With Irving and his minions constantly about, she had to bide her time. At the end of the meal, she would ask to speak with him-
“If you’ll excuse me, my dear, I’ve a lot to catch up with.”
Francesca stared as Gyles waved aside the fruit platter, dropped his napkin by his plate, and stood.
He nodded her way, his gaze touching her face briefly. “I’ll see you at dinner.”
Before she could say a word, he walked from the room.
Francesca followed his broad shoulders, then set her knife down with a clack.
It was possible he truly was swamped with work. In the interests of domestic peace, Francesca called for her cloak and went out for a walk.
The clouds had closed in; the sun had disappeared. The leaves lay thick under the oaks, a dense carpet muffling her steps. The air beneath the bare branches was still and cool, waiting for winter.
She tried to decide if she was reading more into the day’s events than they warranted. Was she overreacting? In her heart, she didn’t think so. Logically, she wasn’t sure.
She’d followed a line parallel to the drive, under the trees-where was she going? With a sigh, she stopped. Going to the ramparts might distract her-she could see what sort of view there was on such a cloudy day. She swung around and stopped, staring at the two footmen who’d been ambling in her wake.
They halted. Warily waited.
Lips thinning, she started walking again. They bowed as she passed; she nodded and swept on-she didn’t trust herself to speak. If she opened her lips she would scream, but it wasn’t the footmen she wanted to scream at.
What did he think he was doing?
He was jealous, but it couldn’t be that. On what grounds could he excuse such draconian measures? He’d been bothered over her cap’s demise, but she’d explained that. And the ruckus over the odd smell in the dressing had simply been a mistake.
Reaching the ramparts, she stalked along. She could understand he might harbor some nebulous concern, but did he think she was so helpless he needed to treat her like a child? To be watched over by nursemaids? Two nursemaids?
Leaves crunched beneath her soles. At the point where the river curved, she halted, looking out over a landscape wreathed in gauzy mist. Her eyes saw; her brain did not.
She had a good mind to walk down to the folly and lock herself in-and wait until he came before she opened the door. Then he’d have to talk to her.
That, of course, was what was so irritating-the point that so exercised her temper. He was avoiding her because he didn’t wish to discuss this latest start. He’d decreed, and it was to be, regardless of what she thought or felt.
She gritted her teeth against a nearly overwhelming urge to shriek. Lips compressed, she swung on her heel and headed around the house, then on through the park.
She strode back from the Dower House two hours later. Lady Elizabeth and Henni had welcomed her with praise and congratulations over the success of the Festival and what they were calling the Great Plum Harvest. She’d had to smile, sip her tea, and listen. With barely a pause, they’d moved on to the family, showing her the additions they’d made to the copy of the family tree she’d left with them.
That had distracted her. She’d become absorbed with their explanations, the names, connections, recollections. They’d gone as far as they could. She’d rolled up the family tree with all its addendums and brought it away with her.
It would be up to her what she did with it next. She’d never been part of a large family; she was feeling her way, yet she could see the possibilities. The potential. Ideas, still amorphous, floated through her head but she couldn’t concentrate, couldn’t make any decision on such matters-not yet.
Not until she’d discovered what was going on in her marriage, and decided what to do about that.
Distracted by their own chatter, neither Lady Elizabeth nor Henni had noticed her initial abstraction. She’d left without mentioning her sudden, unwelcome uncertainties. She hadn’t asked why Gyles’s reasonable concern should suddenly erupt into such overprotectiveness. The answer was one she needed to learn for herself-the matter lay between him and her.
That overprotectiveness irked-the two footman crunching in her wake were a constant reminder. She felt caged, but it wasn’t that that hurt.
Gyles was avoiding her, refusing to reveal whatever the problem that had caused this reaction was.
He’d withdrawn from her, drawn back from her…
She paused and forced herself to take a breath.
She’d thought they’d drawn close, but he’d stepped away, turned away. Had she imagined it-all that had gone before? She’d been so certain he was close to loving her as she wished… and now this. In a matter of hours, he’d cut himself off from her and retreated to a formal, conventional distance. He’d put up walls against her.
She didn’t feel just caged, she felt shut out.