The street dipped, then gradually rose. Beyond the point where the village ended and the houses ceased, the street joined the main road the coach had taken on her wedding eve, carrying her to the Castle farther on.
Buildings clustered on either side of the street. The houses ran the gamut from workers’ cottages, abutting one another in a row, to more prosperous free-standing cottages with strips of garden between stoop and gate. In the middle of the street, a number of shops proclaimed their existence via brightly painted boards hanging over the narrow pavements. The signs of two inns, one this side of the shops, the other just past them, were the biggest.
“I hadn’t realized the village was so large.”
Gyles jiggled his reins; the grey stepped out. “There’s a fair number of people on the estate and more in the village and on adjoining estates-enough to support a market day.”
“And two inns.” Francesca considered the first as they passed it. The sign identified it as the Black Bull.
“It’s nearly time for lunch.” Gyles glanced at her. “We can leave the horses at the Red Pigeon and I’ll show you around the village, then we can lunch at the inn.”
She hid her surprise. “That would be pleasant.”
The Red Pigeon was a large coaching inn. Handing their reins to a freckle-faced lad, Gyles escorted Francesca through the heavy front door into the large hall.
“Harris?”
A round, bald head popped out from a door; it was followed by a rotund body clothed in black and white, with a white apron tied about the hips. Harris hurried forward.
“My lord! What a pleasure to see you.”
The innkeeper’s gaze fastened on Francesca.
“My dear, allow me to introduce Harris-his family have owned the Red Pigeon for as long as there have been Rawlingses at Lambourn. The story goes that the first Harris served under arms to one of our ancestors and on retirement took to innkeeping. Harris, this is Lady Francesca, my countess.”
Harris beamed and bowed very low. “It’s a rare pleasure, my lady, to welcome you to this house.”
Francesca smiled as he straightened.
“We left our horses with your Tommy.” Gyles noted the interested stares of all those in the open tap. “I’m going to show Lady Francesca about, then we thought to take luncheon here. A private parlor, I think.”
“Of course, my lord. The garden parlor, perhaps. It has a nice view over the roses to the orchards and river.”
Gyles raised a brow at Francesca.
“That sounds splendid,” she said.
Gyles retook her arm. “We’ll be back in an hour.”
“I’ll have everything ready, my lord.”
Outside, Gyles steered Francesca along the pavement to the shops. The first was a bakery.
“What a glorious smell!” Francesca paused to peer through the steamy window. A second later, a round, ruddy-faced woman appeared on the steps, wiping floury hands on a voluminous apron.
Gyles nodded. “Mrs. Duckett.” The woman bobbed a curtsy and mumbled a “m’lord,” her gaze fixed on Francesca. Gyles hid a wry smile. “Allow me to make you known to Lady Francesca, my countess.”
Mrs. Duckett sank into her best curtsy. “My lady! Welcome to Lambourn village.”
Francesca smiled and with her usual ease acknowledged the greeting and inquired after Mrs. Duckett’s enterprise. Mrs. Duckett was only too happy to show her ladyship all.
Thus it went as they progressed up the street, then crossed and returned on the other side. The outing was, Gyles discovered, an unexpected education.
He’d expected that the shopkeepers would be eager to greet his countess; he hadn’t realized she would be so interested-transparently sincerely-in them, in the village itself. But she was. Her interest rang clearly in her questions, in her bright eyes and focused attention.
He found his mind following hers, seeing things through her eyes. And was surprised by what he saw. Yet that was only part of the revelation. He knew and was known to everyone here; despite that familiarity, whenever he appeared he was usually the center of attention. Not today. Which left him in the position of some ghostly observer watching Francesca’s entrance on this familar scene, viewing her effect on it, on all the familiar characters.
She drew them to her like moths to a flame. Her confidence, her assuredness… he tried to pinpoint what her principal attraction was. He watched as she parted from the milliner, saw her smile, saw the milliner’s delighted response.