All About Passion (9 page)

She'd already told her twice, but Franni liked stories, and the idea of Francesca living in a castle appealed to her. "Very well." Francesca fixed her gaze on the dark canopy. "Lambourn Castle is centuries old. It sits on a bluff over a curve in the Lambourn River and guards the approach to the downs to the north. The village of Lambourn lies a little way along the river, tucked into the side of the downs. The castle has been modernized frequently and added on to as well, so it's now quite large, but it still has battlements and twin towers at either end. It's surrounded by a park filled with old oaks. The gatehouse is still standing and is now the Dower House.

With formal gardens overlooking the river, the castle is one of the great houses of the district." She'd spent hours thumbing through guidebooks and books describing the country seats of peers, and she'd learned yet more from Lady Elizabeth. "Inside, the house is of the utmost elegance, and the views to the south are rated as spectacular. From the upper levels, there are also views north across Lambourn Downs. The downs are excellent for riding and are used for training racehorses."

"You'll like that," Franni murmured.

Francesca smiled. She said nothing more, only to hear Franni prompt, "And the bit of land that you have in your dowry is going to make the earl's estate look like one big pie again."

"Indeed." Franni had overheard enough to become curious, so she'd explained. "And that's the reason for arranging our marriage."

After a moment, Franni asked, "Do you think you'll like being married to your earl?" Francesca's smile deepened. "Yes."

"Good." Franni sighed. "That's good."

Francesca closed her eyes, expecting that Franni would now settle. Her mind wandered… to Lambourn Downs, to riding a fleet-footed Arabian mare—

"I had a gentleman come to visit me—did I tell you?"

"Oh?" Wide-awake again, Francesca frowned. "When did he call?"

"Some weeks ago."

Francesca hadn't heard a word about any gentleman coming to visit Franni. That didn't mean some gentleman hadn't appeared. She considered her next question carefully; with Franni, one had to be specific, not general. "Was it before or after Chillingworth visited?" She couldn't see Franni's face, but she could sense her struggling. "Sometime about then, I think." Franni wasn't good with time; for her, one day was much like another. Before Francesca could think of her next question, Franni wriggled around to face her. "When Chillingworth asked you to marry him, did he kiss you?"

Francesca hesitated. "I didn't meet him formally. The marriage was arranged through your father—he's my guardian."

"You mean you haven't even met Chillingworth?"

"We met informally. We discussed a few details—"

"But did he kiss you?"

Francesca hesitated some more. "Yes," she eventually replied.

"What was it like?"

The eagerness in Franni's voice was impossible to mistake. If she didn't appease it, Francesca knew she'd get precious little sleep. The kisses she'd shared with her husband-to-be remained fresh in her mind; it took only a moment to decide which interlude to describe. "He kissed me in the orchard. He stopped me from falling and claimed a kiss as a reward."

"And? What did it feel like?"

"He's very strong. Powerful. Masterful…" The words were enough to evoke the memory and send recollected sensation sweeping through her, sweeping her away—

"But was it nice?"

Francesca stifled a frustrated sigh. "It was better than nice."

"Good."

She felt Franni rocking herself happily and had to ask, "This gentleman who called, did he try to kiss you?"

"Oh, no. He was very proper. But he walked with me and listened to me very politely, so I expect he's thinking of making an offer."

"He called just once some weeks ago—"

"Twice. He came back after the first time. So that must mean he's taken with me, don't you think?" Francesca didn't know what to think. "Did he tell you his name?" She felt Franni nod. "What was it, Franni?"

Franni shook her head. She had a pillow clutched to her middle, and she hugged it almost gleefully.

"You have your Chillingworth, and I have my gentleman. That's nice, don't you think?" Francesca hesitated, then reached out and patted Franni's arm. "Very nice." She knew better than to press Franni once she'd said "no." That was one word Franni never shifted from; any pressure would only provoke enormous and sometimes hysterical resistance.

To Francesca's relief, Franni settled, sighed, then snuggled deeper under the covers. A minute later, she was asleep.

Francesca lay staring up at the canopy, and wondered what to do. Had some gentleman called on Franni—or had she imagined it, a reaction to Chillingworth calling on her? That was possible. Franni didn't lie, not deliberately, but her version of the truth often diverged from reality. Like the time she swore they'd been held up by highwaymen, when all that had happened was that Squire Muckleridge had hailed them as they drove past.

What Franni said happened and what really had happened weren't necessarily the same thing. Francesca considered the little Franni had let fall—there was no way of telling if it was truth or fantasy. Despite Franni's sometimes childlike behavior, in age there was only a month between them. In looks, in physical maturity, they were equals. By all outward appearances, Franni passed for a young gentlewoman. In the right setting with the right subject, she could converse perfectly rationally as long as her interlocutor did not switch subjects quickly or ask a question beyond Franni's ken. If her train of thought was broken, her vagueness quickly became apparent, but if it wasn't triggered, then there was nothing to disturb the image of a quiet, unassuming young lady.

Francesca knew there was something amiss with Franni, that her vagueness and retreat into childish ways was not a condition that was improving with time. Charles and Ester's care and concern underscored the truth, but Francesca had never asked, never forced either Charles or Ester to acknowledge that truth by explaining it to her.

That Franni's condition was a source of pain and sorrow to both Charles and Ester was something Francesca knew without asking; she strove to do nothing to add to that pain. So she considered carefully what Franni had said, considered whether and how much she should tell Charles. Not Charles, she eventually decided. A gentleman might not understand a lonely girl's dreams. Francesca had dreamed enough in her time; Franni's gentleman might live only in Franni's mind. Turning onto her side, Francesca snuggled down. Tomorrow she'd warn Ester—just in case Franni's gentleman had, in fact, been real.

Decision made, she relaxed and let her mind drift. Like a slow, inexorable tide, the emotions that had swept her earlier returned, inching up, then pooling inside, a well of impatient longing. She'd waited for him for years; at his insistence, she'd waited four weeks more. Soon, it would be her wedding night. She'd wait no more.

Her dreams were ones of passion, of longing and love, of a love so deep, so enduring, it would never wane.

Morning came and she rose, restless, oddly breathless, more impatient than she'd ever been. She dressed and went downstairs. She joined the innwife's old father as he stood in the open doorway. He glanced at her, then nodded outside. "Told you. It's cleared and gone. You'll get to your wedding on time, young mistress."

Chapter 5

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The old man's prophecy held true, but they cut it very fine. The state of the roads as they pushed north deteriorated; the rains had been heavier here. They crossed the Lambourn River, swollen and running high, via a stone bridge; if the crossing had been a ford, they would never have made it. It was too dark to see much of Lambourn village beyond a cluster of roofs off to one side, huddling between the river and the escarpment of the downs.

The escarpment lowered over them as the road swung left, following the river, gradually rising above it. It was almost full dark when they slowed and turned between huge gateposts, their wrought-iron gates set wide. The crest in the gate on Francesca's side, illuminated briefly by the coach lamps, had a wolf's head as the principal device.

She leaned closer to the window, peering through the gloom. The Dower House had been on the coach's other side; she'd barely glimpsed it. They rattled along a well-graded drive, the horses at last picking up speed. Parkland dotted with huge oaks stretched as far as she could see.

The coach slowed. The tension that had steadily built all day knotted tight; her stomach was a hard ball pressing into her lungs, making it difficult to breathe. The coach halted. The door opened. A footman stood ready to assist them to the ground. Flickering light from flares lit the scene. Francesca went first. The footman handed her down to a flagged forecourt. Releasing her skirts, she looked around.

Lambourn Castle, her new home, was exactly as she'd imagined it. The Palladian facade stretched away on either side. Tall windows were set into the pale stone at regular intervals, some with curtains drawn, others with lights glowing. The second story was topped by a stone frieze, which she knew hid the old battlements behind it. Directly before her, a sweep of steps led up to the imposing entrance, the pedimented porch held aloft by tall columns flanking double doors.

Those doors stood wide; warm light streamed out. Two tallish, older ladies stood silhouetted just outside the doors. Francesca gathered her skirts and climbed the steps.

One of the ladies came sweeping up the instant she reached the porch. "My dear Francesca, welcome to your new home! I'm Elizabeth, dear, Gyles's mama."

Enveloped in a scented embrace, Francesca closed her eyes against a rush of tears and returned the embrace eagerly. "I'm delighted to finally meet you, ma'am."

Releasing her, Lady Elizabeth held her away, shrewd grey eyes much like her son's quickly taking stock, then the countess's face lit. "My dear, Gyles has surprised me—I hadn't credited him with such good sense."

Francesca returned Lady Elizabeth's smile, then turned to meet the second lady, of similar age to the countess and equally elegant but with brown hair rather than the countess's pale curls. The lady took her hand, then drew her closer to kiss her cheek. "I'm Henrietta Walpole, my dear—

Gyles's paternal aunt. Gyles calls me Henni, and I'll expect you to as well. I can't tell you how glad I am to see you." Henni patted her hand, then released it. "You'll do wonderfully."

"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 fiancé by her side, was not an ordeal she'd come prepared to face.