‘She mourned for you.’
‘Yet it took her less than a week to engage herself to another man.’
‘Ye-es.’ She winced inwardly. There was no denying that part, though she’d hoped he hadn’t known about it. ‘But that doesn’t mean she didn’t care.’
‘Doesn’t it? Would you forget a man so quickly, Miss Webster? Presuming you truly loved him in the first place, that is?’
‘No.’ She found herself averting her gaze despite the presence of her veil between them. ‘But Lydia isn’t someone who can be on her own.’
‘So I noticed. In fact, it was just about the last thing I noticed before I left.’
‘What?’ Her eyes shot back to his face. ‘You mean you knew about John Baird?’
His lips twisted into something resembling a sneer. ‘Not Baird, no. The man I saw her with was much younger.’
‘Oh, yes, how silly of me, I meant...’
‘Don’t lie for her, Miss Webster, and don’t feel bad for me either. I’m glad to know I wasn’t the only man she was stringing along, though just out of interest, how many men was she secretly engaged to?’
Frances lifted her chin, resenting the accusation no matter how fair it was. ‘You were the only one.’
‘So she just kept a few suitors in reserve?’ He gave a cynical-sounding laugh. ‘A wise precaution as it turned out.’
‘It wasn’t like that.’
‘If you say so, though it hardly matters any more.’ He turned his horse about, digging his heels into the animal’s flanks. ‘In any case, I’d prefer that we kept this conversation between ourselves. Now come on, we don’t want to be late.’
Chapter Five
They lapsed into silence again, though this time it felt more brooding than companionable. Frances let her horse fall behind, her mind whirling with everything Arthur had just told her. All this time, she’d assumed that what had happened to him had been an accident, but now it seemed that he hadn’t just left deliberately. He’d never wanted to come back.
Worse still, he’d known about Lydia’s betrayal. In six years, the idea had never occurred to her, but now it seemed the two things were inextricably linked. The bitterness in his voice suggested as much, though surely Lydia’s behaviour on its own wouldn’t have caused him to do anything quite so dramatic. He might simply have broken their engagement, not run away to sea. Yet he had run away, leaving his home, his responsibilities and his position as heir of Amberton Castle, so that everyone, his own family included, had assumed he’d had some kind of accident and drowned. His father had dropped dead on being told of the news. The thought made her shudder. No matter why he’d run away, the consequences had to be a terrible weight on his shoulders. No wonder Arthur wasn’t the man she remembered. No wonder he didn’t want to see Lydia again either.
After twenty minutes or so they descended into a valley, joining a bigger track that led towards a large, Gothic-looking mansion decorated with crenellations and turrets and arched, oriel windows, all festooned with cascades of trailing ivy. Frances caught her breath in amazement. Amberton Castle looked so authentically medieval that it was hard to believe it was all an illusion, a forty-year-old building designed to look like a real medieval stronghold and a royal one at that. Up close, it was just as impressive as its reputation suggested and even more hauntingly beautiful than she’d imagined. By rights it belonged to Arthur and yet he chose not to live there, a fact that only deepened the mystery around him. How could anyone choose not to live in such a fairy tale place?
At last they rode beneath a granite archway and she tugged on her veil, making sure it was firmly in place before they arrived.
‘You should take that off.’ Arthur leapt down from his horse and stalked towards her, lifting his hands up to help her dismount. ‘You don’t need it.’
‘Yes, I do.’ She slid down into his arms, vividly and uncomfortably aware of how broad his chest was in comparison to hers. Leo had never made her feel quite so puny. Then again, he’d never made her legs feel so unsteady either, though that was surely just an after-effect of the ride.
‘No, you don’t. Take it off.’
‘No!’ She stiffened at his imperative tone. He’d seemed sympathetic earlier, but clearly his mood had deteriorated during the ride. ‘I prefer to wear it.’
‘There’s no need to hide.’
‘I’m not hiding and it’s none of your business. I can wear what I want!’
‘There’s nothing to be embarrassed about or ashamed of.’
‘I didn’t say I was either!’ She lifted her hands to his shoulders and shoved, but he appeared immovable. ‘And I don’t recall asking for your views on the subject!’
‘True, but you—’
‘Arthur!’
A cheerful-sounding voice interrupted them, closely followed by its owner. Frances twisted her head away from her infuriating companion and gasped at the sight of his twin brother. With his neat, shoulder-length hair and smartly dressed appearance, Lance Amberton looked almost exactly the way she remembered Arthur, more like him than he was. The effect was so confusing that it rendered her momentarily speechless.
‘I was starting to wonder where you’d got to.’ If he’d witnessed them arguing, he gave no sign of it. ‘But I see you’ve brought an extra guest for dinner, Arthur. A masked woman, no less.’
His mouth spread into a wicked-looking grin and it was immediately obvious who was who again. The old Arthur had never smiled like that and the new Arthur didn’t appear capable of it. As far as Frances could tell, he didn’t smile at all.
Still, she couldn’t help but feel glad of his familiar presence beside her. She’d never met the notorious Lancelot Amberton before, but even as a girl she’d heard rumours about his wild behaviour, especially where women were concerned. She remembered Lydia being warned in no uncertain terms to stay away from him, though it was hard to believe anything particularly shocking of the eminently respectable-looking gentleman bowing in front of her.
‘Captain Lance Amberton.’ Arthur’s voice seemed to hold a note of warning as he introduced them. ‘Allow me to present Miss Webster.’
‘Webster?’
‘Miss Frances Webster.’
‘Ah.’ A fleeting look of horror turned into one of unmistakable relief. ‘Then I’m honoured to make your acquaintance, Miss Webster. I’m sure that my wife will be delighted, too, only she’s napping at the moment and I’d prefer not to wake her until she’s ready. It won’t be long, I’m sure.’
‘My sister-in-law is expecting her first child in the autumn,’ Arthur explained, ‘and it’s turned my recalcitrant brother into a mother hen.’
‘Mother hen?’ Lance shook his head as if he were genuinely aggrieved. ‘If you’re implying that I love my wife, then you’re absolutely right, I do, and I refuse to apologise for it.’ He extended his arm with a flourish. ‘Now please allow me to escort you inside, Miss Webster. I believe I’d much rather talk with you than with this heartless brute.’
‘She can’t walk.’ Arthur’s voice cut across him.
‘I can limp,’ Frances protested.
‘You shouldn’t put any weight on your ankle.’
‘It’s not th—’
She’d barely started the sentence before he lifted her up again, ignoring her spluttered protests as he carried her across the courtyard and over the threshold of the castle, much to his brother’s obvious amusement.
‘I twisted my ankle,’ she explained, profoundly glad of the veil hiding her flaming cheeks as they entered a large, oak-panelled and high-ceilinged hallway.
‘Well, that explains it.’ Lance followed behind them. He held a cane and walked with a slight limp, too, she noticed. ‘I’m no stranger to injured limbs myself, Miss Webster, though I’ve never seen my brother behave so gallantly before.’
‘I’m just being practical.’ A
rthur sounded gruff.
‘I still don’t need to be carried around like some damsel in distress.’ She glared at him through her veil. ‘Once is bad enough. Twice in one day is insulting. I could have managed perfectly well on my own.’
‘In your opinion.’
‘It’s best not to argue with him once he gets an idea in his head,’ Lance interceded. ‘He’s the most stubborn man you’re ever likely to meet. These days anyway.’
‘I’d still prefer to stand on my own two feet, injured or otherwise.’
‘As you wish.’ Arthur deposited her firmly, but unceremoniously, on the floor. ‘Is that better?’
‘Much.’
‘Miss Webster.’ Lance gave them both a distinctly penetrating look. ‘Might I take your accoutrement? Our staff all appear to be hiding.’
‘Yes, thank you.’
She started to unfasten her cloak and then felt another pair of hands take over, gently peeling away the folds and then lifting the garment from her shoulders. She half-twisted her head and felt her blush deepen. Arthur appeared to be utterly engrossed in the task, yet equally determined not to look at her.
‘Apparently my brother wants to do everything this evening.’ Lance gave something resembling a smirk, placing his cane in front of him and resting his hands on top. ‘You seem to bring out his chivalrous side, Miss Webster. I applaud you.’
She cleared her throat, unable to think of an answer to that, gesturing towards her skirts instead.
‘I ought to apologise for my appearance. I had a fall earlier and my dress came off somewhat the worse for wear.’
‘Hence the ankle, I presume?’ Lance nodded as if there was nothing more natural than arriving at dinner covered in dirty splotches. ‘How unfortunate, but I take it that’s how the two of you met? I do hope you’re going to tell me my brother came to your rescue.’
‘Yes, in a manner of speaking.’ She untied her bonnet and pulled it away, taking care not to disturb the veil pinned to her hair, then passed that to Arthur as well. He took it and frowned, looking as though he were on the verge of saying something else before turning on his heel abruptly, carrying her things off to an anteroom.
‘I heard that the house looked like a castle...’ Frances looked around at the crests and tapestries covering the walls with admiration ‘...but I never expected anything like this.’
‘Haven’t you visited before?’ Lance appeared unconcerned by her veil. ‘Surely we’ve invited you to our summer balls?’
‘Oh, yes, you’ve been very kind. My parents attend every year, but I don’t go to balls.’
‘Ah well, then, you’re in luck. We’re having a garden party instead this year. My wife is a stickler for tradition and insists upon our doing something, but I refuse to let her dance in her condition. I keep telling her to rest and she keeps telling me to stop worrying. We’re quite the pair.’
He gave a strained-sounding laugh and Frances found herself wanting to offer some kind of reassurance. What was it he’d said earlier? I love my wife and I refuse to apologise for it... Apparently he was genuinely worried for her. Beneath the smile, there was a tightness about his face that spoke of some persistent anxiety.
‘When is the baby due?’
‘October, although I hope for sooner.’
‘You do?’ She couldn’t conceal her surprise. It wasn’t usual to hope for an early birth.
He nodded, his gaze flickering towards the staircase. ‘My wife has a particularly small build. I worry about how she’ll manage.’
‘Oh, I see.’ Frances drew her brows together sympathetically. Now she thought of it, she remembered once seeing Violet Amberton from a distance and being surprised by her excessively small frame. It was no wonder that her much-larger husband was worried. ‘But you know, my sister has a tiny waist, too. Everyone was anxious when she was about to give birth, but it was all over in a couple of hours. She had a big, healthy boy and was out of bed in a week.’
‘Then I’ll hope for the same.’ He took her hand and pressed it warmly. ‘I appreciate the comfort, Miss Webster.’
‘Lydia has a son?’
Frances cringed at the sound of Arthur’s voice behind her. She hadn’t heard his footsteps and the last thing she’d wanted was for him to overhear her talking about her nephew. Now that he had, however, there was no point in concealing the truth. ‘Yes. You didn’t know?’
‘No. My interest in your sister ended a long time ago. I heard of her marriage, that’s all.’
‘Well, his name’s George. Georgie.’
‘You sound fond of him.’ The words sounded faintly accusing.
‘I am. My sister moved back to Whitby after she was widowed and now we all live together in my parents’ house. It’s a pleasant arrangement, although sometimes I wonder if there are too many women for one little boy.’
‘You’re afraid of spoiling him?’
She hesitated before answering. It was hard not to lavish attention upon a three-year-old boy who’d lost his father and whose mother was obsessed with the idea of finding a new husband, but it seemed disloyal to say so.
‘Perhaps, but I suppose that’s preferable to neglect.’
‘As long as it doesn’t become stifling. Too much attention can be as bad as too little.’
‘Indeed?’ The solemnity of his expression made her hackles rise. ‘And you have experience of raising boys, I suppose?’
‘None at all, although I do have experience of being one.’
‘And were you over-indulged, Lord Scorborough?’
‘I wouldn’t say so, no.’
‘Were you stifled, then?’
There was a flash of something in his eyes, something piercing and intense like pain, at the same moment as a female voice spoke from the direction of the staircase.
‘Lance?’
The man in question rushed across the hallway, his expression turning instantly from bewildered perplexity to tender concern as Frances watched in surprise. The Lance Amberton she’d heard rumours about had been wild and dangerous. This man appeared to be the world’s most devoted husband. Evidently both brothers had changed.
‘Good evening, Violet.’ Arthur sounded as formal as if he were presenting her to the Queen. ‘Might I introduce Miss Frances Webster?’
‘Miss Webster.’
The woman broke into a wide smile as she took her husband’s arm and walked towards them. At ground level, Frances could see that her memory hadn’t exaggerated. Violet Amberton was without doubt the tiniest woman she’d ever laid eyes on, with white-blonde hair and disproportionately huge eyes in an amiable-looking face.
‘I’m sorry to impose upon your evening, Mrs Amberton.’ She inclined her head, trying to convey a sense of apology through her veil. ‘I’m afraid that I sprained my ankle and Lord Scorborough here rescued me.’
‘And now he’s brought you to join us for dinner?’ The woman’s gaze flickered between them, though her expression was inquisitive rather than calculating. ‘I’m so pleased. If we join forces, we might be able to stop these two talking about mining all evening.’
‘You mean you don’t find iron smelting as fascinating as we do?’ Lance put a hand to his heart. ‘You wound me, my love.’
‘Oh, but I’d never want to do that.’ She leant her head against his shoulder playfully. ‘But now I expect dinner is ready. I do appreciate your coming to dine with us, Miss Webster. If you can start a new topic of conversation, I’ll be forever indebted to you.’
‘I’m afraid that my dress...’ Frances gestured downwards again.
‘Oh, dear.’ The tiny woman looked sympathetic. ‘What a shame. I’d offer to lend you something, but I’m afraid you might find my clothes a little on the short side. Not to mention too wide.’ She patted her bulging stomach and laughed. ‘But it truly doesn’t matter. I’m just delighted to have anot
her woman to talk to. Please call me Violet.’
‘Then you must call me Frances.’
‘Then that’s settled. Here.’ Arthur extended his arm in a manner that was less of an invitation than a command, but Frances took it anyway, too touched by the other woman’s offer of friendship to spoil the moment.
‘Excellent.’ Lance clapped his hands together. ‘Now let’s eat. I don’t know about anyone else, but I’m famished.’
Chapter Six
Arthur swallowed a generous mouthful of port, wondering why he’d ever thought that bringing the woman to Amberton Castle was a good idea in the first place. Besides the inconvenience to himself, if his brother didn’t stop giving him pointed looks across the table then he’d do more than kick him under it. Happy as he was to take Lance’s mind off its usual preoccupation of worrying about Violet, his unexpected appearance with Miss Webster wasn’t something he cared to discuss. Even with his brother. Even when the circumstances positively cried out for an explanation. Even now that the ladies had adjourned to the parlour and he had the distinct feeling that he wasn’t going to be able to avoid the subject any longer.
‘So...’ Lance pushed a wooden-and-mother-of-pearl inlaid box towards him, opening the lid to reveal a row of thick, brown cigars. ‘Are you going to tell me what’s going on or do I have to guess?’
‘There’s nothing to tell.’ Arthur selected the nearest cigar and lit it with a candle. ‘But you can guess if you like. That ought to be entertaining.’
‘All right.’ Lance leaned back in his chair, inhaling thoughtfully before blowing a cloud of smoke into the air above his head. ‘In that case, I can only assume that you’ve decided to get revenge on the nefarious Lydia Webster by developing a tendresse for her younger sister. I imagine this is just one of a series of private liaisons.’
‘Not very private since I’ve brought her here.’
‘Ah, but naturally you’ve brought her here for my inspection and approval.’
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