He blinked. "You do?"

She nodded. She eased up, forcing him to step back so she could stand. "People-men-are always telling me that. It matters little to me, because, of course, I can't see it."

She'd used such lines before to confuse overardent gentlemen. Lancelot stood there, frowning, replaying her words in his head, trying to determine the correct response. Francesca slipped around him.

"Lady Gilmartin?"

"What?" Her ladyship started and dropped the scone she'd been eating. "Oh, yes, my dear?"

Francesca smiled charmingly. "It's such a lovely day outside, I wonder if you'd care to stroll in the Italian garden. Perhaps Clarissa could come, too?"

Clarissa scowled and turned a pugnacious countenance on her mother, who brushed crumbs from her skirt while peering shortsightedly at the long windows.

"Well, dear, I would love to, of course, but I rather think it's time we were leaving. Wouldn't want to overstay our welcome." Lady Gilmartin uttered one of her horsey laughs. Rising, she stepped close to Francesca and lowered her voice. "I know what men-lords or earls though they may be-are like, dear. Quite ungovernable in the early days. But it passes, you know-trust me on that." With a pat on Francesca's hand, Lady Gilmartin swept toward the door.

Francesca hurried after her, to make absolutely certain she headed the right way. Clarissa stumped after them; Lancelot, still puzzling, followed. Gyles and Lord Gilmartin brought up the rear.

With hearty cheer, Lady Gilmartin took her leave, her offspring silent at her heels. Lord Gilmartin was the last to quit the porch; he bowed over Francesca's hand.

"My dear, you're radiant, and Gyles is a lucky dog indeed to have won you." His lordship smiled, gentle and sweet, then nodded and went down the steps.

"Remember!" Lady Gilmartin called from the coach. "You're free to call anytime you feel the need of ladylike company."

Francesca managed a smile and a nod. "What on earth," she murmured to Gyles beside her, "does she think your mother and aunt are? Social upstarts?"

He didn't reply. They raised their hands in farewell as the coach rocked away down the drive. "That was neatly done-you must tell Mama. She was always at a loss to save herself."

"It was an act of desperation." Francesca continued to smile and wave. "You should have warned me."

"There is no way adequately to warn anyone of Lady Gilmartin and her brood." An instant's pause ensued, then Gyles murmured, "You didn't think being my countess would be easy, did you?"

Francesca's smile deepened into a real one. His tone was easy, easy enough to confuse with banter-underlying it ran his real question. Meeting his eyes, she let her smile soften. "Being your countess is quite pleasurable."

One brow quirked. "Pleasurable?"

He was not holding her, yet she felt held. His eyes searched hers, then steadied. "That wasn't what I asked."

His voice was a murmur, drifting past her ear.

"Wasn't it?" She had to fight to keep her gaze from lowering to his lips.

Gyles studied her emerald eyes, wanting more yet not knowing how to ask for it. He had to try, to press her-

"My lord? Oh."

He turned. Wallace stood by the door which he'd just hauled open. "Yes?"

"I'm sorry, my lord, but you wished to be informed when Gallagher arrived."

"Very good-show him into the office. I'll join him in a moment."

He turned back to be met by a bright smile and a gesture suggesting they reenter the house.

Francesca led the way into the hall. "Gallagher?"

"My foreman." Gyles glanced at her. The moment had passed. "There are various matters I need to discuss with him."

"Of course." Her smile was a mask. "I must have a word with Irving." She hesitated, then added, "I suspect we'll have a visit from Mr. Gilmartin tomorrow. I wish to tell Irving to deny me."

Gyles met her gaze, then nodded. He turned away-then turned back. "If you encounter any problem-"

Her smile flashed. "I'm more than capable of managing a callow youth, my lord." She turned toward the family parlor. "Worry not."

Her words floated back to him. Gyles watched her walk away, and wondered just what it was he didn't need to worry about.

The next day dawned as crisply beautiful as the last. Gyles spent the morning riding his lands, checking with his tenants, learning what needed attention before winter. He made sure he was back at the Castle in time for luncheon, in time to spend an hour with his wife.

"It's such a glorious day!" She took her seat at his right-they'd agreed to dispense with the tradition that decreed they sit at either end of the table, too far apart to converse. "Jacobs told me about the track along the river. I followed it as far as the new bridge." She smiled at him. "It looks very sturdy."

"So I should hope." The bill for the lumber doubtless lay waiting in his study. Gyles pushed such mundane thoughts from his mind and turned instead to enjoying the meal, and the company.

He didn't charm her or tease her-for some reason, his usually ready tongue fell quiet in her presence. Light banter he could manage and did, but they were both aware it masked deeper feelings, the gloss over the undercurrents of their joint lives. She was more adept, more confident in this arena than he, so he let her steer the conversation, noting that she rarely let it stray to any topic that would touch too closely to them-to what lay between them.

"Mrs. Cantle said the plums are coming along wonderfully. Indeed, the orchard looks to be burgeoning."

He listened while she reported all the little things he'd always known happened at the Castle. He'd known as a boy, but forgotten as a man. Now, seeing them through her eyes, having her bring them once more to his attention, whisked him back to childhood-and reminded him that simple pleasures didn't cease to be as one grew older, not if one remembered to look, to see, to appreciate.

"I finally found Edwards and asked about the hedges in the Italian garden."

Gyles's lips twitched. "And did he reply?"

Edwards, the head gardener, was a dour Lancashireman who lived for his trees and took note of little else.

"He did-he agreed to trim them tomorrow."

Gyles studied the twinkle in Francesca's eye. "Did you threaten him with instant dismissal if he didn't comply?"

"Of course not!" Her grin widened. "I merely pointed out that hedges were composed of little trees, and they were getting so scraggly... well, they might need to be pulled out if they weren't clipped and given a new life."

Gyles laughed.

Then the meal was over, and it was time for them to part, yet they both lingered at the table.

Francesca glanced through the window. "It's so warm outside." She looked at Gyles. "Are you going riding again?"

He grimaced and shook his head. "No. I have to deal with the accounts, or Gallagher will be floundering. I have to work out the prices I'll accept for the harvest."

"Is there much to do?"