Stephanie Laurens Read Free

courtiers, but everyone was disposed to be delighted and accommodating, and the hour Frances spent on Frederick’s arm, being introduced to those who would shortly become her subjects, passed easily and without incident. Somewhat to Nell’s surprise, while she’d seen Robert the instant she walked into the room—and he’d seen her—he kept his distance, leaving her able to concentrate on Frances without distraction.
    For which she was grateful . . . except that not knowing where in the crush Robert actually was, knowing he was near, but not knowing in which direction, distracted her anyway.
    It was almost a relief when he eventually appeared at Frederick’s side to whisper in his friend’s ear that dinner was about to be announced.
    As a stentorian announcement that dinner was served rang out over the room, Nell steeled herself to take Robert’s arm when he offered it—only to have a gentleman, one of the lords of the court, gallantly step in to offer his arm and lead her in. Uncertain of protocol and precedence in this court, she glanced at Robert; he’d been waiting to catch her glance and nodded.
    Plastering on a smile, Nell inclined her head and accepted, settling her hand on the gentleman’s sleeve and allowing him to lead her in her sister and Frederick’s wake. Not exactly disappointed, but a trifle off-balance with the steeling of her nerves that was no longer required.
    To her considerable relief, her prediction of the table placements proved to be sound; she was seated opposite Frances, with the attentive courtier beside her. At the very last, Robert took the seat on her other side, opposite Frederick, and the meal began.
    One of Frederick’s male cousins sat on Frances’s other side, and for much of the meal, between the cousin’s questions and Frederick’s comments, Frances was absorbed enough to prevent any unease or uncertainty showing through. Nell, more than socially adept enough to maintain a conversation with her dinner partners while simultaneously monitoring Frances’s every word, was wondering if, perhaps, the entire dinner would pass without any episode . . . when, as the dessert plates were being set out, she saw Frances press back in her chair, and start rather furtively glancing about . . .
    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.
    R obert 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