Francesca would have expected the housekeeper to resent her being here; she had no doubt Will’s grandmother would. Lady Rosemary had never wanted Will to marry her, and finding her here now she would be bound to think the worst.
But Mrs Harvey took the sight of her employer’s ex-wife in her stride. Even though Francesca was fresh out of the shower—she had eschewed the delights of the bath in favour of a speedier alternative—with one of the fluffy white towels tucked hurriedly beneath her arms, she showed no bias. ‘His lordship asked me to enquire if you’d care to take breakfast in the morning room,’ she announced, setting the tray on one of the square bedside cabinets before straightening to face her. ‘Might I say, you look much more yourself this morning, madam. We were all quite concerned about you last night.’
Francesca wondered what Will had told them. She’d forgotten how much a part of the family the servants at the Abbey considered themselves, and although Mrs Harvey was in her late fifties she was still one of the younger members of the staff. The trouble was, most of Will’s employees had been at the Abbey since before he was born, and it was difficult maintaining any kind of detachment with people who had once dandled you on their knee.
‘Oh—I’m fine,’ she assured Mrs Harvey now. ‘And I would prefer to come down for breakfast. But just toast and coffee for me, if you don’t mind,’ she added, remembering the housekeeper’s penchant for eggs and bacon. ‘And thank you for the tea.’
‘Are you sure that’s all you want? Just toast and coffee? His lordship has fruit juice and cereal as well.’
‘I’m sure,’ said Francesca firmly. ‘Will fifteen minutes be all right?’ She touched her damp hair. ‘Oh, and do you have a drier?’
It turned out that there was a hair-drier in the dressingtable drawer, and after Mrs Harvey had left Francesca plugged it in. She was aware that the housekeeper would have liked to stay and chat, but thankfully her duties prevented her from wasting any more time.
Francesca drank a cup of tea between bouts of drying her hair. It was getting too long, she reflected wryly, aware that it was probably more trouble than it was worth. She’d always had thick curly hair, and when she was a student she used to wear it loose. But these days she almost always secured it in a knot. Her employers at Teniko did not like untidy hair.
Deciding she was not at work today, and that she could afford to be a little more adventurous, she eventually twisted it into a chunky plait. At least it made her look a little younger, she thought, though she didn’t know why that should be an advantage. It wasn’t as if she wanted to impress Will. He was far too cynical for that.
She dressed in her jeans and a bronze silk shirt that was almost exactly the same colour as her hair. Thankfully, she had stuffed a pair of Doc Martens at the bottom of the bag, so she put them on without any socks. At least they looked better than her high-heeled pumps.
She hesitated about making her bed, and then decided against it. She remembered there were definite lines of demarcation at the Abbey, and guests did not appropriate other people’s jobs. It was something she had found hard to get used to when she’d first come to live at Lingard, but by the time she left she had become as accustomed to the privilege as Will himself.
Leaving her room, she walked along the corridor to the galleried landing, and then descended the shallow carpeted staircase to the vestibule below. The row of portraits of Will’s ancestors that lined the walls seemed to regard her disapprovingly. They probably took their cue from Lady Rosemary, thought Francesca wryly. There was a definite look of disdain in their blank stares. She shivered. She was getting paranoiac. She was imagining people were watching her wherever she went.
The house felt decidedly chilly at this hour of the morning, before the warmth of the day had had time to penetrate its thick walls. She half wished she had brought a sweater, but she hadn’t considered such practicalities when she’d packed her bag. She consoled herself with the thought that the morning room faced south-east, and was probably much warmer than the hall.
Will was still seated at the square breakfast table when she entered the sunlit apartment. She had half expected him to be gone; she had taken much longer than the fifteen minutes she had promised Mrs Harvey. But, although he had apparently had his breakfast, he was presently occupied with opening the morning’s post. A copy of the morning newspaper, too, was crumpled beside his plate.
Telling herself she had no reason to be nervous of him, Francesca nevertheless hesitated in the open doorway. ‘Um—good morning,’ she ventured, instantly attracting his attention. ‘I’m sorry I’ve taken so long.’
‘No problem.’ Stuffing the invoice he had been holding back into its envelope, Will got immediately to his feet. ‘Sit down,’ he said. ‘Mrs Harvey’s getting you some toast. But the coffee’s still hot if you’d like some.’
‘Thanks.’ A place had been laid for her at right angles to his, and Francesca subsided awkwardly into her seat. In the light of day, her fears of the night before seemed much exaggerated, and she made a determined effort to appear composed as she picked up the coffee pot.
But, despite her best efforts, her hand trembled as she poured the liquid, and some of the coffee splashed onto the cloth. ‘Oh, damn!’ she muttered frustratedly. ‘This is getting to be a habit. I’m sorry I’m so clumsy, Will. I don’t know what’s the matter with me this morning.’
Will resumed his own seat and regarded her wryly. ‘Oh. I think you do,’ he said steadily. ‘After what you told me last night, I think you’re bearing up very well.’ He paused. ‘But you’re safe here, Francesca. You don’t have to worry about any intruders. And the only things that are likely to follow you are the dogs.’
‘I know.’ Francesca managed a faint smile. ‘Thanks.’ She added cream to her coffee without accident and gave him a rueful look. ‘And thanks for listening to me last night. I guess I just needed someone to talk to. I know it was a liberty coming here, but I think it’s worked.’
‘What’s worked?’ he enquired, his brows drawing together above eyes that were so dark, in some lights they looked black. He frowned. ‘I haven’t done anything except give you a bed for the night. You’re not telling me that’s made any conceivable difference to the situation?’
Francesca drew a breath. He was regarding her closely now, and she thought how much less intimidating he seemed this morning without his formal clothes. Tightfitting jeans and a baggy sweater might not detract from his innate air of good breeding, but they did make him seem more approachable, she thought.
‘I feel better because I’ve talked it out,’ she explained firmly. ‘I don’t feel half so tense this morning, and I’m even prepared to admit that perhaps the situation isn’t really as bad as I thought.’
Will’s eyes narrowed. ‘But your window was broken, wasn’t it? He did make that call?’
‘Oh, yes.’ She flushed defensively. ‘But he was probably only guessing about me finding the window. I mean—it could have been kids who broke it. He could have been using the fact that he’d seen it was broken to his own advantage.’
‘Do you believe that?’
She moved her shoulders. ‘It’s an idea.’ She hesitated. ‘We do get some vandalism, too. Everybody does.’
‘We?’
Once again, he questioned her use of the pronoun, and she gave him an indignant look. ‘I meant as a general problem,’ she declared,
