“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.”

“Chillingworth’s mama had it done for me.” Francesca sat on the bed. “Remember? I read her letters to you back at Rawlings Hall before we came for the wedding.”

Franni frowned harder, staring at the emerald coverlet, then her brows lowered even farther. She glanced at Francesca. “Does he sleep here with you? In this bed?”

Francesca hesitated, then nodded. “Yes. Of course.”

“Why ‘of course’? Why does he?”

“Well…” She didn’t know how much Franni understood, but her pugnacious expression confirmed she wasn’t going to let the point slide. “It’s necessary for him to sleep with me to beget children.”

Franni blinked; the intense expression drained from her face, leaving it even more blank than usual. “Oh.”

Another something to mention to Ester. Francesca stood; with an apologetic smile, she gestured to the door. “I’m going to have a bath now, Franni, so you must go.”

Franni blinked again, then looked at the door, then she scrambled from the bed.

“Come,” Francesca said. “I’ll walk you back to the main wing.”


Francesca had arranged a small dinner party for that evening, seizing the opportunity to begin entertaining locally, entertaining Charles and Ester in the process.

They gathered in the drawing room to await their guests. Lord and Lady Gilmartin and their offspring arrived first, with Sir Henry and Lady Middlesham close behind. Francesca made the introductions, then left Charles and Ester with the Middleshams while she sat beside Lady Gilmartin and listened to a catalogue of Clarissa’s accomplishments. Gyles was chatting to Lord Gilmartin. Franni, meanwhile, had taken an instant interest in Clarissa and was talking at her, rather than with her, nonstop; Clarissa was looking a trifle dazed. Lancelot retired to stand before one window, striking a dramatic pose which singularly failed to attract any attention, everyone else being otherwise engaged.

Lady Elizabeth and Henni, accompanied by Horace in expansive mood, arrived before Francesca wilted under Lady Gilmartin’s onslaught; with the round of introductions, the groupings changed.

Sir Henry and Horace, old friends, drew Lord Gilmartin into their circle. Gyles left them to their discussion of coverts. He surveyed the room. His mother had engaged Charles and Ester while Henni had taken Francesca’s place beside Lady Gilmartin. Francesca was chatting with Lady Middlesham; as he watched, Clarrisa joined them. Lancelot was brooding by the window. That left…

Instinctive self-protection reared its head-

“Good evening, Cousin Gyles. Do you like my gown?”

Franni had circled the room to come up beside him. Gyles turned and briefly scanned her blue muslin gown. “Very nice.”

“Yes, it is. Of course, I’ll eventually have gowns like Francesca’s, all silks and satins-gowns your countess would wear.”

“Indeed.” Why was it that one minute in Franni’s company was enough to make him long to shake free of her and escape?

“I like this house-it’s big, but it’s comfortable, and your staff seem well trained.”

Gyles nodded distantly. She was neither cloying nor snide; she displayed none of the usual behaviors he deplored. His aversion was primitive, instinctive-not easy to explain.

“However, there is one little man I don’t like. He wears black, not livery-he wouldn’t let me go into your rooms.”

“Wallace.” Gyles stared at Franni. “No one goes into my rooms except those who have a right to be there.”

He spoke slowly, clearly-just like Francesca and Charles did when speaking to this strange young woman.

Her expression turned mutinous. “Is Francesca allowed in?”

“If she wishes, naturally. But I don’t think she’s been in.”

“Well, her room is beautiful, all in emerald silk and satin.” Franni shot him an unreadable look. “But you’d know that because you sleep in her bed.”

This was without question the strangest conversation he’d ever had with a young lady. “Yes.” He kept his tone calm and low. “Francesca’s my wife, so I sleep in her bed.” Looking up, about to search for help, he saw Irving enter the room. “Ah-I believe dinner is served.”

She looked and smiled. “Oh, good!” She turned to him, clearly expecting him to offer his arm.

“If you’ll excuse me, I must take my aunt in to dinner. Lancelot will lead you in.” Gyles beckoned the young man over. He came readily enough, clearly prepared, after his moments of isolation, to be passably agreeable.

Franni’s blanked face-so utterly without expression-remained in Gyles’s mind as, with Henni on his arm, he led the procession into the dining room. Inwardly, he heaped praises on his wife’s dark head. With the extra guests at table, Franni would be seated somewhere in the middle, well away from him.

As he handed Henni to the chair beside his, he murmured, “Charles’s daughter, Frances-what do you make of her?”

“Haven’t had much chance to form an opinion.” Henni glanced down the table to where Franni sat.

“When you do, let me know.”

Henni raised a brow at him.

Gyles shook his head and turned to greet Lady Middlesham on his other side.


The ritual of the port which he deliberately prolonged, not a difficult feat given the conversational abilities of Horace, Sir Henry, and even Lord Gilmartin in such an amiable setting, saved Gyles from having to deal with Francesca’s cousin in the drawing room. Even so, he wasn’t blind to the eager look in Franni’s eye when he led the gentlemen back in just ahead of the tea trolley. Nor to the fact that her look turned to one of confusion, then frustration as the disparate groups gathered to chat over the teacups.

When their guests rose to take their leave, he held to Francesca’s side, taking refuge in the dictates of formality. As they moved into the hall, Ester paused beside Francesca and whispered in her ear. Francesca nodded and smiled. Over the melee as Irving and the footmen brought coats and scarves, Gyles saw Ester draw Franni up the stairs.

He was conscious of relaxing his guard, smiling as he shook hands and exchanged farewells, eventually braving the chill outside with Francesca to wave the carriages off.

Charles was waiting when they reentered the hall. He took Francesca’s hands. “That was a most enjoyable evening. Thank you.” He kissed her cheek. “It’s been such a long time since we’ve entertained… well.” He stepped back, and they turned and started up the stairs. “I’d almost forgotten what it was like. How pleasant such an evening can be.”

Francesca’s smile was radiant. “There’s no reason you couldn’t entertain on a similar scale at Rawlings Hall. Franni seemed to enjoy it.”

Charles nodded. “Indeed. I’ll speak to Ester about it.” He halted at the top of the stairs. “Who knows? It might be a good thing all around.”

With a nod and a “good night,” he left them.

His hand at her back, Gyles steered Francesca to their private wing, listening to her happy chatter.


Francesca slipped from the warmth of Gyles’s arms as early as she could the next morning, but she wasn’t early enough to catch up with Franni before she left the house.

Tugging her shawl about her shoulders, Francesca stepped onto the terrace overlooking the Castle’s gardens. The air was crisp and chilly, but the sun shone and the birds sang; the day beckoned.

Strolling to the steps, she descended to the lawns. Searching for Franni, she walked to the rampart, then descended to the lower level and her favorite seat. She didn’t sit, but lingered long enough to drink in the view, drink in the fact that this land-his land-now felt like home to her.

Pondering that, she returned to the lawns and started walking a wide circle around the house. Wallace had said Franni had gone walking; she would be somewhere close.

Reaching the lawns before the stables, Francesca saw a figure in cambric striding along under the trees. Franni’s carriage was distinctive, stiff, slightly jerky. She had a thick shawl wrapped about her, making her appear peculiarly bulky above the waist. Francesca set out on an intersecting course. Franni saw her as she drew near.

“Are you enjoying the morning?” she called.

Franni smiled with her usual hint of secretiveness. “Yes. It’s been a lovely morning so far.”

“Have you been looking at the horses?”

Joining her, Francesca walked beside her.

“They’re big-bigger than Papa’s. Do you ride them?”

“No. Gyles gave me an Arab mare for a wedding gift. I ride her, now.”

“Did he?” Franni’s expression blanked, then she murmured, “Do you?” A slow smile suffused her face. “That’s good. I expect she gallops fast.”

“Yes, she does.” Francesca was inured to Franni’s fluctuating moods.

“So you ride every day?”

“Most days. Not necessarily every day.”

“Good. Good.” Nodding, Franni paced beside Francesca, her strides longer, rather mannish.

They walked on in silence until they reached the boundary where the park met the nearest fields. Francesca turned back.

Franni kept walking, veering toward the track that led between the fields.

Francesca halted. “Franni?” With an impatient shake of her head, Franni kept walking. “Franni, there’s nothing but fields that way.” When Franni didn’t slow, she added, “Breakfast will be served soon.”

Without looking back, Franni waved. “I want to walk up here a little way. I want to walk alone. I’ll come back soon.”

Nothing of any possible danger lay between the house and the escarpment. Francesca doubted Franni would go far up the steep track.

Turning, she started back to the house. Franni would be safe enough-and if she hadn’t returned within the hour, she’d send a groom after her. Meanwhile, thanks to her husband’s penchant for games at dawn, her stomach was growling. Breakfast sounded like a very good idea.


Over breakfast, Francesca, Charles, and Ester agreed to walk across the park to visit at the Dower House. Lady Elizabeth had issued the invitation last night.

Francesca looked up the table and raised a brow at Gyles. He shook his head. He needed to get on with his researching-what better time than with the house to himself?

Ester turned to Franni, who had recently joined them. “You’ll like to see the Dower House. Remember? We passed it when we drove through the gates.”

Franni’s expression was blank, as if she’d gone within in search of the memory. Slowly, she shook her head. “I don’t want to go. I’ll stay here.”