Sir Henry and Horace, old friends, drew Lord Gilmartin into their circle. Gyles left them to their discussion of coverts. He surveyed the room. His mother had engaged Charles and Ester while Henni had taken Francesca’s place beside Lady Gilmartin. Francesca was chatting with Lady Middlesham; as he watched, Clarrisa joined them. Lancelot was brooding by the window. That left…
Instinctive self-protection reared its head-
“Good evening, Cousin Gyles. Do you like my gown?”
Franni had circled the room to come up beside him. Gyles turned and briefly scanned her blue muslin gown. “Very nice.”
“Yes, it is. Of course, I’ll eventually have gowns like Francesca’s, all silks and satins-gowns your countess would wear.”
“Indeed.” Why was it that one minute in Franni’s company was enough to make him long to shake free of her and escape?
“I like this house-it’s big, but it’s comfortable, and your staff seem well trained.”
Gyles nodded distantly. She was neither cloying nor snide; she displayed none of the usual behaviors he deplored. His aversion was primitive, instinctive-not easy to explain.
“However, there is one little man I don’t like. He wears black, not livery-he wouldn’t let me go into your rooms.”
“Wallace.” Gyles stared at Franni. “No one goes into my rooms except those who have a right to be there.”
He spoke slowly, clearly-just like Francesca and Charles did when speaking to this strange young woman.
Her expression turned mutinous. “Is Francesca allowed in?”
“If she wishes, naturally. But I don’t think she’s been in.”
“Well, her room is beautiful, all in emerald silk and satin.” Franni shot him an unreadable look. “But you’d know that because you sleep in her bed.”
This was without question the strangest conversation he’d ever had with a young lady. “Yes.” He kept his tone calm and low. “Francesca’s my wife, so I sleep in her bed.” Looking up, about to search for help, he saw Irving enter the room. “Ah-I believe dinner is served.”
She looked and smiled. “Oh, good!” She turned to him, clearly expecting him to offer his arm.
“If you’ll excuse me, I must take my aunt in to dinner. Lancelot will lead you in.” Gyles beckoned the young man over. He came readily enough, clearly prepared, after his moments of isolation, to be passably agreeable.
Franni’s blanked face-so utterly without expression-remained in Gyles’s mind as, with Henni on his arm, he led the procession into the dining room. Inwardly, he heaped praises on his wife’s dark head. With the extra guests at table, Franni would be seated somewhere in the middle, well away from him.
As he handed Henni to the chair beside his, he murmured, “Charles’s daughter, Frances-what do you make of her?”
“Haven’t had much chance to form an opinion.” Henni glanced down the table to where Franni sat.
“When you do, let me know.”
Henni raised a brow at him.
Gyles shook his head and turned to greet Lady Middlesham on his other side.
The ritual of the port which he deliberately prolonged, not a difficult feat given the conversational abilities of Horace, Sir Henry, and even Lord Gilmartin in such an amiable setting, saved Gyles from having to deal with Francesca’s cousin in the drawing room. Even so, he wasn’t blind to the eager look in Franni’s eye when he led the gentlemen back in just ahead of the tea trolley. Nor to the fact that her look turned to one of confusion, then frustration as the disparate groups gathered to chat over the teacups.
When their guests rose to take their leave, he held to Francesca’s side, taking refuge in the dictates of formality. As they moved into the hall, Ester paused beside Francesca and whispered in her ear. Francesca nodded and smiled. Over the melee as Irving and the footmen brought coats and scarves, Gyles saw Ester draw Franni up the stairs.
He was conscious of relaxing his guard, smiling as he shook hands and exchanged farewells, eventually braving the chill outside with Francesca to wave the carriages off.
Charles was waiting when they reentered the hall. He took Francesca’s hands. “That was a most enjoyable evening. Thank you.” He kissed her cheek. “It’s been such a long time since we’ve entertained… well.” He stepped back, and they turned and started up the stairs. “I’d almost forgotten what it was like. How pleasant such an evening can be.”
Francesca’s smile was radiant. “There’s no reason you couldn’t entertain on a similar scale at Rawlings Hall. Franni seemed to enjoy it.”
Charles nodded. “Indeed. I’ll speak to Ester about it.” He halted at the top of the stairs. “Who knows? It might be a good thing all around.”
With a nod and a “good night,” he left them.