Because We Belong

“It’s come,” she said, her voice trembling, her enthusiasm so great that Francesca truly sensed her youth for the first time.

“What’s come?” she asked, puzzled.

“Your dress.” Clarisse shook her head, beaming. “It’s amazing. You never said . . . you didn’t even hint . . . and he designs for the royals and all!” she sputtered.

Francesca laughed in complete bewilderment. “What are you talking about—”

But Clarisse was too busy hanging and unzipping the garment bag to pay attention. Francesca just stood there, her mouth gaping open at the most exquisite white and pale silver gown she’d ever seen or imagined. It fastened at the throat and was both sleeveless and backless. The design on the fitted bodice was of delicate silver leaves inlaid on white. Even though the white background was sheer, the dress was lined for modesty. The skirt was straight versus full, the sheer white fabric falling over a silver undergarment giving the impression of flowing, shimmering water.

“You must let me do your hair tonight,” Clarisse was saying breathlessly. “I know just the perfect style for this gown. You’re going to look amazing. Oh . . . and a note was delivered with it.”

Francesca took the small white envelope with numb fingers, pausing to assure it was indeed her name on the front. The note was typed on linen parchment.

Francesca,

Forgive me for being remiss and leaving you so unprepared.

She just stared at the note for an extended moment, holding her breath, a strange, tingling sensation settling in her limbs. No . . . it couldn’t be.

Forgive me for being remiss. Wait . . . hadn’t Gerard said that to her recently? And he knew she didn’t have a dress.

Disappointment flooded her.

“Are you excited for tonight? The ballroom is going to look so amazing. Did her ladyship tell you that the decorations are all in silver and white? You’ll look like a fairy princess in it with this dress,” Clarisse enthused, running her hand along the skirt so that the exquisite fabric flowed over her forearm.

“No. Just a lucky chance, I guess,” Francesca said dubiously.

“My gown is nothing to this, but I still can’t wait,” Clarisse said.

“You mean you’ll be attending the ball?”

Clarisse nodded, her eyes shining. “Her lady and lordship invited the permanent staff. It’s sort of a nod to the tradition of the servant balls they used to have on Boxing Day years ago. Since it’s also their anniversary, Lady Stratham thought it’d be nice to combine the celebration into one grand ball. We’re all very excited. Aren’t you?”

“Oh, yes,” Francesca assured. She shoved the note into her pocket, ashamed of herself for the flash of hope that had gone through her for a split second as she read those typed words.

* * *

As it turned out, she and Anne were unsuccessful shopping for a dress in town. Of course she’d been spoiled for another one. No other dress stood a chance next to that exquisite creation that had been delivered. It rankled at her a little, knowing that Gerard had recognized how much she’d love it.

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 pave 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