“And this,” Lady Elizabeth waved to a portly gentleman emerging from the hall, “is Horace, Henni’s husband.”

In her letters, Lady Elizabeth had explained that Henni and Horace had lived at the Castle since Gyles’s father’s death. Horace had been Gyles’s guardian until he’d reached his majority; Henni was his favorite aunt. Francesca had been keyed up to make a good impression, and was relieved that Henni had accepted her so readily. As Horace strolled up, she saw surprise sweep his face as he took in the sight of her.

Her breath caught in her throat. Then Horace returned his bemused gaze to her face, and smiled. Broadly.

“Well, then!” He took her hand and bussed her cheek. “You’re a pretty little thing-suppose I should know better than to imagine m’nephew’s taste would run in any other vein.”

The comment earned him censorious looks from Lady Elizabeth and Henni, of which he remained oblivious, too engrossed in smiling at Francesca.

Smiling in return, she looked expectantly past him. There was a very correct butler standing in the doorway, but… no one else. The front hall stretched away, tiled floors gleaming, woodwork glowing, doors to either side, a footman here and there, but it was otherwise empty. She heard voices as Charles, Ester, and Franni climbed the steps. Lady Elizabeth’s arm came around her; the countess steered her toward the welcoming warmth of the hall.

“I’m afraid, my dear, that Gyles could not be here to greet you.” Lady Elizabeth had lowered her head and her voice; her words were just for Francesca. “An emergency arose on the estate late this afternoon, and Gyles had to ride out to deal with it. He’d expected to be here to meet you, and hoped to be back in time, but…”

Francesca glanced up in time to see Lady Elizabeth grimace. The older woman’s eyes met hers, then Lady Elizabeth squeezed her hand. “I’m so sorry, my dear. It’s not what any of us wanted.”

Lady Elizabeth turned to greet Charles, Ester, and Franni; Francesca realized her mother-in-law-to-be was giving her a moment to absorb the unexpected blow. For a gentleman of Chillingworth’s standing not to be present to greet his betrothed on her arrival for their wedding…

Francesca dimly heard Lady Elizabeth making her son’s excuses to Charles. She forced herself to straighten her shoulders and turn to her uncle with a reassuring smile, conveying the impression that she found Chillingworth’s absence disappointing but not distressing. For that she earned a grateful look from the countess. The greetings continued, then they passed into the house. Lady Elizabeth introduced Francesca to the elderly butler, Irving-“Irving the Younger is the butler at the London house-you’ll meet him when you go up to town,” and to a dapper little man who stood in Irving’s imposing shadow.

“This is Wallace, my dear. He’s Chillingworth’s majordomo and has been with my son for many years. If there’s anything you need, now or in the future, Wallace will arrange it.”

Not much taller than she was, Wallace bowed low.

“Now!” Lady Elizabeth turned to address them all. “With your arrival being delayed and you having to sit cramped in the coach for so long, we thought we’d spare you the ordeal of having to greet all the others gathered for the wedding. Everyone’s here, but we’ve asked them to remain apart”-she gestured into the great house, to the maze of reception rooms that doubtless lay beyond the hall-“to let you get your bearings. Time enough to meet everyone tomorrow. However, if you do wish to be introduced tonight, you have only to say the word. Otherwise, your rooms are ready, there’s plenty of hot water, and dinner will be brought up whenever you desire.”

Lady Elizabeth’s gaze came to rest on Francesca. She glanced at Charles. “It has been a long few days. I would rather retire, if that’s possible.” Being introduced to a host of distant relatives, as well as tonnish peers and their sharp-eyed wives, without her fiance by her side, was not an ordeal she’d come prepared to face.

Charles and Ester murmured their agreement. Franni said nothing; she was gazing wide-eyed about the hall.

“Of course! That’s what we expected. You’ll need your rest-tomorrow’s the important day, after all, and we’ll all need to be at our best.” With reassurances and admonishments to ask for anything they needed, Lady Elizabeth ushered them upstairs. They parted in the gallery. Henni went with Ester and Franni; Horace strolled off with Charles. The countess, imparting inconsequential information, accompanied Francesca down corridors and through another gallery, eventually leading her into a pleasant chamber, warmed by a blazing fire, with wide windows looking north over the downs.

“I know it’s only for one night, but I wanted you to have peace and quiet, and have enough space for donning your bridal gown tomorrow. Also, getting from here to the chapel, you won’t have to cross Gyles’s path.”

Surveying the comfortable chamber, Francesca smiled. “It’s lovely-thank you.”

She was aware of the shrewdness behind Lady Elizabeth’s gaze. “Would you rather eat or bathe first?”

“A bath, please.” Francesca smiled at the little maid who darted up to help her with her coat. “I can’t wait to get out of these clothes.”

Lady Elizabeth gave orders; the maid bobbed and hurried out. As soon as the door shut, Lady Elizabeth sank down on the bed and grimaced at Francesca. “My dear, thank you. You’re taking this awfully well. I could wring Gyles’s neck, but…”-she lifted her hands palms up-“he did have to go. It was too serious to leave to his foreman.”

“What happened?” Francesca sat in a chair by the hearth, grateful for the warmth of the fire.

“A bridge collapsed. Upriver a little way, but on the estate. Gyles had to go and actually see it to decide what was best to be done. The bridge is the only link to part of the estate. There are families stranded and so on-lots of decisions, small and large, for Gyles to make.”

“I see.” She did. She’d been trained to be a gentleman’s wife; she knew about the responsibilities large estates entailed. Francesca glanced at the window. “Will he be safe riding back in the dark?”

The countess smiled. “He’s been riding the downs since he could get atop a horse, and indeed, the downs are quite safe for riding, even in poor light. You needn’t worry-he’ll be here, safe and sound, and quite impatient to marry you come morning.”

Francesca cast a shy glance at the countess. Lady Elizabeth caught it and nodded. “Oh, yes, he’s been decidedly testy all day-and was exceedingly grim about having to go out and risk not being here when you arrived. Still, it will only whet his appetite for tomorrow.” She rose as the maid returned with footmen carrying steaming pails.

When the bath had been readied and only the maid remained, Lady Elizabeth crossed to Francesca, who rose. The countess kissed her on both cheeks. “I’ll leave you now, but if you need anything, or wish to speak with me again, whatever the hour, you only need ring and Millie here will answer, and she’ll come and fetch me. Now, are you sure you have everything you need?”

Touched, Francesca nodded.

“Very well, then. Good night.”

“Good night.” Francesca watched Lady Elizabeth leave, then beckoned to the maid to assist her with her gown.

Once she’d bathed, she felt much more relaxed, much more forgiving; she could hardly blame him for the rain, or its effects, after all. Leaning back in the tub, she instructed Millie in unpacking her trunks and laying out all she would need for the morrow. Her eyes round with awe, Millie carefully shook out the ivory silk wedding gown.

“Ooh, ma’am, it’s just beautiful!”

The gown had been reverently pressed and packed by the staff at Rawlings Hall; it only needed a good shake and a night hanging up to be absolutely perfect. “Leave it in the wardrobe. Everything else I need for tomorrow should be packed next.”

Millie emerged from the wardrobe and shut the door with a soft sigh. “A rare sight you’ll be in that, ma’am, pardon my saying so.” She returned to Francesca’s trunks. “I’ll just get out your wedding finery, and your nightgown and brushes, and we’ll move all the rest to the countess’s suite tomorrow morning, if that’s all right?”

Francesca nodded. A ripple of nervousness shivered over her skin. Tomorrow morning, she’d become his countess. His. The sensation behind the shiver intensified. She sat up and reached for the towel. Millie came running.

Later, wrapped in a bedgown, she sat by the fire and ate the simple but elegant dinner Millie had brought up on a tray. Then she dismissed the little maid, turned down the lamps, and thought about climbing into bed. Instead, she found herself drawn to the window, to the wide vista of the downs. The high, largely treeless plateau stretched away in gently rolling waves as far as her eyes could see. The sky was almost clear; the only remnants of yesterday’s storms were the tattered clouds that streamed before the wind.

The moon was rising, sending a wash of silvery light over the scene.

The downs possessed a wild beauty that called to her-she’d suspected that would be the case. A sense of freedom, of nature unfettered, unrestrained, rose from the barren landscape.

And tempted her.

Tonight would be her last night alone-the last night she would have only herself to answer to. Tomorrow would bring her a husband, and she already knew-or could guess-his feelings about her riding wild through the night.

She wasn’t sleepy. The long hours in the coach, hours of increasing tension, the disappointment, the anticlimax at finding him not here to greet her when she’d spent so many hours dreaming of how it would be-dreaming of the look in his eyes when next he saw her-had left her disaffected, more restless, more edgy than ever before.