And yet, somehow, something had been lifted from her. When she’d stood there in the hall, her mother’s arms around her, something had poured out from her along with her tears.
And while she still grieved for the babies she would never have, for the first time in a long time, she felt unreservedly happy.
It was strange and wonderful, and she positively refused to question it.
“Aunt Francesca! Aunt Francesca!”
Francesca smiled as she looped her arm through that of her niece. Charlotte was Anthony’s youngest, due to turn eight in a month’s time. “What is it, poppet?”
“Did you see the baby’s dress? It’s so long.”
“I know.”
“And frilly.”
“Christening dresses are meant to be frilly. Even the boys are covered in lace.”
“It seems a waste,” Charlotte said with a shrug. “Isabella doesn’t know she’s wearing anything so pretty.”
“Ah, but we do.”
Charlotte pondered this for a moment. “But I don’t care, do you?”
Francesca chuckled. “No, I don’t suppose I do. I should love her no matter what she was wearing.”
The two of them continued their stroll through the gardens, picking the grape hyacinths to decorate the chapel. They had nearly filled the basket when they heard the unmistakable sound of a carriage coming down the drive.
“I wonder who it is now,” Charlotte said, rising to her toes as if that might actually help her see the carriage any better.
“I’m not sure,” Francesca replied. Any number of relations were due that afternoon.
“Uncle Michael, maybe.”
Francesca smiled. “I hope so.”
“I adore Uncle Michael,” Charlotte said with a sigh, and Francesca almost laughed, because the look in her niece’s eye was one she’d seen a thousand times before.
Women adored Michael. It seemed even seven-year-old girls were not immune to his charm.
“Well, he is very handsome,” Francesca demurred.
Charlotte shrugged. “I suppose.”
“You suppose?” Francesca replied, trying very hard not to smile.
“I like him because he tosses me in the air when Father isn’t looking.”
“He does like to bend the rules.”
Charlotte grinned. “I know. It’s why I don’t tell Father.”
Francesca had never thought of Anthony as particularly stern, but he had been the head of the family for over twenty years, and she supposed the experience had endowed him with a certain love of order and tidiness.
And it had to be said—he did like to be in charge.
“It shall be our secret,” Francesca said, leaning down to whisper in her niece’s ear. “And anytime you wish t
o come visit us in Scotland, you may. We bend rules all the time.”