When He Was Wicked (Bridgertons #6)(43)

“Which one?” Not that they all couldn’t use a bit of torture.

“That one.” She pointed toward Colin. “Hasn’t he just returned from Greece?”

“Cyprus, actually.”

“Greece, Cyprus, it’s all the same to me.”

“Not to them, I imagine,” Francesca murmured.

“Who? You mean the Greeks?

“Or the Cypriots.”

“Pfft. Well, if one of them chooses to show up tonight they can feel free to explain the difference. Until then, I shall wallow in my ignorance.” And with that, Lady Danbury thumped her cane against the floor one last time before turning toward Colin and bellowing, “Mr. Bridgerton!”

Francesca watched with amusement as her brother tried desperately to pretend that he hadn’t heard her. She was rather pleased that Lady D had chosen to torture Colin a bit—he undoubtedly deserved it—but now that she was on her own again, she realized that Lady Danbury had provided her with a rather effective defense against the multitude of matchmaking mamas who saw her as their only link to Michael.

Good God, she could see three of them approaching already.

Time to escape. Now. Francesca quickly turned on her heel and started walking toward her sister Eloise, who was easy to spot by the bright green of her dress. In truth, she would have much rather bypassed Eloise entirely and headed straight out the door, but if she was serious about this marriage business, then she had to circulate and let it be known she was in the market for a new husband.

Not that anyone was likely to care one way or another until Michael finally showed his face. Francesca could have announced her plan to move to dark Africa and take up cannibalism, and all anyone would have said was, “And will the earl be accompanying you?”

“Good evening!” Francesca said, joining the small group around her sister. It was all family—Eloise was chatting amiably with their two sisters-in-law, Kate and Sophie.

“Oh, hullo, Francesca,” Eloise said. “Where’s—”

“Don’t you start.”

“What’s wrong?” Sophie asked, eyes all concern.

“If one more person asks me about Michael, I swear my head will explode.”

“That would certainly change the tenor of the evening,” Kate remarked.

“Not to mention the cleaning duties of the staff,” Sophie added.

Francesca actually growled.



“Well, where is he?” Eloise demanded. “And don’t look at me like—”

“—I’m trying to kill your cat?”

“I don’t have a cat. What the devil are you talking about?”

Francesca just sighed. “I don’t know. He said he would be here.”

“If he’s smart, he’s probably hiding in the hall,” Sophie said.

“Good God, you’re probably right.” Francesca could easily see him bypassing the ballroom entirely and ensconcing himself in the smoking saloon.

Away, in other words, from all females.

“It’s still early,” Kate put in helpfully.

“It doesn’t feel early,” Francesca grumbled. “I wish he’d just get here, so that people would stop asking me about him.”

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.