“Asleep?” Franni was usually up at daybreak.

“We had to dose her last night. She wouldn’t quiet without it.”

Franni sometimes needed laudanum when she became overwrought. Francesca nibbled her toast while Charles made his selection from the platters the footmen offered.

“Will Franni wake soon?” she asked as the last footman stepped back.

“I hope so.”

“I’d like to talk to her before you leave.”

Charles smiled. “Of course. I’m sure she won’t want to leave without at least saying good-bye.”

Good-byes weren’t what Francesca had in mind, but she was distracted by Lord Walpole-Horace as he’d insisted she call him. He stopped beside her and patted her shoulder.

“My dear Francesca, you look radiant. Nothing like marriage to put a glow in a young lady’s eyes, I always say.”

“Sit down, Horace, and stop trying to make the girl blush.” Coming up beside him, Henni poked him in the ribs, prodding him along the table. She smiled at Francesca. “Don’t mind him. Old reprobates are the worst.”

Francesca smiled back. Turning, she discovered she’d missed Ester’s entrance. As she sank into a chair two places along from Charles, Ester caught her eye and smiled.

“Franni?” Francesca mouthed.

“Still sleeping,” Ester mouthed back.

Francesca poured a cup of tea for Ester, then turned to the ancient cousin seated on her other side. Hostessly matters kept her busy for some time, then Charles laid a hand on her sleeve.

“My dear, we plan to leave in two hours-before luncheon. I hope you know I have every confidence in your abilities, and in your marriage, else I would never be retreating in such fashion. But I can see you’re in good hands.” His smiling nod referred not just to Chillingworth but also to Lady Elizabeth and Henni. “I feel I can leave you with a clear conscience.”

“Oh, indeed.” Francesca squeezed his hand. “I’m content.”

“Good.” Charles closed his hand over hers. “We’ve decided to travel on to Bath. It’s possible the waters might help Franni. Given we’re already on the road, so to speak, we thought to take her there.”

“She seemed to enjoy riding in the coach.”

“More so than I’d expected. It’s an opportunity too good to miss, but I want to make a good start, so we’ll be saying farewell soon.”

Francesca returned the pressure of his fingers. “I’ll be there to wave you on your way.”

“As the Countess of Chillingworth.” Releasing her hand, Charles rose.

Francesca smiled briefly; her smile faded as she glanced at the figure at the table’s end. “Indeed.”


Charles’s words proved prophetic-“Good-bye” was all Franni was able to say. To mumble. When they helped her down the great staircase, Ester on one side, Charles on the other, Franni was still so drugged it was all she could do to focus on Francesca’s face.

Any hope Francesca had of ascertaining what it was that had overset Franni was doomed.

She was forced to smile, exchange hugs and good wishes, and push her concern over what Franni might have imagined into the background. Chillingworth was there, shaking hands with Charles, charming Ester-bowing very correctly over Franni’s hand. Franni smiled dazedly-there was no sign that she was in any way conscious of him other than as a handsome gentleman who was now Francesca’s husband.

As they stood on the porch to wave the travelers away, Francesca caught Gyles’s eye. The coachman gave his horses the office; the coach lurched, then rolled away. Flanked by Lady Elizabeth and Henni, they waved. Ester waved back. Another small white hand poked out of the other window and floppily waved, too.

“Just overexcited.”

Francesca heard Gyles’s murmur. “So it seems.”


The rest of the company assembled for luncheon, a light meal designed for geriatric stomachs about to travel. Lady Elizabeth and Francesca had put their heads together and come up with a selection of dishes which, by the eagerness with which they were greeted, had fitted the bill.

The early afternoon was filled with departures, a steady stream of well-dressed old ladies and garrulous gentlemen passing through the front hall, picking their way past mountains of luggage and footmen struggling with trunks and bandboxes.

At four, the last carriage rumbled away. There were five of them standing on the porch when the carriage rounded the curve in the drive and disappeared from sight. Five pairs of shoulders sagged.

Gyles was the first to straighten and break formation. “I need to ride down to the bridge and check how the work’s faring.” His comment was general, but his gaze met Francesca’s, quickly searched her face.

She nodded. “Of course.” She hesitated, then added, “We’ll see you at dinner.”

With a nod, he went down the steps, then strode toward the stables.

Horace turned inside. “I’m going to have a nap in the library.”

“I’ll wake you for dinner,” Henni dryly replied.

Francesca grinned, as did Lady Elizabeth. They followed the others into the hall.

“I think we deserve a soothing cup of tea.” Lady Elizabeth raised a brow at Francesca.

She went to gesture to the drawing room, then caught herself. “The back parlor?”

Lady Elizabeth smiled. “Yes, dear.”

Francesca glanced around. “Wallace?”

“Ma’am?” The dapper little man stepped out of the shadows.

“Tea, please. In the back parlor.”

“At once, ma’am.”

“And check if Lord Walpole needs anything.”

“Indeed, ma’am.”

Together with Lady Elizabeth and Henni, Francesca strolled to the back parlor, the room the family used when free of social company. Although elegant as were all the rooms Francesca had thus far seen, the back parlor was furnished with an eye to comfort rather than style. Some of the pieces were quite old, woodwork lovingly polished to a lustrous hue, cushions showing the indentations of age.

With identical sighs, Lady Elizabeth and Henni sank into what was clearly their accustomed chairs, then Lady Elizabeth’s eyes flew wide. She started to rise. “My dear, I should have asked-”

“No, no!” Waving her back, Francesca crossed to a daybed. “This is more my style.” Sitting, she swung her legs up and relaxed against the puffy pillows.

“Very wise,” Henni said with a grin. “No sense in not getting what rest you can.”

Francesca blushed.

Wallace brought in the tea tray and placed it on a small table before Francesca. She poured, and he handed the cups around, then she dismissed him with a smile and a gracious word. He bowed and departed.

“Hmm.” Henni eyed the door through which Wallace had gone. “He’s a cagey one, but I think he likes you.”

Francesca said nothing, aware that gaining the approval and thus support of her large staff would be essential to maintaining a smoothly running household.

Lady Elizabeth set aside her cup. “I can’t see that you’ll face any difficulties. Wallace will be the hardest to win over, but if he’d taken you in aversion, we’d have seen the signs. The rest are very manageable, and Lord knows, you’ll be able to cope with Ferdinand much better than I.”

“Ferdinand?”

“Gyles’s chef. He travels between London and Lambourn, wherever Gyles is in residence. Ferdinand’s Italian, and on occasion reverts to his native tongue.” Lady Elizabeth shook her head. “I can rarely keep up with him. I just let him rave until he runs down, then I start again in English wherever I left off. Speaking Italian as you do, you’ll be able to deal with him directly.”

Francesca leaned back. “Who else should I know about?”

“All the others are locals. You met Mrs. Cantle briefly yesterday.”

Francesca nodded, remembering the very correct, black-garbed housekeeper.

“I’ll take you over the house and introduce you to everyone tomorrow morning. We all need to sit and catch our breath today, but tomorrow everyone will be eager to meet you, and as we’ll be leaving later in the day, we’d best set the morning aside for ‘the grand tour.’ “

“Leaving?” Francesca stared, first at Lady Elizabeth, then at Henni; both nodded. “If Gyles has asked-”

“No, no!” Lady Elizabeth assured her. “This is entirely my idea, dear. Gyles would never dream of giving me my marching orders.”

Henni snorted. “I’d like to see him try. But we’re only going to the Dower House-it’s just across the park.”

“You can easily visit-come anytime.” Lady Elizabeth gestured. “We’ll be there, like as not.”

“What she means,” Henni said, “is that we’d be only too happy to hear the latest, whenever you have anything you’d like to share.”

Francesca smiled at the older ladies’ hopeful expressions. “I’ll visit often.”

“Good.” Lady Elizabeth sat back. Henni sipped her tea.

Francesca relaxed into the daybed’s cushions, touched, somewhat relieved. Just a little comforted.

She’d been feeling a little betrayed. By Chillingworth, although she couldn’t justify that, at least not in words; from the first, he’d made his position clear and, despite all her hopes, he hadn’t altered his stance. Not in the least. She’d felt more betrayed by Lady Elizabeth. The Dowager Countess had seemed so kind, so… like-minded. She’d written so warmly, so openheartedly and with such welcome, that Francesca had, at first unconsciously, then rather too consciously, started to weave dreams.

Letting her head fall back against the cushions, she let her mind touch on that-her dream, the most central of her dreams, the dream that now would not be-for the first time since descending from the tower.

Sometime later, at the edge of her vision, she saw Lady Elizabeth stir, saw the dowager exchange a questioning, concerned look with Henni. Lifting her head, Francesca looked down and saw her knuckles white about the teacup’s handle. She’d relaxed, and her mask had slipped. She eased her grip.