adjusting the gown. “What do you think?”
Francesca was glad when Clarisse rapped at the door, asking to start her bath in preparation for the ball. It seemed like a good time to change the subject.
* * *
Her heart pounded uncomfortably at eight forty-five that evening as she stood in the reception line with Lucien and Elise behind her, waiting to offer her official well wishes to the earl and countess on their anniversary. Elise and Lucien looked like a vision—Elise in a gown of deep purple that optimally highlighted the rare color of her eyes, an exquisite platinum and sapphire necklace and her pavé diamond and sapphire wedding ring; Lucien strikingly handsome, as usual, in a formal tuxedo with white tie. The Great Hall was breathtaking, decorated with firelit crystal globes, magnificent silver candelabra, and fresh, aromatic garland, the Christmas tree ablaze.
She wasn’t quite sure why her heart was beating so fast in anxious excitement, but thought perhaps it was due to all the fine people filling the hall: the rich, the titled, and the famous mixing with the house staff and several people from the village. They all milled around, sipping the champagne being passed by waiters, waiting for the ballroom doors to be thrown open. A string quartet played in muted tones, contributing to the festive mood of anticipation. Lucien and Elise’s presence right behind her in the line gave her some of the reassurance she sorely required. She glimpsed Clarisse in the distance, looking pretty in a pale gold dress. The maid gave a little wave and Francesca waved back, returning her excited grin.
She saw the back of a tall, broad-shouldered man in the distance in the receiving line wearing a tuxedo, and realized she’d get a chance immediately to thank Gerard for the dress. He deserved her gratitude. She’d never felt so pretty. The dress fit her like it’d been made for her. Clarisse had styled her hair in a delicate weave, using the diamond pins to skillfully form it into a red-gold, loose sort of crown that struck Francesca as unpretentious yet supremely elegant.
They finally reached the anniversary couple.
“Francesca, dear,” Anne said, her voice sounding unnaturally high as Francesca leaned down to kiss her cheek and offer her congratulations. Why did Anne look so undone—strangely radiant and worried at once? Francesca wondered blankly when she straightened and noticed the countess’s expression.
“The dress looks lovely on you. I knew it would.”
An electrical pulse seemed to start at the very base of Francesca’s brain and course down her spine, setting off a chain reaction to every nerve in her body. She stood as if frozen. It hadn’t been Gerard she’d seen standing in the reception line with Anne and James.
“I didn’t have time to tell you,” she distantly heard Anne mutter apologetically under her breath.
“He just came down as the first guests arrived,” James said.
Ian’s face looked like it’d been carved from cold alabaster, but his eyes seemed to burn right through her.
“Well,” he said quietly, his familiar deep, slightly gruff, British-accented voice seeming to scrape gently over her prickling skin. “Aren’t you going to say anything?”
She inhaled fully for the first time since seeing Anne’s anguished expression.
“Yes,” she replied. “Excuse me.”
She turned and plunged into the mingling crowd, the brilliant gowns and flickering flame and abrupt laughter striking her stunned brain like an assault. The only thing that she could be sure of, the only thing that felt terrifyingly real, was that invisible tether that had always seemed to join her and Ian stretching tight. It tugged painfully deep in her chest as she fled, threatening to rip at something vital.