Stephanie Laurens (3 page)

There was a second’s pause as everyone looked at Frederick.

“Ah, I see.” Although he looked a trifle uncertain and worried, Frederick nodded. “A wedding superstition. This is understandable and must be accommodated.”

Nell smiled encouragingly at Frederick. She eased her hold on Frances, who straightened; Nell determinedly wound her arm in Frances’s and started strolling toward the ornate chapel to the side of the foyer. Frederick fell in beside Frances, ducking his head to see her face.

Walking behind the trio, Robert saw Nell’s arm tighten, then Frances raised her head and said something to Frederick, who smiled and straightened, transparently relieved.

By the time they’d walked down the side aisle and reached the main altar, all was well again. Frances might be a trifle quieter than before, but she seemed completely composed and attentive. She complimented the prelate very prettily on the magnificence of the altar, then she, Nell, and the prelate discussed the relevant positioning to be used during the wedding service.

Robert glanced at Frederick and saw him nodding as he followed the conversation. His friend appeared reassured by Frances’s increasing animation.

All Robert had were increasingly urgent questions, but it wasn’t Frances he needed to interrogate.

But he got no chance to isolate Nell. Once they’d finished their tour of the cathedral it was time to return to the castle for a private and more relaxed family lunch. Following Nell, Frances, and Frederick into the family dining room, and finding both sets of parents and Frederick’s uncles and aunts already present, Robert put aside any thought of pursuing his questions immediately; he would have to bide his time.

H
e thought his time had come when, after the meal was concluded, Frederick suggested a walk in the gardens and Frances, after a momentary hesitation during which she’d glanced at Nell, accepted.

Robert would have preferred to take Nell elsewhere, preferably somewhere he could sit her down and watch her face while he asked his questions and demanded answers, but as everyone clearly expected her to act as chaperon, he fell in with good grace by her side. With Frances on his arm, Frederick led the way out of the terrace doors, across the paved terrace, and down the steps to the parterre.

Pacing alongside Nell as she followed, Robert expected her to slow, to allow the betrothed, shortly-to-be-married couple to draw ahead and have some degree of privacy, affording him and her the same, but instead Nell remained ferociously focused on the pair, allowing them to get no more than ten feet ahead.

Given the questions he wished to ply her with, he needed greater privacy; he slowed his pace, expecting her to do the same, but she continued to forge on, leaving him behind.

Exasperated, he lengthened his stride and caught up with her. “Slow down—I want to speak with you.”

“Not now.” She glanced at him, briefly searched his eyes; he thought she might have sighed. “Later.” She looked at the couple ahead. “Trust me—not now.”

Trust her? About what? And why not now?

They turned down a walk shaded by sculpted shrubbery. Ahead of them, Frederick and Frances strolled on. Nell’s focus on the couple was so blinkered, so compelling, Robert followed her gaze and looked, too . . . and saw the hesitancy that had crept into Frances’s manner. There was no one thing that screamed uncertainty, but rather her whole stance, the way she held her head, no longer high and assured but lowered, as if she were trying to calm herself—and failing—set his inner alarms ringing.

Frances slowed. So did Frederick. Looking down at his bride-to-be, concern filled his face. “Liebchen?”

Robert all but heard the breath Frances gulped in, then she drew her hand from Frederick’s sleeve and started to turn away.

Before Frances had accomplished a quarter-turn, Nell had sped up and was there. Sliding an arm about her sister’s waist, she masked Frances’s turn with a wave and the words, “Isn’t that the most wonderful magnolia? It’s just like the one we have at home, isn’t it?” thus disguising Frances’s movement as a wish to point out the large flowering tree to Frederick.

Frederick blinked, then raised his gaze to the tree. “I see.” After a moment, he drew breath and looked down into Frances’s face. He smiled gently. “It is good that you have something to remind you of your home. Does your tree flower as well?”

Frances tipped her head, then studied the tree anew. “I believe this tree is bigger—older. It has more branches, so more flowers, I think.”

“We should look to see what else there is here that’s reminiscent of home.” Nell cast a glance at Robert, faintly wide eyes imploring his aid.

His diplomatic mask in place, he waved ahead. “If we go on a little further, there are some elders. As I recall you have lots of elders around your family’s country house.”

The rest of their walk transformed into a ramble, one filled with spotting familiar plants. Although led by Nell, with Robert in support, both Frederick and Frances were eventually drawn into the game, and in the end, the betrothed couple were once again at ease and laughing together.

Robert glanced at Nell as, at last, she fell back to stroll alongside him. He could almost feel her exhausted relief. When, sensing his gaze, she glanced up at him, he caught her dark eyes and said just one word. “Later.”

She sighed quite audibly, nodded, and faced forward.

Looking ahead, too, hands clasped behind his back, he continued to pace beside her.

“F
our more
days
!” Nell sprawled in an armchair in the sitting room of the suite her parents had been given. “Neither I nor Frances will survive.”

“Don’t be melodramatic, dear—it’s so unlike you.” In the other armchair, Valeria settled a gauzy shawl about her shoulders. “Besides, it’s hardly a matter of survival. Merely of managing, and you, darling, are very good at that.”

“Flattery, Mama, will, in this instance, advance your cause not at all. I’m exhausted.”

Valeria sighed. “So what stage has poor Frances reached?”

“I had to step in twice today and stop her from . . . Well, I suspect if I hadn’t interfered, she would have fled the scene.”

“Oh, dear.” Valeria looked more worried than she had. “That is troubling.”

“Yes. Especially as—as aforesaid—we still have four more days to ‘manage.’ ” Nell sighed. “And there’s more, which is really why I’m here. Robert knows—oh, not the reason, but after today he’s not going to rest until he has an explanation, and I fear Frederick’s . . . a little more than curious. Suspicious, in fact.” She met her mother’s eyes. “So what should I do?”

They were in the hiatus between coming inside and dressing for dinner; Valeria had changed her gown, but had yet to have her maid put up her fair hair, or don her jewels. Nell watched her mother frown as she digested the news.

“Where is poor Frances?” Valeria eventually asked.

“I left her lying down in her room. She’s mortified, of course, but I hope I’ve convinced her that as yet we’ve concealed the attacks well enough to pass—well, at least to all others except Robert and Frederick.”

“And the attacks themselves?”

Nell sighed. “They seem more acute than either she or I expected.”

Valeria grimaced. “Well, then, given, as you keep pointing out, we have four more days before the wedding, I believe we have no option other than to confide in dear Robert, and also Frederick. Perhaps if you speak to Robert and explain, he can pass the information on to Frederick in the most appropriate way.”

“Hmm. I gather Robert considers seeing this wedding to a successful conclusion as vital to furthering his career.”

“Very likely. You know how competitive the Knightley boys are about their efforts for the crown in foreign climes. I gather that since the Corsican upstart’s fall, the family has gone from strength to strength in the Foreign Office. I know your father was told very favorable things about Robert before we came.”

Nell arched her brows. “He was always observant and clever.”

“Indeed. So I counsel you to see him and explain as required—and I see no point in hiding anything from him. He can then decide how much to reveal, and how, to his friend.”

“Very well—that will solve that issue. But do you know of any way to”—Nell gestured—“
ameliorate
these attacks? If they grow more frequent, we’ll have the devil of a time concealing them.”

Valeria compressed her lips as she thought, then she looked at Nell. “Distraction. If she’s thinking and doing other things, she can’t be panicking, so fill her day—from morn to night—as much as you possibly can. Have her engaged with something interesting every single hour—I gather that worked for Selena, my cousin’s daughter.”

Nell frowned. “What sort of things—”

“The same things you would find interesting and engaging—Frances and you are very much alike, after all. Felicity and Esme are similar, and you and Frances share many traits—I’ve often noted it.”

Nell arched her brows, but then nodded. “Thinking of it, yes, I daresay you’re right. So . . .”

“So once you’ve explained all to dear Robert, tell him what we believe we need to do to help Frances through these next days and ask for his help, and his advice.” Valeria smiled. “I find it’s always helpful to have a solution ready to hand when one explains a problem to a gentleman—and asking for his help is a sure way to bringing him around. Men love to be thought helpful, and if you can make him feel like a savior, so much the better.”

Nell laughed and stood. “You’re incorrigible, Mama.”

“Of course.” Valeria held up her face for Nell to kiss. “But I’m right nevertheless. You’ll see.”

“Very well—I’ll engage to put your sage counsel to the test. I’ll arrange to meet with Robert later tonight.”

N
ell didn’t have to arrange to meet with Robert. After another near-disaster in the drawing room after dinner, which she barely managed to contain and adequately disguise, when everyone else retired, drifting out through the drawing room’s double doors and up the main stairs, Robert was waiting just inside the doors. He didn’t just catch her eye as, feeling harried and even more exhausted, having consigned an inwardly shaken Frances to Valeria’s care, Nell brought up the rear of the crowd; as she drew level with him, Robert reached out and caught her arm.

It was the first time they’d touched in nine years. The jolt to her pulse was stunning.

He paused, as if feeling it, too, then gentled his grip. For a moment, his eyes searched hers, then his lips thinned. “I’d like a word, if I may. In private.”

She nodded. “Where?”

Releasing her, he led her upstairs to his study. It was a masculine room, all dark brown leather and polished wood. Eschewing the cluttered desk, Nell made for the armchairs angled before the empty fireplace. Sinking into one, she watched as Robert closed the door, then came to stand before the hearth.

Robert looked down at her, and asked the question she clearly expected to be asked. “What’s going on?”

She looked up at him for a moment, then stated, “Nothing that should impact the wedding itself. Rather . . . it’s a situation we—you and I—need to manage, one that will end with the dawn four days hence.”

He blinked, calculated. “On their wedding day?”

She nodded.

When she didn’t say more, he arched a brow. “Nerves?”

Her lips twisted. “Of a sort. I’m thinking of how best to put it—to explain it so that you’ll understand.”

“Just tell me.”

She sighed. “Very well—Frances has proved to be subject to the Vayne family failing. We didn’t know if she would be, although the chances were good that she would, given no other female in the family has escaped the curse to date.”

“Curse? What curse?”

She gestured. “You’ve seen it—the sudden inexplicable panics. That’s the Vayne family failing in action. More than anything else, that’s why I had to be here—because one of us who understands and can remain with her at all times needed to be here to . . . stop her. Shepherd her and steer her out of it. Stop her from bolting if that’s how the failing struck.”

Blinking, feeling very much like shaking his head in disbelief, Robert shifted and sank into the armchair facing her. “Vayne—that’s your mother’s family, isn’t it?”

Nell nodded. “That’s where the failing comes from.”

“And this failing can take different forms?”

Again she nodded. “With different ladies. For instance, Mama actually bolted. The day before their wedding, she got in a gig and was driving herself out of London when Papa caught up with her. But she’d felt no panic until that day. Luckily, Papa wasn’t the self-effacing sort—he raced straight after her, which, as it happens, was the right thing to do. Mama had no idea where she was going, or even why—she just panicked.”

“So . . . if Frances bolts, Frederick has to go after her?”

“One of us will need to, but I’m hoping it won’t come to that.”

He felt . . . disorientated.

“Felicity, now, had three days of attacks to weather, but they were relatively mild. She just got in a flustered dither and made no sense, but that wasn’t hard to gloss over. Esme, like Mama, only had one attack and that on the day before the wedding, but we were ready and no one believed her wedding gown had suddenly been torn and stained beyond redemption. Once she snapped out of it, Esme didn’t have a clue why she’d thought that.”

“This . . . ah, curse. It doesn’t last into the wedding day?”

“It never has, and that’s from experience of many weddings, my mother’s sisters and their cousins and my cousins—all the females with Vayne blood. For some reason, once we get to the day itself, the curse vanishes.”

“Never to return?”

“Never to return in any form.”

Relief washed through him. “Having encouraged and facilitated this match, that’s comforting to know.”

“I daresay. With Frances, we didn’t know if, or when, or even in what form the curse would strike. Sadly, it first manifested on the barge, six full days before the wedding. And you’ve seen what it’s like—she draws back, pulls back. But—and this is the critically important part—her reactions have nothing to do with her feelings, or what she truly wants. She’s horrified when she snaps out of it, but while the panic is on her, she’s not actually thinking at all. Frances is very much in love with Frederick, and she very definitely wants to marry him—the panic attacks don’t in any way reflect or alter her feelings.”