Because We Belong (Because You Are Mine #3)(23)
Author: Beth Kery

James opened her door before Peter could come around, he and Anne anxious to greet her. Their warm hugs went a long way to calm her anxiety. James’s face was deeply lined with worry as he examined her closely after they embraced.

“We heard from Lin about what happened. Gerard couldn’t believe his ears when I told him; he was livid. He’s already at Belford, by the way, but ran over to Chatham—that’s his house, just a stone’s throw down the road—to take care of some business,” James added as an aside. “He says to tell you he’ll be back for dinner tonight.”

“Did they catch the perpetrators?” Anne asked, also referring to the jarring assault on her and Davie that had occurred in Chicago several days ago.

“No, not that I’m aware of. We gave our descriptions to the police, of course, although neither of us got a good look at the driver. But I wasn’t really expecting them to make an arrest, as random as the whole thing was. Davie tried to get the license plate, but it was obscured. Intentionally, probably.”

“You did tell them about your connection to Ian, didn’t you?” James asked pointedly.

Francesca froze. There is no connection between Ian and me, she wanted to scream, but checked herself when she saw James’s lined, worried face. He only meant well, of course, and she understood what he was getting at. Ian and she shared a past connection, but a connection nonetheless.

“It never really came up, James. I’m afraid the whole incident was a typical, mundane one to the Chicago PD.” She braced herself against a wind that whipped some escaped hair against her cheek.

“Come on, let’s get you out of the cold,” Anne urged.

“Welcome to Belford,” James said as they escorted her inside the massive oak doors, Peter following with her luggage. Once again, Francesca heard that tone of pride. It rang even stronger in James’s voice than it had in Peter’s. And why shouldn’t James be proud of his ancestral home? Francesca wondered as she stared openmouthed at the entrance hall: the richly carved oak-paneled walls, the grand staircase bedecked in fresh evergreen garland, the master paintings of various ancestors, the twenty-foot-tall lit Christmas tree, and the stunning domed stained-glass ceiling.

This is where Ian had grown up?

Somehow the idea of an energetic, scampering ten-year-old and this grandeur just didn’t mix in her brain, she realized dazedly as her boots tapped on a meticulous design of marble tile. But then again, Ian had never been a carefree child. These surroundings were perfectly suited to his cool self-containment, his consummate confidence in almost every decision he made.

She stopped in the middle of the hall and spun around once on her feet, trying to soak it all in. She met James’s sparkling, dark eyes.

“What do you think?” he asked, smiling.

“I’m awestruck, of course. It’s magnificent. I feel like a bumbling American,” she added under her breath.

“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.