Stepping through the archway, he paused. An intersecting path ran both right and left. Glancing toward the house, he discovered he could see all the way to where the stone wall he’d earlier paced along joined the corner of the house. Close by the house, a stone seat was built out from the wall.

On the seat sat a young lady.

She was reading a book lying open in her lap. The late-afternoon sun beamed down, bathing her in golden light. Fair hair the color of flax was drawn back from her face; fair skin glowed faintly pink. From this distance, he couldn’t see her eyes yet the general set of her features appeared unremarkable, pleasant but not striking. Her pose, head tilted, shoulders low, suggested she was a woman easily dominated, naturally submissive.

She was not the sort of woman to stir him at all, not the sort of woman he would normally take the time to study.

She was precisely the sort of wife he was looking for. Could she be Francesca Rawlings?

As if some higher power had heard his thought, a woman’s voice called, “Francesca?”

The girl looked up. She was shutting her book, gathering her shawl as the woman called again. “Francecsa? Franni?”

Rising, the girl called, “I’m here, Aunt Ester.” Her voice was delicate and light.

Stepping out, she disappeared from Gyles’s view.

Gyles smiled and resumed his stroll. He’d trusted Charles and Charles had not deceived him-Francesca Rawlings possessed precisely the right attributes to be his amenable bride.

The path opened onto a grassed courtyard. Gyles stepped into it-