Ester smiled as Franni’s voice died away. “I hope you don’t mind, dear, but you know how she is.”
“I don’t mind at all.” Shifting her gaze from the door to Ester’s face, Francesca lowered her voice. “Charles told me he was worried that Franni would become querulous once she realizes I’m leaving, but she seems quite happy.”
“To be truthful, dear, I don’t think Franni will realize you’re leaving-not coming back-until we return here without you. Things that are obvious to us often don’t occur to her at all, and then she’s upset by the surprise.”
Francesca nodded, although she had never truly understood Franni’s vagueness. “I’d intended to ask her to be bridesmaid, but Uncle Charles said no.” She’d shown her letter to her uncle first, and he’d been adamant on that point. “He said he wouldn’t even like to say Franni will be at the wedding-he said she might not wish to be there.”
Ester reached out and squeezed Francesca’s hand. “That has nothing to do with what she feels for you. But she might become frightened at the last minute and not want to appear. As bridesmaid, that really wouldn’t do.”
“I suppose not. Charles suggested that I ask Lady Elizabeth’s advice on who should stand with me-I don’t even know if Chillingworth has sisters.”
“Sisters, or close cousins of the bridegroom, given we have no one of suitable age on our side. Asking Lady Elizabeth would be wisest.”
Ester rose; Francesca did, too. She glanced at the letter in her hand. “I’ll write this afternoon.” She smiled as she recalled Lady Elizabeth’s warmth. “I have lots of questions, and she seems like the best person to ask.”
Despite Charles’s worry, Franni’s transparent happiness over Francesca’s wedding did not dim, although to everyone’s relief, her expressions of joy became less extreme. Franni’s temper remained sunny; engrossed though she was in the myriad preparations for her nuptials and her researches into her husband-to-be, his house and the estate, Francesca noted that with a certain happiness of her own. Charles, Ester, and Franni were now her family; she wanted them there, at her wedding, and as happy as she was.
When, four days before the wedding, they set out in the lumbering coach, Charles and Ester on one seat with Francesca and Franni facing them, Francesca was as excited as Franni and even more impatient. They would spend two days on the road, arriving at Lambourn Castle on the second day, two nights before the wedding as Chillingworth had stipulated. On that point he’d remained firm, unmoved by Lady Elizabeth’s pleas for more time before the wedding to become acquainted with her future daughter-in-law.
Lady Elizabeth hadn’t accepted his refusal with anything like good grace-Francesca had laughed at the diatribe the Dowager Countess had, in her next letter, heaped on her son’s head. After their first exchange of letters, correspondence between Lambourn Castle and Rawlings Hall had proliferated dramatically, letters crossing and recrossing. By the time Francesca left Rawlings Hall, she was almost as eager to meet her mother-in-law-to-be as she was to see her handsome fiance again.
The first day passed easily as the coach rocked its way north.
At noon on the second day, it started to rain.
Then it poured.
The road turned to mud. By late afternoon, the coach was crawling along. Heavy grey clouds had massed, then lowered; an unnatural twilight had descended, darkened further by the rain.
The coach rocked to a stop. Then it tilted, and they heard a splat as the coachman jumped down. He rapped on the door.
Charles opened it. “Yes?”
Barton stood in the road, the rain streaming off his oilskin, pouring off his hat. “Sorry, sir, but we’re a long ways away from Lambourn and we’re not going to be able to go much farther. The light’s going. Even if you was willing to risk the horses, we can’t see what muck we’d be driving into, so we’d bog for sure within a mile.”
Charles grimaced. “Is there somewhere we can take shelter, at least until the rain stops?”
“There’s an inn just up there.” Barton nodded to the left. “We can see it from the box. Looks neat enough, but it’s not a coaching inn. Other than that, we’re miles from any town.”
Charles hesitated, then nodded. “Take us to the inn. I’ll have a look and see if we can stop there.”
Barton shut the door. Charles sat back and looked at Francesca. “I’m sorry, my dear, but…”
Francesca managed a shrug. “At least we have a day’s grace. If the rain stops during the night, we’ll be able to reach Lambourn tomorrow.”
“Good God, yes!” Charles uttered a hollow laugh. “After all his planning, I wouldn’t want to have to face Chillingworth and explain why his bride had missed the wedding.”
Francesca grinned and patted Charles’s knee. “It’ll all come right-you’ll see.” For some reason, she felt confident of that.
The inn proved better than they’d hoped for, small but clean and very willing to cater to four unexpected guests and their servants. As the rain showed no sign of easing, they accepted their fate and settled in. The inn boasted three bedchambers. Charles took one, Ester another, while Francesca and Franni shared the largest with its canopied bed.
They gathered in the tap for a hearty meal, then retired to their rooms, agreeing on an early start the next morning, heartened by the prediction of the innwife’s father who assured them tomorrow would dawn fine. Reassured, Francesca settled in the big bed beside Franni and snuffed out the candle.
They’d left the curtains open; moonlight streamed in, broken by the shadows thrown by nearby trees.
After spending the day dozing in the coach, neither of them was sleepy. Francesca wasn’t surprised when Franni stirred, and asked, “Tell me about the castle.”
She’d already told her twice, but Franni liked stories, and the idea of Francesca living in a castle appealed to her. “Very well.” Francesca fixed her gaze on the dark canopy. “Lambourn Castle is centuries old. It sits on a bluff over a curve in the Lambourn River and guards the approach to the downs to the north. The village of Lambourn lies a little way along the river, tucked into the side of the downs. The castle has been modernized frequently and added on to as well, so it’s now quite large, but it still has battlements and twin towers at either end. It’s surrounded by a park filled with old oaks. The gatehouse is still standing and is now the Dower House. With formal gardens overlooking the river, the castle is one of the great houses of the district.”