Saw something he recognized. Francesca’s belief in happiness, an unshakabl
e conviction that happiness existed, that it was there for the claiming regardless of one’s station in life, regardless of whatever it was that happiness meant to each one.
That conviction hung over her like a cloak, touching all about her.
She turned to him, her smile brilliant, lighting her eyes. He took the hand she held out to him, hesitated, then carried it to his lips. Her eyes widened in surprise.
“Come. It’s time for lunch.” With a nod to the delighted milliner, he handed Francesca from the shop.
“She seemed to have very good quality wares.” Francesca glanced back at the delicate lace in the window.
Gyles guided her firmly along. “Mama and Henni both use her services on occasion.”
“Hmm. Perhaps-”
“Chillingworth!”
They halted, turned; Francesca saw a middle-aged lady and gentleman crossing the street toward them.
“Sir Henry and Lady Middlesham,” Gyles murmured. “Not like the Gilmartins,” was all he had time to add before the Middleshams reached them.
The introductions were made. Lady Middlesham was a comfortable woman with twinkling eyes while Sir Henry was a solid country sort, content to bow over her hand, tell her she was “a pretty little thing,” then turn to Gyles with some question about the river.
“You’ll have to excuse them,” Lady Middlesham told her. “Our lands lie to the north and west of the Castle, on the other side of the river farther upstream. They both have an abiding interest in the fish stocks.”
“Gyles fishes?”
“Oh, indeed. You should ask him to take you in summer. It’s quite relaxing, doing nothing but watching them play with their rods and lines.”
Francesca laughed. “I must try it sometime.”
“Indeed, and we’d be pleased if you would call at the Manor sometime, too.” Lady Middlesham pulled a face. “I suppose, theoretically, we should call on you first, but I always get confused with such formalities.” She squeezed Francesca’s hand. “Now that we’ve met, let’s not stand on ceremony. If you have time, do call in, and next time we’re passing the Castle, we’ll make a point of looking in. Elizabeth and Henni are at the Dower House, I believe?”
As she and Lady Middlesham chatted, already comfortable, Francesca noted that Gyles and Sir Henry, although not close in age, were likewise comfortable in each other’s company. The idea of taking her first social steps blossomed in her mind.
“Countess!”
Francesca turned, as did the others. They beheld a figure, all in black, mounted on a prancing black steed.
Lancelot Gilmartin bowed extravagantly; his horse danced nervously, nearly bumping Lady Middlesham.
“Here! I say!” Sir Henry drew his wife to safety. “Watch what you’re doing there.”
Lancelot looked down his nose at Sir Henry, then focused his dark gaze on Francesca. “I wanted to thank you for your hospitality. I wondered if, later this afternoon, you might like to ride on the downs. I could show you Seven Barrows. The mounds have an eerie atmosphere. Quite romantic.”
Francesca was very aware of Gyles by her side, aware of the restraint he was exercising. She smiled coolly at Lancelot. “Thank you, but no.” With a wave she drew Lancelot’s attention to the presence beside her. “We’ve been out all morning riding the downs-I’ll have much to catch up with this afternoon. Please convey my regards to your mother and father, and my thanks for their visit.”
A scowl marred Lancelot’s too-handsome features. Faced with a wall of trenchant respectability, he was forced to accept her dismissal. He didn’t do it with good grace. “Some other time, then.”
Nodding curtly, he dug in his heels-his horse reared, then all but bolted up the street.
“Insolent puppy!” Sir Henry glowered after Lancelot’s rapidly dwindling figure.
Francesca took Gyles’s arm. “One can only hope he’ll grow up soon and leave such ungraciousness behind.”
The comment answered the questions that had been about to bloom in the Middleshams’ minds. Allowed them to dismiss Lancelot as the mere nuisance he was. Lady Middlesham pressed her hand as they made their farewells; Sir Henry smiled and expressed a wish they would meet again soon.
They parted from the Middleshams and headed for the Red Pigeon. Francesca squeezed Gyles’s arm. “Lancelot is a spoilt boy, of no interest to me and no consequence to you.”