Stephanie Laurens - All About Passion

Lady Elizabeth cleared her throat. “My dear”-her voice was very gentle-“you seem rather… fragile. Is anything amiss?”

Summoning a polite smile, Francesca briefly met their worried gazes. “I’m just a bit tired.” She wasn’t; she was disappointed. The realization prodded. If she wanted to understand her husband… and neither Lady Elizabeth nor Henni deserved her prevarications. Lips firming, she looked at them. “Pray excuse me, but I feel I have to ask. Did you know Gyles wanted, still wants, a marriage of convenience?”

Henni choked, then spluttered.

Lady Elizabeth’s eyes grew round, then rounder. “What?” she demanded, her tone rising. Then she recollected herself and in more dowagerish tones stated, “What utter nonsense. Where did you hear that?”

“From him.”

Henni waved a hand to attract her sister-in-law’s attention. “Horace mentioned something about that last night,” she wheezed. “About Gyles organizing his marriage of convenience, and how it was all a hum.”

“But that’s ridiculous! Marriage of convenience, indeed!” Two spots of color flew in Lady Elizabeth’s cheeks. Francesca had no doubt that had her errant son walked in at that moment, he would have been severely taken to task. Then Lady Elizabeth looked at Henni. “But you said it was all a hum?”

“Horace said it was a hum. Easy enough to see why he’d think so. But as to what Gyles thinks, I suspect Francesca would know better than Horace.”

“We discussed it this morning,” Francesca said. “He’s adamant it be so.”

Lady Elizabeth waved commandingly. “Tell me. If I’ve raised a son ignorant enough to go that route, I deserve to know about it.”

Adhering faithfully to his words, Francesca repeated Gyles’s specifications for their marriage. She omitted all mention of his mistake-that was strictly between them. Lady Elizabeth and Henni hung on her every word. When she concluded her recitation, they exchanged looks, eyes bright, lips pressed tight, then, to Francesca’s amazement, they both burst out laughing.

She stared at them in astonishment.

“Pray excuse us, my dear,” Lady Elizabeth gasped. “Rest assured, we’re not laughing at you.”

“Or at your situation,” Henni added, mopping her eyes.

“No, indeed.” With an effort, Lady Elizabeth composed herself. “It’s just that… well, dear, the way he looks at you-”

“Watches you,” Henni corrected.

“Indeed. Regardless of what he says, regardless of what he thinks…” Lady Elizabeth gestured, watching Francesca hopefully, then grimaced. “Drat the boy! How could he be so arrogantly stupid?”

“He’s male.” Henni finished her tea.

“True.” Lady Elizabeth sighed. “They’re all the same, I fear. Utterly befuddled when they find they must deal with a woman.”

Francesca frowned. “Are you saying that, regardless of his… professed intent, that it might not be…?”

“What we’re saying is that there’s no need to suppose he’s any different. Stubborn as a mule, I’ll grant you, but he’ll eventually see the light. They all do, you know. No need to lose hope.”

“Sleep you might lose.” Henni grinned at her. “But consider it an investment. Mind you,” she added, setting aside her cup, “I wouldn’t try to argue with him over it. That’ll only get his back up and, knowing Gyles, he’ll become even more intractable.”

Lady Elizabeth nodded. “Just leave him to it, and he’ll come around. You’ll see.”

Unsettled, Francesca considered-them and their words. They undoubtedly knew her husband better than she, yet the sudden blossoming of hope from what she was forced, by the very contrast, to recognize as despair, left her uneasy. What if they were wrong?

She sank back against the daybed’s cushions. “Tell me about him-about his childhood, what he was like.”

“He was born and brought up here,” Lady Elizabeth promptly replied. “He was a happy boy-not too good and too clever by half, but a likable, affectionate lad.” From her tone, the dowager was slipping back into her memories; Francesca kept silent and followed. “He was our only child, sadly, but he was forever up to all the usual tricks-”

She listened as Lady Elizabeth painted a picture of an innocent, carefree boy Francesca had certainly not recognized in the man. Then a cloud passed over Lady Elizabeth’s face, and she faltered. “Then Gerald died.”

“His father?” Francesca gently prompted.

Lady Elizabeth nodded, then flashed her a teary smile. “I’m sorry, my dear, but it still affects me.” Pulling a handkerchief from her sleeve, she waved it. “It was so very unexpected-”

“A riding accident.” Gruffly, Henni took up the tale. “Gerald was in perfect health-no one would have imagined anything could harm him. He was out riding with Gyles when it happened. Gerald’s horse stumbled badly and Gerald fell and cracked his head on a rock. He never recovered consciousness. He passed away five days later.”

The room fell silent. Francesca could almost feel, across the distance of time, the shock such a death must have been, especially in the bosom of such a privileged family. After a moment, she asked, “Gyles?”

“He came riding in with the news. I can still remember his little white face-he was seven at the time. He raced in, crying, but he told us where and what had happened…” Lady Elizabeth glanced at Henni. “I was so distraught, afterward…”

“We came at once,” Henni said. “We didn’t live here then, although we have ever since. I stayed with Elizabeth most of the time-it was a huge shock to us all. Gerald was so strong… but, well, it fell to Horace to take Gyles under his wing, which he did.”

“Gyles was devasted,” Lady Elizabeth continued. “He adored Gerald-they were extremely close. Gyles was Gerald’s only child and heir, but more than that, they shared many pursuits-riding, shooting, that sort of thing.”

“I remember,” Henni said, “when we drove up in a lather, Gyles met us in the hall. He was so shocked yet contained-so obviously cut up and quivering inside. Horace stayed with him.”

Lady Elizabeth sighed. “It was a dreadful time, but Gyles was never any trouble. Indeed, he was very quiet, as I remember.”

“You know,” Henni said, her gaze fixed in the past, “I don’t believe I ever saw Gyles cry, not even at the funeral.”

“He didn’t,” Elizabeth said. “I mentioned it to Horace after the funeral, and he said Gyles had behaved very properly, stiff upper lip and all that. Just how he should have behaved now he was Chillingworth, and head of the family and so on.” She sniffed. “I would much rather he had cried-he was only seven, after all-but you know how men are.”

“Gyles was remarkably quiet afterward, but then it was time for him to go up to Eton. That seemed to bring him out of his shell.”

“Indeed.” Lady Elizabeth shook out her skirt. “He fell in with Devil Cynster and that brood, and from then on, well, it really was just the usual things-going up to Oxford, then onto the town.”

“And then all the rest of it.” Henni gestured dismissively. “But you needn’t bother your head on that score. Remarkably faithful, all the Rawlings men, no matter how they might behave before they front the altar.”

“Very true,” Lady Elizabeth confirmed. “Which brings us back to where we started and this nonsense of Gyles’s marriage of convenience.” She uttered the phrase with highbred contempt. “The truth, my dear, is that he might say it, he might even think he believes it, but it’s so utterly contrary to his nature, he’ll never be able to live the fiction for long.”

Henni snorted. “I’ll second that. It’s going to be quite entertaining watching him trying to force himself to toe such a ridiculous line.”

“Yes, but we won’t, unfortunately, see it firsthand.” Lady Elizabeth focused consideringly on Francesca. “This news makes me even more determined to remove to the Dower House with all possible dispatch.”

Francesca returned her gaze. “Why?”

“So that the only person Gyles will share this great house with-the only companion he will have here-will be you. He needs time with you without distraction, enough to come to his senses.” Lady Elizabeth stood, her grey eyes stern. “And the sooner he does that, the better.”

Lady Elizabeth and Henni retired for a nap before dinner. Francesca retired to her bedchamber, too, but was too restless to lie down.

Hope was welling within her; she wasn’t sure it was wise to let it rise again. She had before, ignoring his specific declarations, purely on the grounds of her intuitive sense of him. He’d told her she was wrong.

She had no guarantee that his mother’s and aunt’s understanding of him was accurate, not now he was a man.

Yet she couldn’t help hoping.

Shaking her head, she scanned her surroundings, searching for distraction. Beyond her window, she saw the stable block just visible through the trees.

Ten minutes later, she entered the stable.

“Can I help you, ma’am?”

Francesca smiled at the bowlegged man who came hurrying up. “I’m sorry, I don’t know your name.”

“Jacobs, ma’am.” He doffed his cloth cap. “I’m head stableman here.” His gaze raked the stalls. “In charge of all these beauties.”

“Beauties, indeed. I’m after the mare.”

“The Arab? Aye, she’s a darling. The master mentioned she was yours. I’ll fetch a saddle and bridle.”

While he saddled the mare, Francesca crooned sweet nothings, idly stroking the mare’s velvet nose. Then she was up in the saddle and trotting out. As she left the stable yard, she was conscious of Jacobs’s gaze on her back, but he seemed satisfied she knew what she was doing.