All About Passion

Chapter 8

It was full light when he awoke and reached for her.

And realized she no longer lay beside him.

Gyles opened his eyes and stared, then groggily glared at the rumpled space where his eager new wife should have lain, warm and soft and ready to be aroused…

He bit back a groan, turned onto his back, and slung one arm across his eyes. Damn the woman!

Half a minute later, he lifted his arm, lifted his head, and looked about the room.

He sat up, then thrust back the covers and stalked to the door to her sitting room. He flung the door open. The room was empty. Not even a maid to send into hysterics.

Cursing, he shut the door, crossed the room, and righted the chair his loving bride had placed before the door to his room with the fell intention of keeping him out. Memories of the argument that had given rise to that event followed him into his room.

Five minutes later, fully dressed, he was striding across the lawns to the stables, no longer so sure of his victory of the night. Time and again he’d underestimated her, misjudged the way her mind worked. He’d thought last night would have smoothed their path, but had it? Or had he sunk himself deeper in the mire?

If he had, given her temper, given her resolution, what might she do?

Reaching the stables, he went quickly down the aisle to the mare’s box. The mare was in it; she lifted her head and stared him.

Gyles humphed and whirled.

“Shall I saddle up for you, m’lord?”

Jacobs, his head stableman, came trotting up from the tack room.

“Has anyone gone out this morning?” Jacobs would never imagine he was asking after his new wife.

“No, but I heard most of the visitors are gone.”

“Most, yes. I wondered if her ladyship’s uncle had gone out. He must be inside.” Dismissing Jacobs, Gyles strode back to the house.

He tried to put himself in “her ladyship’s” shoes, tried to imagine, if he were her, where he might go. To no avail-he had no idea what she might be thinking, feeling. Was she happy with their marriage, smugly content after last night? Ready to make the best of it, calmly resigned to the fact? Or was she sad, dismayed, even distraught that what she’d hoped would not be?

That he’d never in his life spent so much as a minute worrying about any woman’s thoughts, much less her feelings, he shrugged aside as irrelevant. The gypsy was his wife-she was different.

He paused at the end of the yew walk to draw in a deeper breath, to ease the nonsensical fear that was closing about his chest. Hands on his hips, he tipped his head back.

And saw her.

On the battlements of the nearest tower.

He reached the house in seconds and raced through the corridors to the tower stair. By then, a sliver of sanity had punctured his fear. The gypsy was neither weak nor fragile. What exactly was he thinking?

He climbed the stairs at a normal pace, making no effort to be silent. Regardless of the fact that the battlements were quite safe, he didn’t want to frighten her by suddenly appearing beside her.

One arm on the stone coping, she was leaning on the battlements, looking out over the park. She turned her head as he opened the tower room door and stepped onto the wooden walk. Far from being shocked, he had the impression she was not surprised to see him.

He was the one surprised.

He hadn’t previously seen her in an ordinary gown-seen her as he would see her every day for the rest of his life. Taking in the simple voile gown, noting how it lovingly displayed her ample charms, how the soft material caressed her hips and thighs, the single flounce flirting about her ankles, he was acutely aware of the body the gown concealed. The lush body he’d enjoyed throughout the night.

Noting the black curls piled artlessly atop her head, tumbling about her ears and nape, noting how large and vivid were her eyes, how perfectly lashed, noticing anew the lushness of her lips, he wondered what he would have done, said, how he would have reacted if he’d seen her this way before he’d married her. He had to question his sanity in wedding her.

And knew he wouldn’t have it any other way.

“I wondered where you were.” He walked toward her, halting a yard away.

She looked back at the vista of treetops. “I came up here for the views and fresh air.” After an instant, she added, “It seemed a good place to think.”

He wasn’t sure he wanted her to think, nor that he would like what she was thinking.

“The estate extends more to the east and west, I presume?”

“Yes. The escarpment’s the northern boundary.”

“And the Gatting property lies to the east?”

“Southeast.” He waited, then added, “I’ll take you to see it sometime, if you like.”

She inclined her head, then waved to where a glimmer of silver marked the course of the river. “The bridge that washed away-was it over there?”

“Farther upriver.”

“Was it wrecked?”

“Most of it’s gone. The only span still standing is badly weakened. We’ll have to rebuild completely, but meanwhile we’ve rigged a pulley system to ferry necessities across to the farms that way. I should go and inspect the progress-perhaps later today after the others have left.”

She started to slowly stroll, fingers trailing the stones. He followed, equally slowly, as she circled the tower.

“How many ‘others’ are still here? Who are they?”

“Mostly relatives too ancient to set out immediately after a feast. They’ll be leaving this afternoon. Your uncle, of course, is still here. He told me he planned to take a different route home and wanted to leave before luncheon. Devil and Honoria left last night-they asked me to explain that with their newest child so young, they felt they had to hurry back.”

Devil had seen him on his way out of the ballroom and mouthed one word: Coward. He had, however, winked, then smoothly intercepted one of Gyles’s uncles who’d been about to bend his ear, allowing him to escape unimpeded.

“Yes-Honoria told me.” Francesca glanced back briefly, very briefly met his eye. “She’s invited us to visit at Somersham.”

“We might go later in the year. We’ll certainly see them in town.”

“You’ve known Devil a long time?”

“Since Eton.”

She continued to stroll, leaving him studying her back-and wondering just what was going on. Just what tack she intended to take. Wondering why she, thus far so forthright, was being so elusive. She strolled out of the tower’s shadow and onto the parapet.

“All right-I give in. What the devil are you thinking?”

She flashed him a glance. “About what?”

“Our marriage.” He halted. Eventually, she did, too, still facing away from him with two yards between them. “I’m aware that, prior to yesterday, your expectations and mine were not the same.”

She turned her head and looked at him. Her eyes were wide, but her glance was too brief for him to place the expression in them. Turning back to the view, she peered over the coping at the forecourt below. “That was before we were wed.” Her husky tones reached him clearly, but conveyed nothing more than her words. “It would be faster, I think, if we left the past behind and considered instead what we each wish of our marriage now.”

He was very ready to leave the past behind. “What we wish now?”

“Yes. So-what do you wish of me as your wife?”

She started to stroll again. He hesitated, watching her hips sway, then fell in again at her heels. Her question was reasonable, sensible. Her tack was rationality incarnate. The wooden planks were firm under his feet-so why did he feel he was walking on thin ice?

“My requirements haven’t changed-I need you to fill the role of my countess, which you’re patently well able to do. I need you to provide me with heirs, meaning two, so there’s no chance of Osbert inheriting. Beyond that, your life will be yours to live as you wish.”

She said nothing for sometime, walking slowly ahead of him, then she softly echoed, “As I wish.”

He wished he could see her face, her eyes. He could tell very little from her voice, other than it wasn’t as strong as usual.

“Tell me, my lord.” She stopped beside the parapet and looked down.

He stopped a few feet away, watching her.

“Are you saying that, beyond the bearing of your heirs, I will not need to be faithful?”

The thought rocked him. It took him some time to formulate an answer, one he could force himself to say. “I am not encouraging you to be unfaithful, but if, after providing me with the necessary heirs, you wish to develop liaisons, that will be entirely up to you.”

“Provided I was discreet.”

He thought he saw her lips lift wryly as she turned away and started strolling again. “I would expect my countess always to be discreet.”

“And you? Will you always be discreet in pursuing the liaisons I assume you wish to be free to pursue?”

There were always whispers, rumors. “To the best of my ability, I am always discreet.”

“But I-you expect me to always succeed in being discreet.” Before he could answer, she continued, “Tell me, my lord, when would this mutual discretion of ours start?”

He frowned. “Once you’ve given me the heirs I require-”

“I do not think that is a viable option. Who knows how many girls you may sire? I may never get a chance to exercise my discretion, although I’m quite sure you will be exercising yours.”

He wasn’t about to discuss that point, and he was getting very tired of talking to her back.

“I do not think that is fair. What I propose is that we both agree to remain faithful until such time as we are satisfied I’m carrying your child. From that agreed date, we go our separate ways, until I’m delivered of the child. Then, once again, we return to faithfulness, and so on, until you have your heirs. Once that point is reached, we will both henceforth be free to pursue whatever liaisons and discreet connections we please.”

He stopped walking.

He hadn’t realized the barbarian was so close to his surface. He was suddenly very glad she was facing the other way. Hands clenched at his sides, he struggled to contain his reaction. It took him a good minute to suppress the reactive rage, the instinctive urge to roar “No!”

It took another thirty seconds before he could say, “If that’s what you wish.”

She heard the change, the undercurrent of violence in his voice. She halted, stiffened; her head rose. Then she spoke in a tone he had not before heard from her. “I have desires, needs, and requirements of my own that you have chosen not to fulfill within our marriage. I’m merely ensuring that while fulfilling your requirements, I’ll be able to pursue my own goals.”

Abruptly, she swung to face him, head high, her expression reflecting a determination as stubborn as his own. “That is my requirement of our marriage. I do not think it’s one you can refuse.”

Her eyes were brilliant but screened. The distance between them had grown to several yards; he was content that it was so. It took every ounce of control he possessed to remain still, to stop himself reaching for her, to stop himself…

When he could trust himself to move that much, he inclined his head. “Very well, madam. We have an agreement.”

If his clipped tones bothered her, she gave no sign. Coolly, she inclined her head back, then turned and strolled on to the second tower’s door. “I imagine breakfast will be served soon.”

He had to breathe deeply before he could say, “If you wish, you may remain in our apartments.” He started after her. “No one will be counting on seeing us this morning, or even today.”

Opening the door, she turned as he neared. Her gaze touched his, then shifted past him. One brow arched, her expression calmly considering. Then she shook her head, turned, and stepped into the tower. “I do not think hiding is a good idea. I believe I had best start out as I mean to go on.”

Holding the door, Gyles watched her cross the tower room and start down the stairs. Not once did she glance back. Stepping over the threshold, he closed the door, and followed her down the stairs.

She’d agreed to be everything he wished for in a wife. Within an hour, he’d been put on notice that she could, and would, deliver on her side of their agreement handsomely.

Why that left him so grumpy he couldn’t understand. Perhaps because it meant that, once she was pregnant, coping with the practicalities of being his countess was clearly not going to challenge her enough to distract her from pursuing her own, currently unstated goals.

Not that he needed to hear them stated-he could guess what they were.

While he sat at the head of the breakfast table, coffee cup in hand, and lent a deaf ear to one of his great-uncle Mortimer’s war stories, Gyles inwardly kicked himself for agreeing to anything. At the other end of the table, separated from him by sixteen interested elderly relatives, his wife serenely dispensed calm and gracious order along with cups of tea.

Francesca could feel his gaze on her, could sense his disaffection with the bargain they’d struck. It wasn’t the bargain she’d wished for, but it was a bargain she’d accept. She hadn’t been sure he would agree to her proposal, her alternate plan, but now he had, they both knew where they stood, and it was simply a matter of getting on with life.

And reconciling herself to second best.

“Well, my dear-or should I say ‘my lady’?”

Francesca looked up to see Charles smiling down at her as he drew out the chair beside her. The distant cousin who had filled it had just departed to oversee her packing.

“Uncle.” Impulsively, she stood and kissed Charles’s cheek.

He beamed and patted her hand. “So, all’s well with you?”

“Indeed.” With a quick smile, Franceca sat. As Charles took his seat, she glanced around. “Is Ester coming down?”

“Shortly.” Charles flicked out the napkin a footman handed him. “Franni’s still asleep.”

“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.

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.”