All About Passion (Cynster 7)

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.