Gyles halted; Francesca glanced at him, then followed his gaze. He was looking at the pit where a whole ox was roasting under Ferdinand’s exacting eye.
“It makes even less sense to suspect Ferdinand. He’s not the least bit angry with me-or you.”
Gyles glanced at her. “He wasn’t annoyed that you weren’t receptive to his impassioned pleas?”
“He’s Italian-all his pleas ar
e impassioned.” She shook Gyles’s arm. “You’re worrying over nothing.”
“Your riding cap-a favorite possession-was found deliberately ruined and hidden in a vase. Until I discover who did it, and why, I will not let the matter rest.”
She exhaled through her teeth. A farmer and his wife were tentatively approaching. “You’re so stubborn. It’s nothing.” Smiling brilliantly, she released Gyles’s arm.
“It’s very definitely not ‘nothing.’ “ Gyles nodded urbanely to the farmer and stepped forward to greet him.
They separated. Despite her intentions, Francesca found her thoughts returning to the mystery of her ruined cap. There had to be a simple explanation.
After fifteen minutes with a bevy of giggling housemaids, she was certain she’d found it. When Gyles came to escort her to the archery range, she smiled and took his arm. “I have it.”
“ ‘It’ what?”
“A sensible explanation for my cap.”
His gaze sharpened. “Well?”
“For a start, if someone wanted to ruin my cap to make me sorry-to pay me back for something I’d done or not done-then they wouldn’t have hidden it in that vase. It might not have been found for months, even years.”
Gyles frowned.
“But,” she continued, “what if I’d left it somewhere and it was accidentally damaged-say with furniture polish. Any maid would be horrified-she’d be certain she’d be dismissed even if you and I know that wouldn’t happen. What would a maid do? She couldn’t hide the cap and take it away-their dresses and aprons have no pockets. So she’d hide it where no one would find it.”
“It was mangled and pulled apart.”
“That might have happened when the maid tried to put the branches in the vase. I was just speaking with her. She said the cap was tangled in the ends of the branches when she pulled them out to see what the problem was.”
Francesca smiled as they neared the crowd gathered about the improvised archery range. “I think we should forget about my cap. It was only a scrap of velvet, after all. I can always get another.”
Gyles got no chance to reply; she slipped her hand from his arm and stepped forward to present the prizes for the men’s archery competition. He stood back; his mind continued to dwell on her cap.
A scrap of velvet and a flirting feather. It might have had little real worth, but despite her comments, it had been a favorite possession of hers. He’d grown fond of it himself.
Propping his shoulders against a tree, he watched her, careful to keep his expression easy, impassive. Her explanation was possible-he had to concede that. Other than Lancelot and Ferdinand, he could conceive of no one who might want to upset her. Even imagining such a thing of them was extrapolating wildly.
According to the staff, Lancelot had not been sighted on the estate since being warned to keep away, and despite her strictures, Ferdinand seemed as worshipful of Francesca as he’d ever been. Even more telling, while Lancelot or Ferdinand might be enamored of dramatic gestures enough to destroy the cap, they wouldn’t, as she’d pointed out, have hidden the result-where was the gesture in that?
So… the destruction of the cap was an unfortunate accident. All they could do was shrug and forget it.
That conclusion didn’t ease the tightness about his chest, nor the compulsion to remain watchful and alert.
Amid laughter and cheering, Francesca turned away from the archery butts. He stepped to her side. She smiled and allowed him to take her hand, set it on his sleeve. Allowed him to keep her with him for the rest of the day.
The Harvest Festival was a resounding success. When the sun sank low and the tenants finally rolled home, Francesca and Gyles joined their staff, helping to strike the trestles and return the perishables inside before the river mists spread through the park. Lady Elizabeth, Henni, and Horace helped, too. When all was done, they stayed for supper-just soup followed by a cold collation.
Lady Elizabeth, Henni, and Horace were driven home by Jacobs, and the entire household fell exhausted into bed.
It was midday the next day before things got back to normal.
Gyles and Francesca were seated at the luncheon table, serving themselves from the dishes Irving and a footmen offered, when Cook popped her head around the door, then sidled in. Francesca saw her and smiled.