She must have misinterpreted, and Gyles was not Franni’s gentleman caller after all.
Charles, on her right, asked about a dish; Francesca replied. She chatted with her uncle and Ester, on her left. Franni sat beyond Charles, to Gyles’s left, an arrangement dictated by custom rather than Francesca’s wish. But it seemed her worry over her cousin’s possible sensibility had been misplaced. If that were so, she was grateful, yet…
She turned to Ester. “Does Franni still rise very early?”
Ester nodded. “You might want to warn your staff.”
Francesca made a mental note to mention the fact to Wallace.
“My dear, you must give me this recipe so I can take it home for Cook.”
“Of course.” Francesca wondered if Ferdinand could write in English.
“Good morning, Franni.”
At the end of the terrace, Franni whirled, mouth gaping, then she relaxed and smiled as Francesca joined her.
“It’s a lovely morning, isn’t it?” Francesca said.
“Yes.” Franni turned back to the view. “Although it’s such a large house, it’s quiet. I thought it would be noisy.”
“There’s only the staff and Gyles and me living here at present. Last time, there were all the wedding guests.” Francesca leaned against the balustrade, unsurprised when Franni said no more. She let the silence stretch, aware it would help given she wanted to nudge Franni’s mind onto a different tack.
Minutes later, she asked, “Franni, do you remember telling me about your gentleman-the gentleman who walked with you twice?”
Franni frowned, puzzled rather than defensive. “Did I?”
“Yes, at the inn. I wondered… do you know who he is?”
Her gaze on the horizon, Franni just smiled.
Accepting she wasn’t going to get that answer, Francesca tried her next question. “Has he visited you recently-since you last came here?”
Franni shook her head almost violently, but she was grinning; Francesca thought she giggled.
Steeling herself, she spoke slowly and evenly, as they all did when speaking to Franni. “Franni, I just want to make sure you haven’t confused your gentleman with Chillingworth. I-”
She broke off as Franni shook her head again, still grinning fit to burst. “No, no, no!” Franni swung to face Francesca; her eyes danced-she was almost laughing. “I have it all straight-yes, I do! My gentleman has a different name. He comes and walks with me, and listens to me and talks to me. And he’s not Chillingworth. No, no, no. Chillingworth’s an earl. He married you for your land.”
A somewhat malicious gleam shone in Franni’s blue eyes. “I’m not like you. The earl married you for your land. I don’t have the right sort of land, but my gentleman wants to marry me-I’m sure he does.”
She swung away and all but skipped along the terrace. “He’ll marry me-you’ll see. In the end.”
Francesca watched her go, then turned inside.
The gentleman wasn’t-had never been-Chillingworth. So who was he?
After breakfast, Franni went walking in the park, a footman trailing after her. After dealing with her household duties, Francesca joined Ester in the family parlor.
Ester looked up from her embroidery with a smile.
Francesca returned it. “I’m glad to have a moment alone with you, Aunt Ester.” Crossing to the chair beside the hearth, she sank into it. Ester watched her, brows rising.
“Are you having any problems-”
“No-it’s not me.” Francesca studied Ester’s blue eyes, like Franni’s yet so different. “This is difficult, because Franni told me in what might be classed as confidence, except that Franni doesn’t think in terms like that.”
“No, dear, she doesn’t. And if this is something to do with Franni, then yes, you should definitely tell me, confidence or not.”
There was such resolve in Ester’s voice that Francesca set aside all hesitation. “At the inn on our way to Lambourn…”
She recounted all Franni had told her, both at the inn and on the terrace that morning. “I’d worried that it was Chillingworth-he did walk with her twice. But he says he barely spoke a word to her, so it seemed odd she would have made anything of it, but…”
“But one never does know with Franni.” Ester nodded. “I can see why you thought that, especially with her reaction during the ceremony. But if she says it wasn’t him, then…”
“Precisely. It could be someone else-someone who’s been meeting her when she walks about at Rawlings Hall. It wouldn’t be hard to do without being seen. And she will inherit Uncle Charles’s property, after all.”
“Indeed.” Ester’s lips had firmed. “My dear, thank you for telling me-you’ve done exactly right. Leave the matter with me. I’ll speak with Charles, and we’ll deal with it.”
Francesca smiled, sincerely relieved. “Thank you. And I do hope it all turns out well.”
Ester made no reply. Frowning, she returned to her embroidery.
“Is this where you hide?”
Startled, Gyles turned. He’d been standing by the window in the library gallery, consulting a list of trials. In the doorway from the inner gallery, Francesca’s cousin stood, smiling smugly.
Her gaze had already left him to travel the shelves.
“You have a lot of books.”
He watched as she advanced, pirouetting to scan the room.
“There must be thousands and thousands.”
“Yes. There are.”
She stopped, facing him, head tilted, her gaze distant. After a moment, she said, “It’s very quiet up here.”
“Yes.” When she said nothing more, simply stood gazing vaguely at him, he asked, “Did you enjoy your walk?”
“Yes, but I liked seeing the Castle more. Francesca was naughty-she didn’t bring us here.”
“There are some places Francesca would consider private.”
He might as well have saved his breath; Gyles seriously doubted Frances took in anything she didn’t wish to hear.
She stood silently staring straight ahead. Wracking his memory, he recalled their conversations at Rawlings Hall. “We have many trees here.”
Her gaze focused on the window. She stepped closer to look. “Are they birches?”
“No. Most are oaks.”
“No birches?”
“None close. There are some farther into the park.”
“I’ll look when I go for my walks.”
Clasping her hands behind her back, she settled before the window as if intending to study the treetops. Gyles glanced at the journal in his hands.
“I’m afraid I must leave you-there’s work I need to do.” He’d intended doing it here, but his study suddenly seemed a wiser choice. There were always footmen in the hall; he made a mental note to tell Wallace he did not wish to be disturbed by their female guests.
Franni nodded, then turned abruptly to face him, meeting his eyes for the first time.
“Yes,” she said, “that might be a good idea.” She smiled; her pale eyes glowed. “It wouldn’t do for Francesca to come up and find us together.”
She continued to smile. Gyles studied her for a moment, then, his expression impassive, stepped back, bowed, and left her.
The clocks struck four as Francesca reached her bedroom door-too early to dress for dinner, but she could indulge in a long soak first. Opening the door, she stepped inside-
Someone was on her bed, sitting in the emerald-draped shadows.
Then the figure turned, and she recognized the pale hair, the pale face.
Exhaling, Francesca closed the door and crossed to the bed. “What are you doing here, Franni?”
She was sitting on the bed, more or less in the middle. She bounced. “I came in to see. The servants told me I couldn’t come up here, but I knew you wouldn’t mind.” Lifting the coverlet, Franni rubbed her cheek against it, then reached out and trailed her fingers down the silk curtains tied back about the posts. Then she frowned. “It’s so luxurious.”