"No, dear, she doesn't. And if this is something to do with Franni, then yes, you should definitely tell me, confidence or not."

There was such resolve in Ester's voice that Francesca set aside all hesitation. "At the inn on our way to Lambourn..."

She recounted all Franni had told her, both at the inn and on the terrace that morning. "I'd worried that it was Chillingworth-he did walk with her twice. But he says he barely spoke a word to her, so it seemed odd she would have made anything of it, but..."

"But one never does know with Franni." Ester nodded. "I can see why you thought that, especially with her reaction during the ceremony. But if she says it wasn't him, then..."

"Precisely. It could be someone else-someone who's been meeting her when she walks about at Rawlings Hall. It wouldn't be hard to do without being seen. And she will inherit Uncle Charles's property, after all."

"Indeed." Ester's lips had firmed. "My dear, thank you for telling me-you've done exactly right. Leave the matter with me. I'll speak with Charles, and we'll deal with it."

Francesca smiled, sincerely relieved. "Thank you. And I do hope it all turns out well."

Ester made no reply. Frowning, she returned to her embroidery.

"Is this where you hide?"

Startled, Gyles turned. He'd been standing by the window in the library gallery, consulting a list of trials. In the doorway from the inner gallery, Francesca's cousin stood, smiling smugly.

Her gaze had already left him to travel the shelves.

"You have a lot of books."

He watched as she advanced, pirouetting to scan the room.

"There must be thousands and thousands."

"Yes. There are."

She stopped, facing him, head tilted, her gaze distant. After a moment, she said, "It's very quiet up here."

"Yes." When she said nothing more, simply stood gazing vaguely at him, he asked, "Did you enjoy your walk?"

"Yes, but I liked seeing the Castle more. Francesca was naughty-she didn't bring us here."

"There are some places Francesca would consider private."

He might as well have saved his breath; Gyles seriously doubted Frances took in anything she didn't wish to hear.

She stood silently staring straight ahead. Wracking his memory, he recalled their conversations at Rawlings Hall. "We have many trees here."

Her gaze focused on the window. She stepped closer to look. "Are they birches?"

"No. Most are oaks."

"No birches?"

"None close. There are some farther into the park."

"I'll look when I go for my walks."

Clasping her hands behind her back, she settled before the window as if intending to study the treetops. Gyles glanced at the journal in his hands.

"I'm afraid I must leave you-there's work I need to do." He'd intended doing it here, but his study suddenly seemed a wiser choice. There were always footmen in the hall; he made a mental note to tell Wallace he did not wish to be disturbed by their female guests.

Franni nodded, then turned abruptly to face him, meeting his eyes for the first time.

"Yes," she said, "that might be a good idea." She smiled; her pale eyes glowed. "It wouldn't do for Francesca to come up and find us together."

She continued to smile. Gyles studied her for a moment, then, his expression impassive, stepped back, bowed, and left her.

The clocks struck four as Francesca reached her bedroom door-too early to dress for dinner, but she could indulge in a long soak first. Opening the door, she stepped inside-

Someone was on her bed, sitting in the emerald-draped shadows.

Then the figure turned, and she recognized the pale hair, the pale face.

Exhaling, Francesca closed the door and crossed to the bed. "What are you doing here, Franni?"

She was sitting on the bed, more or less in the middle. She bounced. "I came in to see. The servants told me I couldn't come up here, but I knew you wouldn't mind." Lifting the coverlet, Franni rubbed her cheek against it, then reached out and trailed her fingers down the silk curtains tied back about the posts. Then she frowned. "It's so luxurious."

"Chillingworth's mama had it done for me." Francesca sat on the bed. "Remember? I read her letters to you back at Rawlings Hall before we came for the wedding."

Franni frowned harder, staring at the emerald coverlet, then her brows lowered even farther. She glanced at Francesca. "Does he sleep here with you? In this bed?"

Francesca hesitated, then nodded. "Yes. Of course."

"Why 'of course'? Why does he?"

"Well..." She didn't know how much Franni understood, but her pugnacious expression confirmed she wasn't going to let the point slide. "It's necessary for him to sleep with me to beget children."

Franni blinked; the intense expression drained from her face, leaving it even more blank than usual. "Oh."

Another something to mention to Ester. Francesca stood; with an apologetic smile, she gestured to the door. "I'm going to have a bath now, Franni, so you must go."

Franni blinked again, then looked at the door, then she scrambled from the bed.

"Come," Francesca said. "I'll walk you back to the main wing."

Francesca had arranged a small dinner party for that evening, seizing the opportunity to begin entertaining locally, entertaining Charles and Ester in the process.

They gathered in the drawing room to await their guests. Lord and Lady Gilmartin and their offspring arrived first, with Sir Henry and Lady Middlesham close behind. Francesca made the introductions, then left Charles and Ester with the Middleshams while she sat beside Lady Gilmartin and listened to a catalogue of Clarissa's accomplishments. Gyles was chatting to Lord Gilmartin. Franni, meanwhile, had taken an instant interest in Clarissa and was talking at her, rather than with her, nonstop; Clarissa was looking a trifle dazed. Lancelot retired to stand before one window, striking a dramatic pose which singularly failed to attract any attention, everyone else being otherwise engaged.

Lady Elizabeth and Henni, accompanied by Horace in expansive mood, arrived before Francesca wilted under Lady Gilmartin's onslaught; with the round of introductions, the groupings changed.

Sir Henry and Horace, old friends, drew Lord Gilmartin into their circle. Gyles left them to their discussion of coverts. He surveyed the room. His mother had engaged Charles and Ester while Henni had taken Francesca's place beside Lady Gilmartin. Francesca was chatting with Lady Middlesham; as he watched, Clarrisa joined them. Lancelot was brooding by the window. That left...

Instinctive self-protection reared its head-