“Since we spend so much time in here,” James said, “we thought it was the ideal place to enjoy it.”

“And be reminded of you,” Anne said, taking her hand and almost immediately easing her anxiety.

Her fears about making a fool of herself were mostly groundless, Francesca discovered. It wasn’t that she suddenly became confident in handling herself in the midst of such style and grandeur, by any stretch of the imagination. It was the kindness and easiness of James, Anne, and Gerard—and even the house staff. Thanks to Mrs. Hanson’s presence in Chicago, she was somewhat used to being served dinner. Ian’s housekeeper had insisted upon the tradition every once in a while, and Ian was too tired—or wise—to fight with her every time she mentioned it. Francesca found herself relaxing for the first time since she’d landed in London as the meal came to an end, and the footman served fruit and cheese for the last course. Even with the stunning formal dining room and the service of the exquisitely prepared, festive dinner, it was James and Anne’s warm kindness that set the mood. Gerard, too, went out of his way to charm her, his dark eyes gleaming with pleasure every time he coaxed a laugh out of her.

Francesca found herself hoping that the men would go to some gentlemanly retreat following dinner and that she would have Anne to herself—isn’t that the sort of thing they did in books like Brideshead Revisited? She really needed to speak to Anne about this dress situation for the ball. Much to her disappointment, however, they all retired to the sitting room together for coffee.

“I’m shocked that it all was so blatant—right on a busy city street,” Gerard was reflecting on the attempted robbery against her and Davie, once they’d settled near a crackling fire. “Is Chicago experiencing a crime wave?”

“Not any more of a wave than usual,” Francesca said with a smile. Gerard was settled next to her on the couch, looking every bit as comfortable in his formalwear as most men would jeans and a T-shirt. He really was extremely handsome, she added to herself fairly.

“It must have been so frightening,” Anne said from where she sat next to James across from them. “He certainly was a bold criminal.”

“He must have been a very stupid one, as well,” Francesca added with a small laugh. “Joggers don’t usually carry many valuables.”

“Assuming theft was their intent,” Gerard said, his mouth grim.

“What a thing to say, Gerard,” Anne scolded, repressing a shiver. “Let’s talk about something else. It’s Christmas Eve. Do you have everything you need for the ball, Francesca? We can run out on Boxing Day to the village, if you’d like to pick up anything. I have to check the donation boxes are set up at the church anyway.”

Francesca glanced anxiously from James to Gerard. She didn’t really have any choice but expose her ill prepared state in front of them. “Yes, I would like to go with you. In fact, I think I’m in trouble. Clarisse was asking about my gown for the ball. I brought this for it,” she said, glancing down at the crimson velvet and feeling her cheeks begin to burn. “I’m sorry. I’ve never been to something this . . . special before. I’m afraid I’m not at all prepared.”

“Well we’ll just get you prepared,” Anne said with unwavering confidence. “There’s nothing to be concerned about. It’s just a party, and it’s just a dress.”

“Wear that one again,” James agreed, nodding at her velvet dress. “Very pretty. I like it.”

“Hear, hear,” Gerard said.

“Tell you what,” Anne said matter-of-factly. “The stores are open on Boxing Day, and Stratham has two nice dress shops. If we find nothing, Clarisse will spruce that one up for you for the ball.”

“I’m sorry to be a bother.”

“Please don’t let it worry you, dear,” Anne insisted. “Your being here is what’s important, not a silly dress. Be comfortable. We’re rarely so fancy at Belford, but as I’ve told you, we’ve hired in extra staff for the holidays and the ball. Don’t be fooled into thinking we’re stuffy or pretentious, you just happen to be seeing us when we’re especially decked out for the festivities. Now, let’s play a game or do something fun, why don’t we?”

* * *

They spent a pleasant, relaxing Christmas Eve together. Nevertheless, Francesca was aware of a sore spot in the vicinity of her heart, a raw, abraded place. It was more difficult than she’d realized, sitting there in Ian’s favorite room, surrounded by Ian’s relatives on such a special holiday . . . without Ian.

Her loneliness seemed to swell inside her chest as Gerard escorted her up the stairs at the end of the night. He caught her hand and steadied her when she faltered on the top stair.

“Too much of Mrs. Hanson’s punch?” he asked, smiling.

“No, that’s not it. I’ve just grown out of the habit of wearing heels.”

“Not standard apparel for an artist, I expect.”

“Hardly,” she said, highly conscious of the fact that he kept her hand in his. The domed, high-ceilinged hallway was cloaked in shadow. Her heart started to beat uncomfortably fast as they neared her room.

“This is me,” she said, nodding toward the door. Still, he didn’t release her. He stepped closer. She kept her gaze trained on his crisp white dress shirt.

“Francesca?”

“Yes?”

“It’s past midnight. Merry Christmas.”

She looked up to return the greeting. He covered her mouth with his, coaxing her lips to part for his tongue. For a second, she allowed it. Perhaps she was curious. Maybe she was a sad, lonely woman who desperately wanted to feel connected to another human being in the once-in-a-lifetime way she’d connected to Ian.




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