‘Your approval?’
‘Knowing me to be an excellent judge of the female character, yes. I further presume that you’re eloping in secret, which explains why she hides her face even while eating.’
‘There’s no tendresse.’ Arthur snorted. ‘This is the first time I’ve seen her in six years.’
‘Then you ought to be more careful. Riding around the county with young, unmarried women is more my old style than yours.’
‘It’s nothing like that. She really did sprain her ankle.’
‘Ah. Pity.’
‘Pity?’ Arthur almost spluttered on his cigar. ‘She’s Lydia’s sister!’
‘And we’re twins, but that doesn’t make us the same person. I like her.’
‘As I recall, there aren’t many women in the world you don’t like.’
‘Past tense and no offence taken, since you’re obviously sensitive on the subject. I’m a happily married man these days, as you very well know.’
‘Yes, I do and I apologise.’ Arthur grimaced and then frowned at the table. It had been a low blow, reminding Lance of his misspent past, especially when he was now so utterly devoted to Violet. Why was he being so sensitive?
‘Anyway,’ Lance went on, ‘there were a few women I didn’t like. I don’t recall ever saying anything positive about Lydia Webster, for example.’
‘True. You called her a cold-hearted fortune hunter.’
‘There you go then, but, married or not, I can still appreciate a woman of intelligence. I’ve no idea what your Miss Webster and Violet were talking about, but I don’t remember Lydia ever taking such a keen interest in poetry.’
‘Novels. They were discussing the works of Jane Austen.’
‘Didn’t she write poetry?’
‘No, and it’s not my Miss Webster.’
‘Noticed that eventually, did you?’ Lance chuckled. ‘Does she look like Lydia?’
‘Uncannily, except that Frances has a scar on one cheek. She had some kind of accident a few years ago.’
‘And that’s why she covers her face?’ Lance sobered instantly. ‘Then I’m sorry for joking.’
‘You weren’t to know. She hasn’t told me what happened.’
‘But you’ve seen it?’
‘Yes.’ Arthur blew a cloud of smoke out to hide his expression. Lance’s gaze seemed altogether too perceptive all of a sudden.
‘Maybe she doesn’t like to talk about it.’
‘She doesn’t, but there’s still no need for her to cover up like that. It’s only a scar.’
‘But it’s her choice whether or not to show it. If she feels more comfortable wearing a veil, then it’s none of our business.’ Lance shrugged. ‘Besides, I’d have thought you’d be glad she covers her face if she looks so much like Lydia.’
Arthur puffed out another smoke ring thoughtfully. That was true. He ought to feel glad. Surely the last thing he’d want was to look at an almost mirror-image of Lydia all evening, yet he actually wanted to see Frances’s face again. Why? It wasn’t as if he felt any residual attachment to his former fiancée, that much he was certain of, but the fact that Frances felt the need to cover her scar bothered him. Was she embarrassed or had she been made to feel so unattractive? He didn’t want her to feel that way...
‘In any case,’ Lance continued, ‘you still haven’t explained what you’re doing with her. Don’t tell me you found her limping around the Moors all on her own?’
‘No, she came to the farm.’
‘Your farm? Why?’
‘I’ll give you two guesses.’
‘Lydia sent her?’ Lance let out a low whistle. ‘You have to give the woman credit for nerve. She’s still fishing for a title, then?’
‘So it would seem.’
‘Well, it’s taken her long enough. She’s been widowed for almost a year. To be honest, I expected her to try something before.’
‘She has. She’s written twice asking me to meet her.’ Arthur raised his cigar to his lips and then pulled it away again. ‘How do you know how long she’s been widowed? I didn’t think you were so interested in Whitby society.’
‘I pay attention to some things, especially things that might involve my family. I make it my business to know when my brother’s being hunted.’
‘Well, she’s not going to catch me.’
‘Don’t be so sure. Women like that know how to get what they want and they don’t give up easily. Only why on earth did she send her sister to you?’
‘No idea. She must have thought a personal appeal would be more effective.’
‘But she didn’t visit you herself?’
‘No. Too worried about her reputation apparently.’
‘Thank goodness for that. So what message are you going to send back?’
‘I said that I’ve already given my answer.’
‘Mmmm...’ Lance sounded pensive ‘...just stay on your guard. I wouldn’t put anything past Lydia Web—what’s her married name again?’
‘Baird.’
‘Lydia Baird. She’s just the type to try to catch you in a compromising situation. Be careful she doesn’t turn up on your doorstep.’
‘One look at the farm and she’d probably change her mind.’
‘It might be too late by then.’
‘Which would be her problem, not mine. I won’t be tricked into doing the honourable thing.’
‘Won’t you? We both know you’re not as bad-tempered as you make out.’
‘I’m incredibly bad-tempered and I refuse to be trapped into anything I don’t want. I’ve lived enough of my life that way.’
‘Glad to hear it.’ Lance nodded approvingly. ‘You do like her, though.’
‘Lydia? Don’t be ridiculous.’
‘Nice try. You know perfectly well I meant Frances. You were looking in her direction all the way through dinner and you’ve just proven that you were listening to her conversation as well. You know you can’t fool me when it comes to women.’
‘Apparently I can since you’re so far off the mark.’
‘So you’re saying that you don’t like her?’
‘I don’t like any woman. I’ve learnt my lesson in that regard and it was a pretty damned painful one, too. From now on, I intend to leave the entire female sex alone and I’d appreciate them returning the favour. I only feel responsible for Frances, for tonight anyway.’
‘If you say so.’ Lance pushed his chair back and heaved himself to his feet. ‘In any case, I’ve had a very enjoyable evening and so has Violet, I can tell. If I weren’t so far off the mark I’d suggest you bring her again next week.’
‘The next time she invades my privacy, injures herself and then compels me to take care of her, you mean?’
‘You never know... So what’s the plan for tonight? I presume you’re taking her back to Whitby?’
‘Yes, under cover of darkness. She insisted.’
‘You know that’s not the time most respectable ladies ask to be taken home?’
‘Quite. Only she doesn’t want her parents to find out where she’s been. I think she intends for me to deposit her on the outskirts of Whitby and then hobble the rest of the way. It’s ludicrous, of course. I’ll have to see her to the door.’
‘The same door where her sister lives?’ Lance shook his head. ‘Absolutely not. You might as well stick your head in the lion’s mouth. Let me take her back in the carriage instead. If she needs an excuse, then she can say she twisted her ankle out walking and I found her. It’s not such a long way from the truth, but this way you don’t have to go and there’s no risk of bumping into you-know-who.’
Arthur nodded absently. It was a better idea than his own, he supposed, though he felt strangely reluctant to give up the prospect of a night-time ride with Frances. Despite the inconvenience, he realised he�
�d actually been looking forward to it...
* * *
‘Ladies!’ Lance swung the drawing-room door open with a flourish. ‘I hope you haven’t missed us too dreadfully.’
‘Woefully, my love.’ Violet laughed over her shoulder. She was sitting beside Frances on a red-velvet sofa, though only she turned around to look at them. ‘But we managed to bear it somehow.’
‘Minx.’ Lance limped to his customary armchair. ‘So what have you two been talking about?’
‘Jewellery. Frances was just telling me that she makes it.’
‘Indeed, Miss Webster?’ Arthur moved towards the fireplace, resting one arm along the mantel so that he had a sideways view of her. Frances’s eyes appeared to be riveted on the carpet, though he was pleased to see that she’d finally pulled back her veil, a development he could only put down to Violet’s kind-hearted influence.
‘Yes.’ She looked faintly embarrassed to be the focus of attention. ‘From the jet I find on the beach. Cameos and beads and brooches. Anything I can think of really.’
‘Jet?’ Lance hoisted his damaged leg on to a footstool. ‘You mean the black stones that wash up on the shoreline?’
‘Yes. That is, sometimes they wash up. Most of the time you can find them sticking out of the cliff face, where it gets worn away by the tide. Jet’s a hard rock, but it’s good for sculpting and it polishes beautifully. The lustre never fades and it’s become very popular since the Queen started wearing black.’
‘I’d love to see a few of your pieces.’ Violet sat forward eagerly. ‘Are you wearing any?’
‘Oh, no.’ She looked faintly startled by the question. ‘I don’t wear them myself. I used to make them as gifts, but recently I’ve...’
‘Recently you’ve...?’ Arthur prompted her as she faltered mid-sentence.
‘Recently I’ve started selling a few pieces.’ Her voice held a note of defiance as she lifted her chin to look him straight in the eye. ‘You look very stern standing up there.’
‘He never sits down in here...’ Lance gave an exaggerated sigh ‘...but it’s no good telling him, Miss Webster. Believe me, I’ve tried enough times.’
‘I prefer to stand.’
‘That’s not the reason.’
‘It’s the reason I choose to give.’
Arthur lifted an eyebrow at his brother’s challenging tone. They both knew exactly why he refused to sit down in the drawing room, in particular why he refused to take his father’s old chair by the fireplace, but he had absolutely no intention of discussing the matter again now.
‘Lance.’ Violet gave her husband a pointed look. ‘Arthur can stand on his head if he chooses.’
‘Just as long as he knows he doesn’t need to.’
‘I do.’
Arthur gave his brother one last scowl and then turned his attention back to Miss Webster. Her comment about selling jewellery hadn’t shocked him as she’d seemed to think that it might, but it did strike him as odd that she didn’t wear any examples of it herself. On closer inspection, he noticed that all of her clothes were plain and unembellished, without any ornament at all, as if she were trying to draw as little attention to herself as possible. The image of her straw bonnet floated back into his mind.
‘That’s where I’ve seen you.’ He snapped his fingers. ‘Down on the shore collecting stones. You wear a straw bonnet and carry a wicker basket.’
‘Yes.’ She looked taken aback. ‘But...when? I’ve never see you.’
‘You said that I’ve changed.’
‘True, but then I suppose we both have. We might easily have crossed paths and not recognised each other.’
‘Perhaps we have...’ He found himself almost smiling and cleared his throat hastily. ‘Or perhaps I’ve just seen you from my boat.’
‘You still sail?’ She looked surprised again. ‘Didn’t your experiences put you off? I mean, after so long on a fishing boat...’
She clamped her lips together suddenly, as if she’d just remembered she was supposed to keep their conversation between themselves, and he turned his face towards the fire, grimacing inwardly as an awkward silence descended over the room.
As far as the rest of the world knew, what had happened to him was still a mystery, not to mention an accident. There were rumours, but since he’d neither confirmed nor denied any of them, speculation was all that they were. Only Violet, Lance and now Miss Webster knew the truth—and now Lance knew that he’d told her, too. What would he read into that? He could already feel his brother’s eyes boring into the back of his skull. And why had he told her? He’d only met her, only renewed their acquaintance anyway, that afternoon. What had made him trust her so quickly? Bad enough that his own family knew how oddly he’d behaved. He didn’t need the whole of Whitby knowing it, too. All it would take was for her to tell one person and the gossip would be all over town.
‘My brother’s a famously excellent sailor.’ Lance came to her rescue, trying to lighten the mood, but Arthur turned around again, speaking over him.
‘Quite the contrary, my experiences, as you call them, only made me more attached to the water. I told you, I didn’t want to come back. Given the choice I’d still be somewhere in the middle of the North Sea.’ He pulled his arm away from the mantelpiece decisively. ‘But it’s getting late. My brother thinks you ought to go home in his carriage and I agree. It’s time for you to leave, Miss Webster.’
‘Oh!’ She sprang up as if she’d just been catapulted out of her seat, pulling her veil down with a sharp tug, though not before he saw the expression of hurt on her face, enough to give him a sharp stab of guilt. ‘Yes, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to impose.’
‘You’re not imposing at all.’ Violet shot her brother-in-law a recriminatory look. ‘I’ve had a delightful evening. I can’t travel much at the moment, but I do hope you’ll come again and bring some of your jewellery for me to admire. I’m sure it’s exquisite.’
‘Thank you.’ Her voice sounded faintly muffled behind her veil. ‘I’d like that, too.’
‘Oh, very well, then.’ Lance heaved himself out of his armchair with a sigh. ‘I was just getting comfortable, but since my brother is such a stick-in-the-mud, I suppose there’s no rest for the wicked. With your permission, Miss Webster, I’ll call for the carriage and escort you home myself.’
‘I’ll come, too.’ Arthur took a step forward.
‘No.’ She made a move as if to forestall him. ‘I’ve inconvenienced you quite enough already.’
‘I never said...’
‘But you’re no inconvenience to me.’ Lance made a gallant bow, pointedly blocking the way. ‘In fact, I’d be honoured to escort you. As for you, dear Brother, under the circumstances perhaps you ought to go and mend your manners elsewhere.’
Chapter Seven
‘Ride a cock horse to Banbury Cross...’
Frances bounced a giggling Georgie up and down on her knee, pretending to almost drop and then catch him again as her sister paced the length of the drawing room like a caged and increasingly irate animal.
‘Is that really all he said?’
Lydia’s cheeks were pink, though whether from anger, frustration or exertion, Frances couldn’t tell. After eight days of being subjected to the same questions, however, she was getting used to deflecting the truth.
‘Yes. I’m sorry, Lydia, but he said he’d already given his answer.’
‘But you were gone for so long!’
‘I told you, I sprained my ankle on the way home. It’s hard to be quick when you’re hobbling on one leg.’
‘Well, it seems quite a coincidence that you were found by Captain Amberton.’
‘It was, wasn’t it? But it was over a week ago now. Can we please let the matter rest?’
Quickly, she turned her attention back to tickling Georgie under his armpits, ignoring the glint of
suspicion in her sister’s eye. Not that she was lying outright, she told herself, just not telling the whole truth. Besides, as it turned out, she hadn’t needed to lie. Lance Amberton had done all the talking for her, escorting her to her parents’ front door with a story about finding her at the side of the Sandsend-Whitby road that had almost convinced even her. He’d been charming and courteous, a perfect gentleman, in fact. Everything that his brother was not.
She’d tried her hardest not to think about him for the past week, a feat that hadn’t been easy given the frequency of Lydia’s questions, though overall she thought she’d done a reasonable job. She’d certainly consigned her ideas about the old Arthur Amberton to the past. Either her girlish memories of him had been mistaken or he’d changed so completely that the old version no longer existed. The kind, thoughtful man she’d remembered had been replaced by an ill-mannered, domineering brute. There was no danger of her wanting to renew her acquaintance with him, although she hoped to visit Amberton Castle again soon. That was the one good thing to come out of the evening. Violet and Lance had been considerate and welcoming, putting her so much at ease that she’d eventually felt comfortable enough to remove her veil, something she rarely did except with her own family. She’d enjoyed her evening with them far more than she’d expected, right up until the moment when Arthur had dismissed her as if she were just some inconvenience to be got rid of.
His rejection had been all too familiar, though it had felt doubly hurtful somehow, as if he’d attacked her when her guard was down. After all, he was the one who’d taken her there! He was the one who’d actually insisted that she accompany him! When he’d asked about her jewellery it had reminded her of their old conversations in her mother’s parlour and when he’d almost smiled at her, she’d even started tentatively to wonder whether they might possibly be friends again. What a foolish idea that had been! But then why had she assumed he’d be any different from anyone else? Especially when he’d made it abundantly clear that she’d been nothing but a burden from the start. That was all she’d ever be to anyone, but the memory still hurt, as if he were Leo all over again...
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