Franni’s stamp echoed through the chapel.
Francesca struggled to free her hand; Gyles crushed her fingers unmercifully. He shifted this way and that, constantly blocking Franni’s attempts to sight her. With his arm braced, she couldn’t stand, couldn’t try to distract Franni. Her cousin was mad-in her heart, she’d suspected it but had never let the thought form-but now Franni was close to threatening Gyles-didn’t he understand how the stories went? If she couldn’t have him for herself, then Franni would play out her plot to the end-she’d kill Gyles rather than let Francesca have him.
It was her grandfather all over again but worse. Francis hadn’t been insane; Franni was. Francis had been stubborn enough to cut off his nose to spite his face. Franni was capable of worse.
“Let me up!” she hissed.
“No!” Gyles hissed back.
He didn’t even look around. Francesca felt frantic. Franni would shoot-
“Franni-stop!” There was enough command in Gyles’s voice to stop everyone. Behind him, Francesca froze, quivering, waiting…
“Franni, I want you to listen to me-listen very carefully-because I want you to understand all that I say. I want you to look into my eyes so you’ll know I’m speaking the truth.” Gyles paused. “All right?”
Francesca waited, then she felt a slight relaxing in Gyles’s grip and assumed Franni had nodded.
“Very well-listen carefully. I love Francesca. I always have, from the first moment I laid eyes on her. I love her completely, unreservedly-do you know what that means, Franni?”
Bowing her head until her forehead touched their clasped hands, Francesca listened, then she heard Franni say, softly, weakly, “You love her?”
“Yes.” There could be no question that one word was the truth-it rang with a conviction no power but one could give. Gyles paused, then said, “You were at our wedding-you heard the words of the service. ‘With my body I thee worship. With my soul I thee adore.’ I said those words, Franni, and they’re true-every one.”
Silence followed, cool, still. Minutes ticked past, then into that stillness, Francesca heard, as if from a great distance, a soft sobbing, falling like rain… Lifting her head, she drew in a deep breath and stood. Gyles’s arm eased and he let her come to her feet by his side, just behind his shoulder.
Franni still held the pistol, but as her sobs grew, the barrel wavered, then sank. Franni lowered her arms, doubling over in unrestrained grief-
“Franni!”
“Aaaah!” Franni shrieked, jumped, jerked the pistol up-
Gyles cursed, half turned, flung himself at Francesca-just as she grabbed wildly at him.
The pistol’s report shattered the stillness and sent echoes crashing about the church.
They fell. In a wild tangle of arms, legs and grabbing hands, they hit the flags between the pews.
Francesca lost her breath. Immediately, she sucked air in. “My God! Are you hurt? Did you get shot?” She tugged and reached around Gyles, hands spread, searching, trying to find out-
“No, dammit! Did you?”
She met Gyles’s gaze, grey and furious. Relief poured through her, and more besides. She smiled. “No.”
He frowned at her. “For the Lord’s sake! Here-sit up.” He struggled to get up but his shoulders had wedged between the pews. He wriggled but couldn’t get free. “You landed beneath me-the floor’s stone, for heaven’s sake! Are you sure-”
Francesca framed his face. Pandemonium raged about them; she ignored it, shut it out, looked deep into his eyes. “What you just said-you meant it, didn’t you?”
Charles and Ester were there, struggling with a now hysterical Franni. Osbert waded in, trying to help. Every sound faded to stillness as Gyles looked down at her. “Every word.”
He found her hand, raised it, and pressed a kiss to her palm. “I never wanted to love-and especially not you. Now I wouldn’t have it any other way.” He looked into her eyes; she saw the change in his-the hesitation, the uncertainty. “And you?”
She smiled beatifically, then lifted her head and touched her lips to his. “You know very well I love you…”-she searched for words, then simply said-“as you love me.”
He bent his head and kissed her, gently, lingeringly-she kissed him back, letting the moment sink into her memories, and his.
When he drew back, she smiled through happy tears. “I knew from the moment I saw you that you would never be dull or boring.”
“Dull or boring?” He shoved the front pew forward, then grabbed the back to lever himself from her so he didn’t crush her further against the floor. “Are those the criteria on which you judge my performance?”
He stood and held out a hand. She let him pull her to her feet. “Among others. But now I know so much more, I have even higher standards.”
He met her gaze. “I’ll bear that in mind.”
The wailing and admonitions had gained in volume. They turned to see Franni threshing furiously, sobbing, eyes shut, mouth wide. Osbert and the two footmen were holding her, trying not to hurt her and getting hurt for their pains. Ester, disheveled, having clearly grappled with Franni herself, was trying to frame her niece’s face, speaking soothingly, trying to reach Franni and calm her.
Charles stood before them, facing Franni, the pistol hanging limply in one hand. As they watched, he drew in a huge breath, then turned and saw them. His face was ashen. He looked at the pistol, then stepped down and laid it on the front pew. Approaching them, he lifted his head; bracing himself, he stopped before them.
“I am so sorry.” The words seemed to sap all his strength. He ran a hand through his hair, glanced back at Franni.
He was more shaken than they were. Francesca exchanged a glance with Gyles. “It’s all right.” She took Charles’s hands in hers.
He returned the pressure of her fingers, attempted a smile, but shook his head. “No, my dear. I wish it were, but it’s not all right.” He glanced again at Franni; her sobs were gradually abating. “Ester and I have been afraid something like this would happen. We’ve been watching Franni for years, wondering, hoping…” He sighed, then looked at Francesca and released her hands. “But it wasn’t to be.” Straightening, he glanced at Gyles. “I owe you an explanation.” Francesca and Gyles opened their mouths; Charles held up his hand. “No-please, let me say it. Let me tell you so you can decide for yourselves. So you can understand.”
Francesca and Gyles exchanged a glance. Gyles nodded. “As you wish.”
Charles hauled in a huge breath. “You’ll have heard that Elise, my wife, Franni’s mother, threw herself to her death from the tower at Rawlings Hall. That’s not precisely true. I was with her. She didn’t throw herself.” Charles’s face grew bleak. “She fell while trying to push me over the edge.”
“She tried to kill you?”
“Yes.” The word was a long, painful sigh. “And don’t ask me why-I never knew. But that’s not the whole story. It doesn’t start there. Elise’s mother, Ester’s mother, too, also… went mad. She was incarcerated for a time, but eventually died. I don’t know the details. I wasn’t told, never knew, not until Ester came to live with us a year or so after Franni was born. After Elise started… changing.” Charles dragged in a breath. “It runs in the women of that family, but not all of them are affected. Ester isn’t. The trouble starts, if it’s going to start, sometime after twenty years of age. Elise…” His daze grew distant. “She was so lovely-we were so happy. Then it turned into a nightmare. Delusions that gradually escalated to derangement. Then to violence. Then it ended.”
Francesca reached for Gyles’s hand, grateful for the warmth when his hand enveloped hers.
Charles exhaled, shook his head. “Ester knew about her mother. She didn’t think it wise for Elise to marry-it’s the reason Ester never has. But our fathers, mine and Elise’s, were set on the match. I’m sure Papa didn’t know at the time. He did afterward, of course. As always, such happenings are hidden away. Ester was sent to an aunt in Yorkshire until after Elise and I were married, and Franni was born.”