Then Frances remembered her instructions, drew a deep breath, and looked across the table. Nell was waiting to catch her gaze, to smile and nod and, across the width of the table, project all she wished she could whisper in her sister’s ear . . .
It worked. Well enough for Frances to breathe more calmly. After a moment, Frances gave a tiny nod, then Frederick spoke to her and she turned to him, and if her smile was a trifle wobbly, and significantly less strong than it had been earlier, yet still she smiled and went on.
After watching Frances for a moment more and detecting no further eruption of uncertainty, Nell inwardly sighed and shifted her attention to the courtier by her side.
From Nell’s other side, Robert cast her a sharp glance, but her face was averted and he couldn’t see her eyes, much less catch her gaze. But he’d seen . . . something. Whatever it was—whatever it was that had happened with Frances—it had made Nell tense. Tense as if about to spring forward to avert some incipient disaster.
Which did not bode well for a perfectly scripted wedding.
Robert glanced at her again. She was now animatedly engaged with the local lord; he could almost feel a wall between them—one she kept high.
What was it that had just happened? And what was going on?
He would, he suspected, get no chance to extract answers to those questions tonight, but answers he would have—and soon.
Robert did wonder if all he was detecting was caused by nothing more than the expected and excusable nerves, but Nell’s continuing protectiveness, let alone her family’s high social profile and the hours even the younger Frances would have spent in the most august of ton circles, all argued against that.
At the conclusion of the dinner, the entire company filed into the ballroom where the evening’s soiree was to be held. The dinner guests were augmented by additional guests invited to stand in the ballroom and be introduced, each in their turn, to their Prince’s soon-to-be bride.
Frederick, proud as any peacock, escorted Frances around the huge room. With her hand on Frederick’s arm, Frances smiled, nodded, and acknowledged curtsies. She spoke easily, with natural charm; although her voice was lighter and lacked the warmth of Nell’s contralto, Frances made a respectable showing.
But Nell, walking just behind Frances’s right shoulder, was on tenterhooks the whole time. Even when he wasn’t shoulder-to-shoulder with her in the press—a situation that raised tension of a different sort in them both—he sensed her focus, her unrelentingly fixed attention, the way she held herself in expectation of something going wrong . . . but what?
Nell knew better than to imagine that they would escape the soiree without any difficulty, not when Frances’s uncertainty had already broken through once. Luckily, Frances managed to hold the whispers at bay through most of the event, and indeed, guests were starting to leave and the crowd about them was thinning before the problem resurfaced and Frances’s confidence wavered, then fell.
With, finally, no one left to greet, Frederick turned to Frances and smiled. “Perhaps, now, we can stroll on our own and speak privately, liebchen.”
And suddenly Frances was breathless. “Yes—no! That is . . .” Attempting to draw her fingers from Frederick’s, wide—wild—eyed, Frances glanced around.
Nell stepped in, closer, using her body to physically block any move the slighter Frances might have made; heavens above, she could not bolt. Could not be allowed to, not here, not now, not ever. Sliding a supportive—anchoring—arm around her sister’s waist, Nell spoke to Frederick. “Your Highness, I regret to say my sister is dreadfully tired. What with the long journey and the subsequent full round of engagements, she’s sorely in need of a good night’s rest.”
Frederick was instantly contrite. “Of course, dear Lady Cornelia.” He looked at Frances, then gently, if awkwardly, patted her hand. “My dear, I am full of apologies—it has, indeed, been such an unrelentingly busy day for you. We should have been more considerate.”
With Nell’s arm tightening around her, Frances rallied. Lifting her head, she managed a wan smile. “No—it’s I who am full of apologies, sir. But I fear my sister is correct—I am wilting and in dire need of rest, and would like, with your permission, to retire.”
“Of course, my dear. Of course.” Frederick raised Frances’s fingers to his lips, then bowed gallantly and released her. “Sweet dreams, liebchen—we will meet again in the morning.”
Frances curtsied, as did Nell, then Nell looped her arm in Frances’s and together the sisters turned and left the now largely empty ballroom.
Standing beside Frederick, Robert watched them go—watched Nell’s head tip toward Frances’s. It was Nell who was speaking to Frances, while all Frances did was nod.
“Is anything amiss, do you think?”
Robert glanced up to see Frederick, puzzled, frowning slightly at the pair.
“Have we not done something we should, perhaps? Or have we been too demanding—”
“It’s not that—nothing like that.” Robert clapped him on the arm; Nell’s earlier words—that Frederick might have concerns or questions—echoed in his head. “It’s tiredness and, at most, just nerves. Don’t worry.”
Frederick’s frown lightened, but didn’t leave his eyes. “If you do learn that there is some problem, you will tell me, nein?”
“Of course. But trust me, there’s nothing that’s going to come between you and Frances and your appointment before the altar in six days’ time.” Of that, Robert was quite certain.
It was his job to make sure of it.
To Nell’s relief, Frances woke the next morning with renewed enthusiasm and no hint of any lingering nerves. That, of course, wouldn’t last, but Nell was ready to accept whatever boons fate granted her. Over breakfast, they learned that a tour of the town had been arranged for that morning; duly fortified, they met Frederick and Robert in the front hall, and left the palace in an open carriage with an escort of six mounted soldiers, more, Frederick assured Frances, for ceremonial show than out of any need for protection.
With Robert’s presence on the bench seat beside her once more pressing on her senses and her mind, Nell determinedly distracted herself by looking around at the neat squares, the well-tended houses, and the cheery flowers in window boxes hanging over the cobbled streets, while simultaneously keeping an ear on the conversation between Frederick and Frances, who were sharing the forward-facing seat.
The weather remained gloriously fine, and Frances’s mood continued in similar vein through the various organized halts. The first was at the Rathaus, the town hall, where they were welcomed by the mayor, bedecked in his robes and weighted down by gold chains, and a bevy of aldermen. Nell, hanging back in Frances’s shadow, was pleased by how graciously her sister dealt with the gentlemen—but then, in her usual state, Frances was customarily serenely assured.
After partaking of refreshments and chatting amiably, they departed for the town marketplace. There they walked among the populace—a delightful detour that had Frances laughing, setting Frederick beaming at the silvery sound. From the market square, they walked along a route lined with the town’s best shops, a diversion guaranteed to absorb Frances. She grew animated; there was so much to see and enjoy, and she openly shared her delight with Frederick.
So well were matters progressing that Nell started to wonder if, perhaps, the family failing had struck, but was now loosening its grip on her sister, even waning. She could only hope.
Robert had been striding along beside her, silent and far too observant for her liking. As ever, she was intensely aware of him physically filling the space next to her. For some irritating reason, her susceptibility to that awareness hadn’t died; she’d fully expected it would have after nine years of starvation. Refocusing on the couple ahead of them, she asked, “What’s next?”
“The cathedral. I thought it might be helpful for Frances to see the place before the wedding.”
Nell wasn’t sure how to respond. Yes, it might be helpf
ul—but then again, it might not.
Robert’s gaze hadn’t left her face. “Is that all right? I know you went through the rehearsals in London, but walking into a large and overwhelmingly ornate space for the first time . . . I thought she might prefer it see it first.”
Nell forced herself to nod. “It’s a good idea.” And it was. She just had to hope there would be no unintended consequences.
The street they were walking along led into the cathedral square. An imposing, richly ornate stone edifice with a tall spire topped with a cross, the cathedral towered over the town, but was in turn overlooked by the castle, visible atop the hill behind the church.
The prelate and his deacons were waiting at the top of the steps before the carved wooden doors. Frederick led Frances up and introduced her. The prelate, a white-haired ancient, exuded kindness as he patted Frances’s hand.
Nell watched closely, surreptitiously sighing with relief when she detected no stiffening in Frances.
Robert dragged his attention from Nell long enough to greet the prelate and introduce her. She responded with her usual calm composure; she was one of those females who could simultaneously do several things at once and perform well on all fronts. She was tracking Frances like a terrier, alert to every little nuance of her sister’s mood, but she exchanged greetings with the prelate and even made him smile without giving any hint at all that she was concerned about Frances.
But she was concerned. Increasingly, Robert sensed that. And increasingly, he was determined to get to the bottom of it.
Turning, the prelate invited their party to follow him inside. They all did, pausing in the dim foyer to listen as one of the deacons related the history of the church. Then the prelate made a sweeping gesture, inviting them to follow him down the aisle. Frederick, with Frances on his arm, set out in the prelate’s wake.
Abruptly, Frances drew back. She made a small sound, then blindly turned away.
And Nell was there. She’d all but leapt forward to come up by Frances’s side, catching her sister—trapping her sister?—with one arm around her waist. “Actually”—Nell spoke over Frances’s head, which was turned away so no one there could see, to Frederick—“it’s thought by many in our family to be . . . possibly unlucky to walk down the aisle with one’s groom before the wedding.” With a gesture, Nell waved at the other aisle that led down the side of the church. “Perhaps we could walk down the side aisles, and”—she beamed at the deacon who had delivered the history lecture—“we might hear more about the church’s history as we go.”
Despite having no idea what was going on, Robert stepped up in support. “That’s an excellent idea.” For the prelate and the deacons, he added, “We’ll see more of the church that way.”
There was a second’s pause as everyone looked at Frederick.
“Ah, I see.” Although he looked a trifle uncertain and worried, Frederick nodded. “A wedding superstition. This is understandable and must be accommodated.”
Nell smiled encouragingly at Frederick. She eased her hold on Frances, who straightened; Nell determinedly wound her arm in Frances’s and started strolling toward the ornate chapel to the side of the foyer. Frederick fell in beside Frances, ducking his head to see her face.
Walking behind the trio, Robert saw Nell’s arm tighten, then Frances raised her head and said something to Frederick, who smiled and straightened, transparently relieved.
By the time they’d walked down the side aisle and reached the main altar, all was well again. Frances might be a trifle quieter than before, but she seemed completely composed and attentive. She complimented the prelate very prettily on the magnificence of the altar, then she, Nell, and the prelate discussed the relevant positioning to be used during the wedding service.
Robert glanced at Frederick and saw him nodding as he followed the conversation. His friend appeared reassured by Frances’s increasing animation.
All Robert had were increasingly urgent questions, but it wasn’t Frances he needed to interrogate.
But he got no chance to isolate Nell. Once they’d finished their tour of the cathedral it was time to return to the castle for a private and more relaxed family lunch. Following Nell, Frances, and Frederick into the family dining room, and finding both sets of parents and Frederick’s uncles and aunts already present, Robert put aside any thought of pursuing his questions immediately; he would have to bide his time.
He thought his time had come when, after the meal was concluded, Frederick suggested a walk in the gardens and Frances, after a momentary hesitation during which she’d glanced at Nell, accepted.
Robert would have preferred to take Nell elsewhere, preferably somewhere he could sit her down and watch her face while he asked his questions and demanded answers, but as everyone clearly expected her to act as chaperon, he fell in with good grace by her side. With Frances on his arm, Frederick led the way out of the terrace doors, across the paved terrace, and down the steps to the parterre.
Pacing alongside Nell as she followed, Robert expected her to slow, to allow the betrothed, shortly-to-be-married couple to draw ahead and have some degree of privacy, affording him and her the same, but instead Nell remained ferociously focused on the pair, allowing them to get no more than ten feet ahead.
Given the questions he wished to ply her with, he needed greater privacy; he slowed his pace, expecting her to do the same, but she continued to forge on, leaving him behind.
Exasperated, he lengthened his stride and caught up with her. “Slow down—I want to speak with you.”
“Not now.” She glanced at him, briefly searched his eyes; he thought she might have sighed. “Later.” She looked at the couple ahead. “Trust me—not now.”
Trust her? About what? And why not now?
They turned down a walk shaded by sculpted shrubbery. Ahead of them, Frederick and Frances strolled on. Nell’s focus on the couple was so blinkered, so compelling, Robert followed her gaze and looked, too . . . and saw the hesitancy that had crept into Frances’s manner. There was no one thing that screamed uncertainty, but rather her whole stance, the way she held her head, no longer high and assured but lowered, as if she were trying to calm herself—and failing—set his inner alarms ringing.
Frances slowed. So did Frederick. Looking down at his bride-to-be, concern filled his face. “Liebchen?”
Robert all but heard the breath Frances gulped in, then she drew her hand from Frederick’s sleeve and started to turn away.
Before Frances had accomplished a quarter-turn, Nell had sped up and was there. Sliding an arm about her sister’s waist, she masked Frances’s turn with a wave and the words, “Isn’t that the most wonderful magnolia? It’s just like the one we have at home, isn’t it?” thus disguising Frances’s movement as a wish to point out the large flowering tree to Frederick.
Frederick blinked, then raised his gaze to the tree. “I see.” After a moment, he drew breath and looked down into Frances’s face. He smiled gently. “It is good that you have something to remind you of your home. Does your tree flower as well?”
Frances tipped her head, then studied the tree anew. “I believe this tree is bigger—older. It has more branches, so more flowers, I think.”
“We should look to see what else there is here that’s reminiscent of home.” Nell cast a glance at Robert, faintly wide eyes imploring his aid.
His diplomatic mask in place, he waved ahead. “If we go on a little further, there are some elders. As I recall you have lots of elders around your family’s country house.”
The rest of their walk transformed into a ramble, one filled with spotting familiar plants. Although led by Nell, with Robert in support, both Frederick and Frances were eventually drawn into the game, and in the end, the betrothed couple were once again at ease and laughing together.
Robert glanced at Nell as, at last, she fell back to stroll alongside him. He could almost feel her exhausted relief. When, sensing his gaze, she glanced up at him, he caught her dark eyes and
said just one word. “Later.”
She sighed quite audibly, nodded, and faced forward.
Looking ahead, too, hands clasped behind his back, he continued to pace beside her.
“Four more days!” Nell sprawled in an armchair in the sitting room of the suite her parents had been given. “Neither I nor Frances will survive.”
“Don’t be melodramatic, dear—it’s so unlike you.” In the other armchair, Valeria settled a gauzy shawl about her shoulders. “Besides, it’s hardly a matter of survival. Merely of managing, and you, darling, are very good at that.”
“Flattery, Mama, will, in this instance, advance your cause not at all. I’m exhausted.”
Valeria sighed. “So what stage has poor Frances reached?”
“I had to step in twice today and stop her from . . . Well, I suspect if I hadn’t interfered, she would have fled the scene.”
“Oh, dear.” Valeria looked more worried than she had. “That is troubling.”
“Yes. Especially as—as aforesaid—we still have four more days to ‘manage.’ ” Nell sighed. “And there’s more, which is really why I’m here. Robert knows—oh, not the reason, but after today he’s not going to rest until he has an explanation, and I fear Frederick’s . . . a little more than curious. Suspicious, in fact.” She met her mother’s eyes. “So what should I do?”
They were in the hiatus between coming inside and dressing for dinner; Valeria had changed her gown, but had yet to have her maid put up her fair hair, or don her jewels. Nell watched her mother frown as she digested the news.
“Where is poor Frances?” Valeria eventually asked.
“I left her lying down in her room. She’s mortified, of course, but I hope I’ve convinced her that as yet we’ve concealed the attacks well enough to pass—well, at least to all others except Robert and Frederick.”
“And the attacks themselves?”
Nell sighed. “They seem more acute than either she or I expected.”
Stephanie Laurens Page 2
