Stephanie Laurens - All About Passion

Gyles turned to the door. “I know.”

Francesca fervently hoped Gyles was at White’s. She’d heard it was located in St. James. If her husband was there, safe within its portals, he wouldn’t be around to see her jauntering about town in the carriage, when she’d told him she was only walking to North Audley Street and back.

What he didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him. On the contrary-it would save him unnecessary worry. She’d had to get a new pair of gloves and sending Millie was impossible as Millie had hands twice the size of hers. Perfectly justifiable, yet who knew how Gyles might react?

But she’d be home soon. She glanced out of the window at the passing buildings. And saw Charles and Ester going up the steps of one.

Francesca leapt up and opened the hatch. “John-stop!”

Two minutes later, she entered the building, a liveried footman behind her, a groom trailing a few yards farther back. Ignoring both, she looked around. The building housed an emporium offering numerous wares for sale. An apothecary shop took up the back counter; it was there she found Charles and Ester.

“My dear!” Ester’s eyes widened; she moved to hug Francesca. “Oh, it’s good to see you.” Ester held her at arm’s length, studying her face, then her carriage dress. “You look wonderful! Are you enjoying the capital?”

“Very much.” Francesca cast a puzzled glance at Charles. “But I had no idea you were here. Franni?”

“She’s here, too.” Charles exchanged a glance with Ester, then took Francesca’s arm and steered her to the counter’s end. “She’s at the house we’ve rented, along with Ginny. We had to come here for more laudanum. They’re making up the dose.”

Francesca took in the strain in his face. “Is Franni being difficult?” She looked from Charles to Ester.

Ester grimaced. “At times. We got your letter that you were here in town-I read it to Franni. She’s always shown such interest in your doings. Well, after that, nothing would do but we had to come to London, too. She was so eager-we were going to write, but then we thought we’d just come. It’s not difficult finding lodgings at this time of year. But when we got here…” Ester glanced at Charles.

“Franni’s been unpredictable. Even-tempered one minute, quite difficult the next.” Charles took Francesca’s hand. “We wanted to call on you, but it seemed unwise, even though Franni’s been so insistent she wants to see you. It would be irresponsible to expose her to the social activities I’m sure you’re involved in.” Charles’s lips twisted. “We thought of writing and inviting you to call on us, but Franni got quite wild. She’s been insisting we call at Chillingworth’s house, but we didn’t feel we could.”

Francesca opened her mouth to assure him otherwise; Ester put her hand on her arm.

“My dear, you need to understand that it’s not simply a matter of the effect socializing might have on Franni, although we’re certainly exercised by that thought. The truth is, we couldn’t guarantee Franni’s behavior. She’s unpredictable, rebellious and, I’m afraid, secretive, too.”

Ester exchanged a glance with Charles, then continued, “Franni’s slipped out alone, without Ginny, twice. And you know how watchful Ginny is. Charles and I are afraid to leave Franni, but sometimes we must. We’re very concerned.” Ester lowered her voice. “We’re sure something’s afoot, but we’ve no idea what. It may be something to do with Franni’s gentleman visitor.”

“Did you ever learn who he was?”

Ester shook her head. “You know how difficult it is to talk sensibly with Franni when she doesn’t wish it.”

Charles had noticed the footman. “I’m glad to see you’re not going about alone.”

Francesca didn’t mention the groom, who was pretending to look at mufflers. “Chillingworth insists.” She waved the point aside. “But I have a suggestion, one that might help with Franni. You say she’s been pressing to come to Green Street-she may have convinced herself that was what would happen when you got to London, and she’s reacting because it hasn’t. So why not visit-why not bring her to dinner tonight?” She held up a hand. “Before you say anything, this would be a quiet family dinner, just the three of you and Gyles and myself.”

Ester and Charles exchanged a glance. “But,” Ester said, “surely you have plans-”

“No, none. This week it’s grown quiet-many have already left town. There’ll be a few parties next week to celebrate the year’s end, then we’ll retire to the country.”

Francesca was looking forward to it, to seeing the folly in the snow. “Tonight, there’s nothing, so we’ll be at home. If you bring Franni to dinner, there’ll be no social whirl to unnerve her, but she can see the house and visit as she’s wished. Maybe that will calm her.”

Ester and Charles exchanged a long look.

Francesca suddenly recollected that Gyles would return to Green Street soon, and he’d expect her to be there. “I must go.” She grasped Charles’s hand. “Say you’ll come.”

Charles smiled. “You’re very persuasive, my dear.”

Francesca beamed. “Seven, then. I know Franni doesn’t like waiting.”

“If it’s not too much trouble, dear.”

“No, no-seven.” Making a mental note to tell Ferdinand, Francesca waved and hurried to the door.

She was in the hall letting Irving take her pelisse when the front door opened and Gyles strolled in.

He considered her, then raised a brow. “Was that our carriage just rounding the corner?”

“Yes.” She swept up to him, stretched up to kiss his cheek, then slid an arm through his. “I had to get new gloves. I took a groom and a footman, and they were with me all the time, so there was no possibility of danger.” She glanced at him. “Are you satisfied?”

He sighed and steered her into the library. “I suppose I’ll have to be.” He hesitated, then added, “I don’t want you to feel caged.”

She smiled, telling him with her eyes that his protectiveness no longer bothered her, then she crossed to the chaise. “I met Charles and Ester while I was out. I invited them to dine with us tonight-you don’t mind, do you?”

Pausing before his desk, Gyles took in the happiness shining in her face. “No-of course not.”

Francesca held her fingers out to the fire. “Franni’s here, too, of course, so there’ll be five at table.”

Gyles was grateful she was warming her hands and not looking at him. Rounding the desk, he sat and reached for the pile of correspondence awaiting his attention.

Francesca leaned back. “I said seven-I told Irving to tell Ferdinand.”

Gyles’s lips twitched. “I wonder-”

A knock fell on the door; Wallace entered and bowed. “Ferdinand wishes to know if he might speak with you, my lady. About dinner tonight.”

Gyles looked down at his papers.

Francesca sighed. “I will see him in the parlor. Wallace, you will attend this meeting, too.”

Wallace bowed. “I’ll fetch him, my lady.”

Wallace withdrew. Francesca stood and stretched. “At least dealing with Ferdinand keeps my Italian from growing rusty.”

Gyles looked up. “Before you go-”

She turned; he laid aside the letter he’d been perusing. “You made a copy of the family tree-what did you do with it?”

Something-consciousness?-flashed through her eyes; it was immediately overlaid by curiosity. “We-your mother, Henni, and I-elaborated. Added on all the branches and connections we could. Why?”

“I need to assess the relationship of some of the connections. Can I see your effort?”

“Of course.” She hesitated. “But I would like it back, please.”

“I only need to look at it to see if your combined wisdom knows more than I.”

She smiled gloriously; her dimple winked. “I’ll fetch it for you in a moment.”

“After you’ve dealt with Ferdinand.” Gyles waved her to the door. “Perhaps I should brush up my Italian.”

At the door, she arched a brow. “I’ve taught you some new words with which you’re becoming quite proficient, but perhaps you’re right and it’s time for another lesson.”

With a sultry glance, she left him.

Gyles stared at the door, his mind formulating visions of such a lesson, then he frowned, shifted, grabbed the next letter, plonked it before him, and forced himself to read.

Charles, Ester, and Franni did not stay late. After seeing their guests to the door, Gyles and Francesca retreated to the library. As usual, Wallace had left the fire blazing. Francesca sank into an armchair with a contented sigh.

“That went well, I thought.”

Gyles glanced at her but made no reply. He looked at his desk, then back at her, then crossed to the chaise. Sitting, he stretched out his legs. “Charles seemed very grateful. Was there some reason for that?”

He’d noticed the shared glances, the satisfied looks.

“Franni’s been pestering them to visit here.”

“I see.” Gyles watched Francesca. Staring at the flames, she idly twirled one black curl. He let a moment pass, then asked, “Tell me about Franni.”

Francesca looked at him. “Franni?”

“She’s…” Gyles struggled to find a word that conveyed the reality. “Odd.”

The way Franni’s eyes had gleamed when he’d spoken to her, the way her fingers had fluttered when he’d taken her hand, the way she’d pressed too close as he’d escorted her and Ester to the table-all these were indelibly imprinted on his mind. Throughout, she’d watched him like a hawk, but a cagey hawk-whenever one of the others had glanced her way, she’d been staring at something else.

He’d felt hunted, and felt ridiculous for it. Franni was precisely the cipher he’d first thought her, only more disturbed. Weak and ineffectual, she was a nonentity-certainly no threat. Nevertheless, he’d clung to Francesca’s side as much as possible.