One Night in London by Caroline Linden Read Free Book Online

prospect of a large fee, more than any prestige, had lured Wittiers away from her case. Mr. Wittiers and his clerk were admitted at once, indicating they had been expected.
    She sat back in a dark mood. The rational, sensible side of her knew it was pointless, now that Wittiers had turned her away and taken this other case. Her best hope was to find another solicitor, and quickly, before Georgina’s stepmother could make any progress in lodging her own case. But the other side of her, the hot-blooded Italian side of her, wanted to march into that towering mansion and demand recompense from the owner. Or at least give him a scathing set-down.
    With a word to her driver to wait, she gathered up her skirt and stepped down. Wittiers had dismissed his hired carriage, meaning he expected to be some time inside. Settling her shawl around her shoulders, Francesca set off down the street.
    At the corner she stopped a woman with two young children in tow, heading for the lush green park in the center of the square. “I beg your pardon, is this the residence of Lord Alconbury?” she asked, indicating the stone edifice. She knew very well it was not, but Alconbury would enjoy a great laugh at the thought of living in such a place when she told him the tale.
    “No, ma’am, ’tis the Duke of Durham’s mansion,” replied the nursemaid.
    “Indeed,” exclaimed Francesca, only half in pretense. Good Lord; a duke . “What a blunder I almost made!”
    The nursemaid gave her a sympathetic smile. No doubt in this neighborhood she looked like someone applying for a companion’s post in her simple, severe gray dress. “I’d say so! But take heart; the butler, Mr. Blackbridge, is a kindly sort. He’d not blister your ears for ringing the bell in error. He never complains when the little ones throw the ball on the steps.”
    “That is good to hear,” said Francesca, pressing one hand to her bosom as if in relief. “A duke!”
    The maid sobered. “His Grace was a decent man, but he’s dead, God rest his soul.” Belatedly Francesca noticed the black-ribboned wreath on the door. She had been so fixed on watching Wittiers, it had escaped her.
    The children began quarreling between themselves then, and the nursemaid murmured a quick apology to Francesca before hurrying them off to the square. Francesca resumed her stroll, watching the maid and her charges. A duke —no wonder Wittiers had jumped at the summons. Of course, it also reinforced her belief that Wittiers was the best solicitor in London, and made her furious all over again that he had been whisked away from her.
    But that was neither here nor there, not anymore. Wittiers’s services were lost to her now. There was nothing to be gained by lurking in the square like some hysterical female, nursing her disappointment. She drew a deep, calming breath and told herself it was not the end of her hopes. If Wittiers could see merit, someone else could as well. She just had to find that man, and pray no other dukes wanted his counsel as well. She sent one more black look at the imposing mansion as she returned to her carriage, and directed her coachman to Cheapside.
    Ellen Haywood had taken a small, narrow house in a small, narrow street. It wasn’t the nicest neighborhood, and Francesca held her skirts carefully high as she stepped down from her carriage and walked to the door. Ellen hadn’t let her in the last four times she called, claiming every excuse from illness in the house to excessive cleaning that made it impossible to receive guests. All Francesca had wanted to see was Georgina, but by some suspicious chance, Georgina never seemed to be home when she called. On more than one occasion Francesca had to admit she’d lost her temper and raised her voice at the woman, which probably had not helped.
    Today, though, she desperately wanted to see Georgina, no matter how she had to apologize and grovel to Ellen. The drive to Cheapside from Mayfair had been long enough for most