All About Passion (Cynster 7) - Page 54

“Asleep?” Franni was usually up at daybreak.

“We had to dose her last night. She wouldn’t quiet without it.”

Franni sometimes needed laudanum when she became overwrought. Francesca nibbled her toast while Charles made his selection from the platters the footmen offered.

“Will Franni wake soon?” she asked as the last footman stepped back.

“I hope so.”

“I’d like to talk to her before you leave.”

Charles smiled. “Of course. I’m sure she won’t want to leave without at least saying good-bye.”

Good-byes weren’t what Francesca had in mind, but she was distracted by Lord Walpole-Horace as he’d insisted she call him. He stopped beside her and patted her shoulder.

“My dear Francesca, you look radiant. Nothing like marriage to put a glow in a young lady’s eyes, I always say.”

“Sit down, Horace, and stop trying to make the girl blush.” Coming up beside him, Henni poked him in the ribs, prodding him along the table. She smiled at Francesca. “Don’t mind him. Old reprobates are the worst.”

Francesca smiled back. Turning, she discovered she’d missed Ester’s entrance. As she sank into a chair two places along from Charles, Ester caught her eye and smiled.

“Franni?” Francesca mouthed.

“Still sleeping,” Ester mouthed back.

Francesca poured a cup of tea for Ester, then turned to the ancient cousin seated on her other side. Hostessly matters kept her busy for some time, then Charles laid a hand on her sleeve.

“My dear, we plan to leave in two hours-before luncheon. I hope you know I have every confidence in your abilities, and in your marriage, else I would never be retreating in such fashion. But I can see you’re in good hands.” His smiling nod referred not just to Chillingworth but also to Lady Elizabeth and Henni. “I feel I can leave you with a clear conscience.”

“Oh, indeed.” Francesca squeezed his hand. “I’m content.”

“Good.” Charles closed his hand over hers. “We’ve decided to travel on to Bath. It’s possible the waters might help Franni. Given we’re already on the road, so to speak, we thought to take her there.”

“She seemed to enjoy riding in the coach.”

“More so than I’d expected. It’s an opportunity too good to miss, but I want to make a good start, so we’ll be saying farewell soon.”

Francesca returned the pressure of his fingers. “I’ll be there to wave you on your way.”

“As the Countess of Chillingworth.” Releasing her hand, Charles rose.

Francesca smiled briefly; her smile faded as she glanced at the figure at the table’s end. “Indeed.”

Charles’s words proved prophetic-“Good-bye” was all Franni was able to say. To mumble. When they helped her down the great staircase, Ester on one side, Charles on the other, Franni was still so drugged it was all she could do to focus on Francesca’s face.

Any hope Francesca had of ascertaining what it was that had overset Franni was doomed.

She was forced to smile, exchange hugs and good wishes, and push her concern over what Franni might have imagined into the background. Chillingworth was there, shaking hands with Charles, charming Ester-bowing very correctly over Franni’s hand. Franni smiled dazedly-there was no sign that she was in any way conscious of him other than as a handsome gentleman who was now Francesca’s husband.

As they stood on the porch to wave the travelers away, Francesca caught Gyles’s eye. The coachman gave his horses the office; the coach lurched, then rolled away. Flanked by Lady Elizabeth and Henni, they waved. Ester waved back. Another small white hand poked out of the other window and floppily waved, too.

“Just overexcited.”

Francesca heard Gyles’s murmur. “So it seems.”

The rest of the company assembled for luncheon, a light meal designed for geriatric stomachs about to travel. Lady Elizabeth and Francesca had put their heads together and come up with a selection of dishes which, by the eagerness with which they were greeted, had fitted the bill.

The early afternoon was filled with departures, a steady stream of well-dressed old ladies and garrulous gentlemen passing through the front hall, picking their way past mountains of luggage and footmen struggling with trunks and bandboxes.

Tags: Stephanie Laurens Cynster Historical
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