"Good evening, Cousin Gyles. Do you like my gown?"

Franni had circled the room to come up beside him. Gyles turned and briefly scanned her blue muslin gown. "Very nice."

"Yes, it is. Of course, I'll eventually have gowns like Francesca's, all silks and satins-gowns your countess would wear."

"Indeed." Why was it that one minute in Franni's company was enough to make him long to shake free of her and escape?

"I like this house-it's big, but it's comfortable, and your staff seem well trained."

Gyles nodded distantly. She was neither cloying nor snide; she displayed none of the usual behaviors he deplored. His aversion was primitive, instinctive-not easy to explain.

"However, there is one little man I don't like. He wears black, not livery-he wouldn't let me go into your rooms."

"Wallace." Gyles stared at Franni. "No one goes into my rooms except those who have a right to be there."

He spoke slowly, clearly-just like Francesca and Charles did when speaking to this strange young woman.

Her expression turned mutinous. "Is Francesca allowed in?"

"If she wishes, naturally. But I don't think she's been in."

"Well, her room is beautiful, all in emerald silk and satin." Franni shot him an unreadable look. "But you'd know that because you sleep in her bed."

This was without question the strangest conversation he'd ever had with a young lady. "Yes." He kept his tone calm and low. "Francesca's my wife, so I sleep in her bed." Looking up, about to search for help, he saw Irving enter the room. "Ah-I believe dinner is served."

She looked and smiled. "Oh, good!" She turned to him, clearly expecting him to offer his arm.

"If you'll excuse me, I must take my aunt in to dinner. Lancelot will lead you in." Gyles beckoned the young man over. He came readily enough, clearly prepared, after his moments of isolation, to be passably agreeable.

Franni's blanked face-so utterly without expression-remained in Gyles's mind as, with Henni on his arm, he led the procession into the dining room. Inwardly, he heaped praises on his wife's dark head. With the extra guests at table, Franni would be seated somewhere in the middle, well away from him.

As he handed Henni to the chair beside his, he murmured, "Charles's daughter, Frances-what do you make of her?"

"Haven't had much chance to form an opinion." Henni glanced down the table to where Franni sat.

"When you do, let me know."

Henni raised a brow at him.

Gyles shook his head and turned to greet Lady Middlesham on his other side.

The ritual of the port which he deliberately prolonged, not a difficult feat given the conversational abilities of Horace, Sir Henry, and even Lord Gilmartin in such an amiable setting, saved Gyles from having to deal with Francesca's cousin in the drawing room. Even so, he wasn't blind to the eager look in Franni's eye when he led the gentlemen back in just ahead of the tea trolley. Nor to the fact that her look turned to one of confusion, then frustration as the disparate groups gathered to chat over the teacups.

When their guests rose to take their leave, he held to

Francesca's side, taking refuge in the dictates of formality. As they moved into the hall, Ester paused beside Francesca and whispered in her ear. Francesca nodded and smiled. Over the melee as Irving and the footmen brought coats and scarves, Gyles saw Ester draw Franni up the stairs.

He was conscious of relaxing his guard, smiling as he shook hands and exchanged farewells, eventually braving the chill outside with Francesca to wave the carriages off.

Charles was waiting when they reentered the hall. He took Francesca's hands. "That was a most enjoyable evening. Thank you." He kissed her cheek. "It's been such a long time since we've entertained... well." He stepped back, and they turned and started up the stairs. "I'd almost forgotten what it was like. How pleasant such an evening can be."

Francesca's smile was radiant. "There's no reason you couldn't entertain on a similar scale at Rawlings Hall. Franni seemed to enjoy it."

Charles nodded. "Indeed. I'll speak to Ester about it." He halted at the top of the stairs. "Who knows? It might be a good thing all around."

With a nod and a "good night," he left them.

His hand at her back, Gyles steered Francesca to their private wing, listening to her happy chatter.

Francesca slipped from the warmth of Gyles's arms as early as she could the next morning, but she wasn't early enough to catch up with Franni before she left the house.

Tugging her shawl about her shoulders, Francesca stepped onto the terrace overlooking the Castle's gardens. The air was crisp and chilly, but the sun shone and the birds sang; the day beckoned.

Strolling to the steps, she descended to the lawns. Searching for Franni, she walked to the rampart, then descended to the lower level and her favorite seat. She didn't sit, but lingered long enough to drink in the view, drink in the fact that this land-his land-now felt like home to her.

Pondering that, she returned to the lawns and started walking a wide circle around the house. Wallace had said Franni had gone walking; she would be somewhere close.

Reaching the lawns before the stables, Francesca saw a figure in cambric striding along under the trees. Franni's carriage was distinctive, stiff, slightly jerky. She had a thick shawl wrapped about her, making her appear peculiarly bulky above the waist. Francesca set out on an intersecting course. Franni saw her as she drew near.

"Are you enjoying the morning?" she called.

Franni smiled with her usual hint of secretiveness. "Yes. It's been a lovely morning so far."

"Have you been looking at the horses?"

Joining her, Francesca walked beside her.

"They're big-bigger than Papa's. Do you ride them?"

"No. Gyles gave me an Arab mare for a wedding gift. I ride her, now."

"Did he?" Franni's expression blanked, then she murmured, "Do you?" A slow smile suffused her face. "That's good. I expect she gallops fast."

"Yes, she does." Francesca was inured to Franni's fluctuating moods.

"So you ride every day?"

"Most days. Not necessarily every day."

"Good. Good." Nodding, Franni paced beside Francesca, her strides longer, rather mannish.

They walked on in silence until they reached the boundary where the park met the nearest fields. Francesca turned back.

Franni kept walking, veering toward the track that led between the fields.

Francesca halted. "Franni?" With an impatient shake of her head, Franni kept walking. "Franni, there's nothing but fields that way." When Franni didn't slow, she added, "Breakfast will be served soon."

Without looking back, Franni waved. "I want to walk up here a little way. I want to walk alone. I'll come back soon." Nothing of any possible danger lay between the house and the escarpment. Francesca doubted Franni would go far up the steep track.