Francesca reached for Gyles’s hand, grateful for the warmth when his hand enveloped hers.
Charles exhaled, shook his head. “Ester knew about her mother. She didn’t think it wise for Elise to marry-it’s the reason Ester never has. But our fathers, mine and Elise’s, were set on the match. I’m sure Papa didn’t know at the time. He did afterward, of course. As always, such happenings are hidden away. Ester was sent to an aunt in Yorkshire until after Elise and I were married, and Franni was born.”
His gaze exhausted and bleak, Charles looked at Francesca. “I’m so sorry, my dear, that you were caught up in this-we’d been hoping for so long that Franni would be spared… we just kept hoping. We didn’t realize until we were here, in London, that she was truly deteriorating. You have to believe me-we never imagined she’d go… so fast.”
Visibly steeling himself, Charles faced Gyles. “What will you do?”
Gyles looked at Charles and felt nothing but compassion, saw nothing but a man who had loved his wife and sought to protect his only daughter. Raising a hand, he gripped Charles’s shoulder. “I assume you’ll want to take Franni back to Rawlings Hall without delay. Can you manage? What can we do to help?”
Charles blinked. He searched Gyles’s eyes. “You won’t press charges?”
Gyles held his gaze. “Franni’s a Rawlings. Despite her illness, she’s family, and she can’t help how she is.”
Charles looked down. Francesca squeezed his arm. His throat worked, then he whispered, “Thank you.”
Gyles dragged in a breath, and looked again at Franni, now slumped, exhausted, supported by Ester and one of the footmen. “I’d offer to help carry her to the carriage, but I think it might be best if Francesca and I left. Franni will be more docile with us gone.”
Charles nodded.
“If you can manage it, call at the house before you leave London. We’d like to know all’s well.” Gyles held out his hand.
Charles gripped it. “I will-and again, thank you.”
“Take care.” Francesca stretched up to kiss her uncle’s cheek. “All of you.”
Charles’s lips twisted. He turned away as Osbert came up, looking more serious than Francesca had ever seen him. “I’ll stay with Charles-help get the girl into the hackney.”
Gyles clapped him on the shoulder. “Drop by tomorrow and fill us in.”
Osbert nodded and turned back to the group before the altar. Francesca took one last look at Franni, eyes closed, head back, mouth agape, sagging against Ester, who was gently brushing back her wispy hair.
“Come.” Gyles turned Francesca. His arm about her, he guided her from the chapel.
“I want, I want, and I shall have.” In the dark warmth of the carriage, wrapped in Gyles’s arms, Francesca repeated the litany. “That Franni got from our grandfather. It was one of his favorite sayings.”
Gyles held her close. She’d made no demur when he’d lifted her into his lap the instant they’d started off. He needed to hold her, to reassure the barbarian that all was well and she was here, still with him, safe and unhurt. She seemed equally content to rest against him, her head on his shoulder, one hand splayed on his chest, ov
er his heart. “I thought you never met old Francis.”
“I didn’t. Papa told me-he explained about Grandfather, about how stubborn he was. He wanted me to know just in case…”
Gyles thought of a man farsighted enough to protect his daughter into any possible future. “I’m sorry I never met your father.”
“He’d have liked you-approved of you.”
Never had Gyles felt more conscious of his own happiness, his own good fortune. He thought of all he had-all Charles had not had a true chance to enjoy. “Poor Franni. Not only did she inherit madness from her mother, but she also absorbed old Francis’s peculiar madness.”
“I didn’t say anything before-to Charles. It would only upset him more. Ester told me Francis spent a great deal of time with Franni, and that that had pleased Charles.”
Gyles pressed a kiss to Francesca’s curls. “Best leave him with that memory.”
The carriage rattled on. They’d pulled the leather flaps down over the windows, shutting out the chilly night, creating a dark, companionable cave.
“Thank you for not pressing charges.”
“I meant what I said about Franni being family.”
She’d taught him, made him see, what family in the wider sense was about-the support, the net of caring. After a moment, he added, “In a way, we’re indebted to Franni. If she hadn’t been there to appear as the cipher I thought I wanted to wed, then I would have realized who Francesca Rawlings was before we sealed the matter, and then it wouldn’t have been sealed at all.”