"Quite sure." Gyles waited while Charles sat. "What is her decision?"

"As you're no doubt expecting, she's agreed to your proposal. She's very conscious of the honor you do her-"

Gyles waved the formal words aside. "I fancy we both know where we stand. I am, of course, pleased that she's consented to become my countess. Unfortunately, I must return to Lambourn immediately, so I'd like to confirm the details of the marriage settlements-Waring, my man-of-business, will send you the contracts in the next few days-and we'll need to discuss the wedding itself."

Charles looked slightly stunned. "Well-"

"If Miss Rawlings is agreeable," Gyles ruthlessly continued, "I would prefer the wedding be held at Lambourn Castle-the chapel there is the traditional place in which our ancestors have celebrated their nuptials. It's now the end of August-four weeks will give sufficient time for the banns to be read and should allow ample time for Miss Rawlings to assemble her bride clothes."

Without pause, he switched to the details of the marriage settlements, forcing Charles to scurry to his desk and take notes.

After half an hour, he'd tied every loose end-tied himself into matrimony as tightly as he could.

"Now"-Gyles rose-"if there's nothing else, I must be on my way."

Charles had surrendered long since. "Once again, it's a most generous offer and Francesca is delighted-"

"Indeed. Please convey my respects to her. I look forward to seeing her at Lambourn two days before the wedding." Gyles headed for the door, forcing Charles to catch up with him. "My mother will coordinate the social details-I'm sure Miss Rawlings will receive a missive within a few days."

Charles opened the door and accompanied him down the corridor and into the front hall. Pausing before the front door as Bulwer hurried to open it, Gyles smiled sincerely and offered Charles his hand. "Thank you for your help. And thank you for taking such good care of your niece-I look forward to taking on that duty in four weeks' time."

The concern that had hovered in Charles's eyes lifted. He grasped Gyles's hand. "You won't regret this evening's work, you may be sure of that."

With a brief nod, Gyles strode out. The stablelad was walking his horse in the courtyard. Mounting, he raised a hand in salute to Charles, then he tapped his heels to the chestnut's flanks and cantered down the drive.

Never, Gyles vowed, would he return to Rawlings Hall.

If he'd turned around and looked at the house, he might have seen her, a shadowy figure at an upstairs window, watching him-her betrothed-ride away. He didn't.

Francesca watched until he disappeared into the trees, then, frowning, turned inside.

Something was not right.

By the time she'd reached the lane home that afternoon, she'd accepted that making love al fresco might not have been the way he'd wanted to celebrate their first joining. Her practical side had also pointed out that, despite her eagerness, beneath the trees might not have been the best venue to commence her career in that sphere.

So she'd accepted his decree and ridden home at nothing more than a canter. But why, after all that had passed between them, had he held to his determination not to speak with her face-to-face?

Where was the logic in that?

Immediately after lunch, she'd gone to Charles and informed him of her decision. Then she'd waited for her would-be husband to call.

And waited.

They'd been finishing dinner when he'd finally arrived.

A tap on her door had her smoothing the frown from her face. "Come in."

Charles looked in, then entered. He noticed the window open at her back. "You saw?"

She nodded. "Did he say...?" She gestured. Had he mentioned her?

Charles smiled fondly; coming forward, he took her hands. "My dear, I'm sure everything will work out splendidly. Business kept him from calling earlier, and he must return to Lambourn immediately. He did say all that was proper."

Francesca returned Charles's smile with equal fondness. Her mind was all but spitting the word "proper." Proper? There was nothing "proper" about what lay between them-"proper" was certainly not what she would settle for. Not once she was his wife.

But she pressed Charles's hands and allowed him to believe all was well. Indeed, she wasn't seriously worried.

Not after their interlude today.

After experiencing what had risen between them, flowed like a raging river through them, regardless of her betrothed's insistence on the publicly cold-blooded approach, there was patently no need to worry.

A letter from Chillingworth's mother arrived three days later. The Dowager Countess, Lady Elizabeth, wrote to welcome Francesca into the family with such transparent joy and goodwill that all qualms Francesca had harbored on that front were laid to rest.

"She says the rest of the family is delighted with the news..." Francesca shuffled the leaves of the lengthy letter. She was sitting on the window seat in the downstairs parlor; Franni was curled on the seat's other end, clutching a cushion, her blue eyes wide. Ester listened from a nearby chair. "And she's working on Chillingworth to allow her to extend the guest list, as the family's such a far-flung one, and there are so many branches, etcetera."

Francesca paused. That was not the first hint that Lady Elizabeth, while immensely pleased over the wedding, was not at one with her son over the details. As for the family members invited-the fact was there was only one family involved. She and Chillingworth were cousins, umpteen times removed perhaps, but that should make assembling the guest list easier. Shouldn't it?

Setting aside the point, she continued, "She says the castle staff are busy opening up the wings and polishing everything, and that I may rely on her to see that all is just so. She suggests I write with any requests or questions, and assures me she'll be delighted to advise in any way."

Her tone signified "the end." She refolded the letter.

Franni sighed. "It sounds wonderful! Don't you think so, Aunt Ester?"

"I do, indeed." Ester smiled. "Francesca will make a wonderful countess. But now we must think of a wedding gown."

"Oh, yes!" Franni sat bolt upright. "The gown! Why-"

"I'm going to wear my mother's wedding gown," Francesca quickly said. Franni was given to overenthusiasms which sometimes turned difficult. "Something old and borrowed, you know."

"Oh-yes." Franni frowned.

"A very nice idea," Ester said. "We must have Gilly up from the village and check that it fits."

Franni had been mumbling. Now she lifted her head. "That leaves something new and blue."

"Garters, perhaps?" Ester suggested.

Francesca nodded, grateful for the suggestion.

"Can we go into Lyndhurst and buy them tomorrow?" Franni fixed huge eyes on Ester's face.

Ester glanced at Francesca. "I don't see why not."

"No, indeed. Tomorrow, then," Francesca said.

"Good, good, good!" Franni leapt up and flung her arms wide. The cushion went tumbling. "Tomorrow morning! Tomorrow morning!" She waltzed around the room. "We're going to get Francesca something new and blue tomorrow morning!" Reaching the open door, she waltzed through. "Papa! Did you hear? We're going..."

Ester smiled as Franni's voice died away. "I hope you don't mind, dear, but you know how she is."