“She’s not here.” Harry met Francesca’s gaze. “My wife, Felicity. She’s expecting our first child.” He glanced at Gyles. “She’s at home in Newmarket. I had to come up for the sales at Tattersalls.”
“Ah-the mystery’s explained.”
Harry grinned, tightly. “Indeed.” He paused for a heartbeat, then looked at Francesca. “But I would have thought you’d guess.” He again smiled his winning smile. “I’m here on a mission. My mama would like to meet you.” He glanced again at Gyles. “She’s sitting with Lady Osbaldestone.”
Gyles caught Demon’s glance, recognized the ploy, recognized the fellow feeling that had prompted it. He hesitated for only an instant before asking, “Where, precisely?”
“The other end of the room.”
To the bewildered disappointment of the gentlemen about them, Gyles excused himself and Francesca. Her hand anchored on his sleeve, he led her through the crowd, Demon equally large and discouraging on her other side.
Francesca glanced from one hard male face to the other-both were scanning the crowd as they strolled, watching for any gentleman who might attempt to accost her.
She had to hide a smile as they delivered her to the chaise where Lady Osbaldestone sat, resplendent in puce trimmed with feathers. Alongside her sat another grande dame.
“Lady Horatia Cynster, my dear.” The lady pressed her hand. “I’m very glad to meet you.” She shifted her gaze to Gyles. “Chillingworth.” She gave him her hand and watched as he bowed. “You’re an exceedingly lucky man-I do hope you appreciate that?”
Gyles arched a brow. “Naturally.”
“Good. Then you may fetch me some orgeat, and her ladyship would like a glass, too. You may take Harry with you.” She waved them away.
Francesca was intrigued when, after an instant’s hesitation, Gyles inclined his head, collected Harry Cynster with a glance, and left them.
“Here-sit down, gel.” Lady Osbaldestone shifted, as did Lady Horatia. Francesca sat between them.
“You needn’t worry about all those others.” Lady Horatia waved in the direction from which they’d come. “They’ll melt into the woodwork once they realize you’re not for them.”
“Good thing, too.” Lady Osbaldestone thumped her cane and turned gleaming black eyes on Francesca. “If the rumors are even half-true, you’ll have enough on your plate with that husband of yours.”
Francesca felt heat rise in her cheeks. She quickly turned, as Lady Horatia said, “Indeed, in such situations, it’s wise to keep your husband occupied-busy. No need to let him work himself into a lather over nothing, if you take my meaning.”
Francesca blinked, then nodded, rather weakly.
“No saying what he might do if he got overly exercised on that point.” Lady Osbaldestone nodded sagely. “One of the difficulties when marrying Cynsters-one has to draw a very firm line. Too prone to revert to their ancestral selves if rubbed the wrong way.”
“But… I don’t understand.” Francesca glanced from one to the other. “Gyles isn’t a Cynster.”
Lady Osbaldestone snorted.
Lady Horatia grinned. “They made him one by decree-unusually farsighted of them, but it was doubtless Devil’s idea.” She patted Francesca’s hand. “What we’re saying is that there’s not a whisker to chose between them-what applies to the Cynsters applies equally to Chillingworth.”
“Come to that,” Lady Osbaldestone opined, “the same applies to most of the Rawlingses, but the others are generally milder sorts.”
“Do you know them? The other Rawlingses?”
“A good few,” Lady Osbaldestone admitted. “Why?”
Francesca told her.
Gyles and Harry returned with two glasses of orgeat and one of champagne for Francesca, to find all three ladies with their heads together, discussing the Rawlings family tree. Harry exchanged a glance with Gyles, then strolled off. Fifteen minutes passed before Gyles was able to extract Francesca from the discussion.
“I’ll see you at my at-home next week,” Lady Horatia said, as he finally drew Francesca to her feet.
“I’ll be there, too,” Lady Osbaldestone said. “I’ll let you know what I’ve learned then.”
Gyles gave mute thanks that the old tartar wasn’t planning on calling in Green Street. “Mama and Henni are near the main door.” He steered Francesca through the crowd.
After another fifteen minutes, during which his mother, Henni, and Francesca made numerous social plans, he dragged Francesca away.