The Viscount's Veiled Lady

by Jenni Fletcher

  ‘It’s July.’

  ‘Harvesting, then?’

  ‘Not quite yet. I’ve been down on the shore.’

  ‘Really?’ Lance’s gaze sharpened. ‘Taking some time off? That doesn’t sound like you.’

  ‘Helping to load lobster pots, if you must know.’

  ‘Ah.’ His brother looked disappointed. ‘In that case, you can take a break with me now. Only stay downwind if you don’t mind. No offence, but between the lobsters and the pigs, you’ve developed something of a potent aroma.’

  Arthur sniffed his sleeve self-consciously. He hadn’t considered the smell of the lobster pots when he’d wandered over to join Frances. Had she wanted him to sit downwind, too?

  ‘Shouldn’t you be at the mine?’ He propped his spade against the fence and climbed over.

  ‘I was. Only I forgot something so I had to go back to the house.’

  ‘What was that?’

  ‘Just a document, nothing important now. What is important is who I found there.’

  Arthur felt a distinct sense of apprehension. ‘You don’t mean...?’

  ‘Tenacious, isn’t she?’ Lance made a claw-like gesture with one hand. ‘Though ostensibly she came to call on Violet and thank me for rescuing her sister. She said she’d wanted to visit for, and I quote, simply an eternity, but hadn’t been able to on account of her mourning. Apparently she thought recent circumstances warranted an exception.’

  ‘Did she ask about me?’

  ‘I believe she was hoping that I would leave the room so she could, but I wasn’t about to abandon Violet. We had tea and biscuits. All terribly civilised.’ Lance gave him a pointed look. ‘You might need to start barricading your front door.’

  ‘I’m not hiding. Shall I make some coffee?’

  ‘I’d prefer something stronger.’

  Arthur lifted an eyebrow. In their youth, Lance had regularly drunk to excess, but since his marriage to Violet he’d become a changed man. The fact that he wanted alcohol now suggested he wasn’t quite as relaxed as he liked to appear.

  ‘I’ve got a bottle of whisky somewhere. Take a seat.’ He gestured to a bench by the front door and went inside, returning a few minutes later with a bottle and two small glasses.

  ‘I could drink the lot.’ Lance tossed back the contents of his tumbler the moment it was in his hand.

  ‘Anything you want to talk about?’

  ‘Nothing new.’ Lance placed a hand on his forehead and squeezed. ‘Do you think there’s a way to make the baby come early?’

  ‘I’m not the person to ask. Have you spoken to a doctor?’

  ‘Several. They all tell me not to worry, but I can’t help it.’

  ‘I know.’ Arthur refilled his glass and put the bottle aside. There wasn’t anything else he could say, nothing but empty reassurances.

  ‘So let’s talk about something else.’ Lance rested his head back against the wall. ‘Seen the little sister again?’

  ‘Why would I have?’ He felt himself tense instantly. ‘She lives in Whitby and I live here.’

  ‘With only the fields and the shore in between. I’d have thought it would be easy to meet if the two of you wanted.’

  Arthur gave him a sideways look, but Lance’s eyes were closed. ‘I suppose it would be. If we wanted.’

  ‘You know that Violet thinks you ought to go and apologise?’

  ‘I believe she’s mentioned it seven or eight times, yes.’

  Lance chuckled. ‘Well, I’m not telling you to do anything, though it occurred to me that the younger Miss Webster might be just the answer to your problems. Even Lydia would have to give up pursuing you if you married someone else.’

  If he’d had any hair, Arthur thought that his eyebrows might have vanished into it. ‘It might be somewhat insensitive to choose her own sister.’

  ‘That couldn’t be helped. All’s fair in love and war, et cetera. It wouldn’t be your fault if you really liked her.’

  ‘Which I never said I did.’

  ‘Not out loud, no.’

  Arthur narrowed his eyes. ‘It still sounds a somewhat extreme way of solving the problem. I’m perfectly happy on my own.’

  ‘Or maybe you’ve just got used to telling yourself that.’

  ‘Not everyone wants to get married.’

  ‘Haven’t I made it look appealing enough?’

  ‘It’s not that and you know it.’ Arthur lowered his glass slowly. ‘I’m just better off on my own. I’m not fit to be someone’s husband. My mind isn’t stable enough.’

  ‘Don’t be absurd. You’re as sane as I am, for whatever that’s worth.’

  ‘At the moment, perhaps, but remember what happened before.’

  ‘It was only once.’

  ‘Once for nine months and look at the consequences! If it wasn’t for me, Father would still be alive.’

  ‘You didn’t kill him, Arthur.’

  ‘No, the shock did that, but I caused it.’

  ‘Because he pushed you. He was always pushing you, him and Lydia Webster together. The pair of them would have driven any man—’

  ‘Mad?’ Arthur curled his lip. ‘It’s all right, you can say the word. It’s the truth, after all.’

  ‘No, it isn’t. You only lost your way for a while. I’ve seen it happen in the army.’

  ‘That’s still no excuse. Father and Lydia might have pushed me, but I managed the mad part all by myself.’

  ‘Just because it happened once doesn’t mean that it’ll happen again.’

  ‘I still won’t take the risk. That feeling of powerlessness, of being out of control...’ He shook his head. ‘I never want to feel that way again and I’m damned sure nobody wants a husband who feels that way either.’

  ‘And if the lady in question thought otherwise?’

  ‘The lady in question only knows that I jumped overboard and spent some time on a fishing boat. I’ve no intention of telling her anything else.’

  ‘Well, it’s up to you.’ Lance sighed and stood up. ‘And now that we’ve each thoroughly depressed the other, I ought to get on to the mine. For the record, though, I still think you’re punishing yourself too much. The past is the past. You shouldn’t let it spoil the future, too. Violet taught me that and she’s a hundred times smarter than I am.’

  ‘No arguments there.’

  ‘In any case, I presume you won’t be bringing a dinner guest this week?’

  ‘No, but you can put Violet’s mind at rest about Miss Webster. As it happens, I did see her this afternoon.’

  ‘Is that so?’ Lance’s expression was too smug for its own good.

  ‘Yes. She was having a picnic on the beach.’

  ‘What a fortunate coincidence.’

  ‘So I apologised, but that’s all.’

  ‘That’s what I’ll tell Violet then.’

  Arthur watched as Lance mounted his horse and rode away, still wearing a self-satisfied grin. Not that there was anything to smile about, not really. He’d told his brother the truth. He had absolutely no intention of getting married, not ever—although if that was the case then he really shouldn’t be arranging picnics with young, unmarried ladies. All things considered he probably shouldn’t see her again at all—and if she ever found out the truth about his past then he doubted she’d want to see him again either. What self-respecting woman would? But then it was only a picnic, a kind of extended apology, nothing special, just some light conversation over lemon buns...

  So why was he already looking forward to it?

  Chapter Nine

  ‘Moat good enough for you?’

  Arthur sat back on the sand, awaiting the verdict as Frances tapped her chin thoughtfully.

  ‘It’s not bad and I must say Georgie’s turrets are excellent. Well done, Georgie.’

 
‘Not bad?’ Arthur pushed himself to his feet as the little boy grinned. ‘That’s all you can say after I wrench every muscle in my body?’

  ‘I don’t hear Georgie complaining.’

  ‘He’s closer to the ground. My back may never recover.’

  ‘Oh, very well. If it means so much to you, I think it’s an excellent moat. For a first attempt anyway.’

  ‘Harumph.’ His expression turned decidedly grumpy. ‘Well, since I’m not going to get any credit for my labours, let me look at yours.’

  ‘No!’ She took a step forward, wrapping her arms around her easel protectively. ‘It’s not finished yet.’

  ‘So you can give criticism, but you can’t take it?’ He folded his arms. ‘Fair’s fair, Miss Webster.’

  She hesitated for another moment and then took a step backwards to reveal the canvas. It was a bit like removing her veil again, she thought nervously, though she’d barely noticed that garment’s absence today. She was actually getting used to not wearing it around Arthur, even if at that moment she would have liked a little protection from the intensity of his gaze. The painting was a seascape in watercolours, but she’d added both him and Georgie to the foreground, the pair of them crouched side by side as they built a chain of sandcastles along the length of the beach. Despite her teasing, their endeavours were really quite impressive. A little boy’s dream, in fact, though looking again at her canvas, she realised that she’d lavished far more attention upon them than on the sea itself.

  ‘You know I thought you had some talent six years ago.’ Arthur tipped his head to one side, looking speculatively between her and the painting. ‘Now I see I was mistaken.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ She bristled at once.

  ‘And I thought I was the sensitive one.’ His lips twitched. ‘If you’ll let me finish, I was about to say that you’ve become an exceptional artist. The way you’ve captured the rainbow in the water is stunning.’

  ‘Oh...thank you.’ She felt her cheeks flush, as though his words were warming her up from the inside.

  ‘Of course that’s just the opinion of an inept moat-digger, but this one is duly impressed. Now...’ He settled down on the blanket and stretched his legs out. ‘Is it time for our picnic yet?’

  ‘Yes.’ She turned away to beckon Georgie and cover her paints, glad of an excuse to hide her expression. ‘I suppose you’ve worked hard enough for one day.’

  ‘Kind of you to say so. What do we have this time?’

  ‘These.’ She reached into her basket and pulled out two pieces of shortbread. They were square-shaped and covered with a thick layer of caramel and chocolate. ‘They’re called Apollos.’

  ‘They look delicious.’ He shifted over, making room for her on the blanket as Georgie collected his rations and toddled happily away. ‘You’ll be having a lemon bun again, I suppose?’

  ‘Naturally.’ She sat down beside him.

  ‘And planning on taking an hour to eat it?’

  ‘I like to savour things.’

  ‘So I’ve noticed.’ He swayed slightly, bringing his head close to hers in a way that made her feel even warmer. ‘Aren’t you ever tempted to have something different?’

  ‘No.’ She sat very still, trying to ignore the tingling sensation of his breath on her cheek. ‘I know what I like.’

  ‘Then I admire your loyalty.’ His gaze dropped to her mouth before he sat back again, taking a big bite of his shortbread.

  ‘Mmm.’ He rolled his eyes appreciatively. ‘This is the best so far.’

  She laughed aloud, glad to have a release for her confused emotions. His proximity was disturbing enough, but the way he’d just looked at her, as if she were the cake, even more so. His eyes had certainly lingered on her mouth longer than a gentleman’s should have. ‘You always say that. Last week the strawberry tart was your favourite.’

  ‘I know. I wouldn’t have thought it possible to beat that either, but...’

  ‘This does?’

  ‘That was excellent. This is sublime. From now on, I’d like an Apollo every time. Two or three of them, preferably.’

  ‘The bakers will think I have a very sweet tooth.’

  ‘Say they’re for Georgie.’

  ‘They’re already supposed to be for Georgie!’

  ‘Well...’ he winked at her ‘...he’s a growing boy.’

  She turned her face away quickly, looking towards the sea with the most artistic expression she could muster. The fine weather showed no signs of waning and the waves were still gentle, breaking on to the shore with only the faintest of whispers. It was almost too placid. When Arthur winked at her like that, she felt as though there ought to be giant waves and breakers, something to justify the sudden rush of blood to her head.

  This was the fourth time in three weeks that they’d met on the beach, halfway between Whitby and Sandsend, and he spoke as if he wanted to carry on meeting her, as if he enjoyed her company as much as the cake. Since his apology they seemed to have taken up where they’d left off six years before, falling back into their old sense of camaraderie, though she was acutely aware of everything that had happened during the intervening years, too. Their conversations were familiar and yet unfamiliar. Sometimes she felt as if no time at all had passed, but then other times a shadow would cross his face like a cloud over the sun and they’d be almost strangers again. She caught glimpses of the old Arthur, but they’d both changed. She wasn’t the same girl who’d felt an adolescent yearning for him back in her mother’s parlour either. Now she felt intensely aware of him as a man, not to mention of herself as a woman.

  Not that he would ever think of her in that way, she was sure. It had been bad enough when he’d been engaged to her sister, but now there was even less chance of him seeing her as anything other than a friend. Which was all she wanted, too, she reminded herself. After Leo, she’d taught herself not to expect or even want romance. Arthur might not seem to care about her scar, but she certainly wasn’t going to risk any more rejection. Besides, there were other, far more important things in her life. Her new jewellery venture for a start, something a man—she avoided thinking the word ‘husband’—doubtless wouldn’t approve of. After all the heartache and pain her independence had cost her, there was no way she was giving it up now, not for anyone. Still, there were times when the expression in Arthur’s eyes made her insides feel strangely fluid.

  Then there were days when she thought she ought not to see him again at all. As nice as it was to have a friend, especially one who seemed blissfully unaware of her scar, she couldn’t help but feel guilty about betraying Lydia. Not that she was betraying her exactly, but still... She was only grateful that Georgie seemed more interested in telling his mother about cake and sandcastles than anything else, such as who they met. She didn’t want to consider how her sister might react if she knew the whole truth.

  ‘I have a present for you, too.’ Arthur’s voice broke into her thoughts suddenly. ‘In exchange for all the cake.’

  She turned around just in time to see him pull an egg-shaped chunk of black stone from his pocket. ‘I found this in the cliffside the other day. I thought it might make a nice pendant or something.’

  ‘It would.’ She let him place the jet in her palm. ‘Or a brooch, maybe.’

  ‘Something to match your eyes.’

  ‘Oh, no.’ She shook her head as she rubbed her fingers gently over the surface. ‘It wouldn’t be for me. I told you, I don’t wear my own pieces.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Because...’ She lifted her shoulders evasively. ‘I like to keep my outfits plain, that’s all.’

  ‘Because you don’t want anyone to look at you?’

  Yes. She let her shoulders fall again. Yes, that was exactly the reason, though she preferred not to hear it spoken out loud.

  ‘You know I hardly notice your scar any more.
’

  ‘Hardly?’ She didn’t mean to sound so sceptical, but his expression was kindly.

  ‘I mean that I notice it in the same way I notice you have brown eyes and hair. It’s a part of you, that’s all.’

  ‘The part everyone stares at.’

  ‘Maybe at first, but you’re assuming that it’s all anyone would ever look at. There are plenty of other reasons to look at you, believe me, Frances. But...’ he reached a hand out as if he hadn’t just given her the most unexpectedly touching compliment ‘...if you’re not going to wear it yourself then I want it back.’

  ‘What? No!’ She closed her fingers around the stone possessively. ‘You just gave it to me.’

  ‘Exactly. To you. On condition that you make something for yourself.’

  ‘All right,’ she conceded defeat. ‘I’ll think of something.’

  ‘Good. You know, I wouldn’t normally tell a lady that I saw a lump of stone and thought of her, but...’ He swayed towards her again. ‘A simple “thank you” would suffice.’

  ‘Oh!’ She clapped a hand to her mouth in embarrassment. ‘Of course, thank you. It was very thoughtful of you.’

  ‘You’re welcome.’ He bowed his head and then gave her a quizzical look. ‘If you don’t want to wear it, why make jewellery at all?’

  ‘Because I like creating things. It makes me happy and it’s nice to earn some money of my own. It’s good to know that I can be independent if necessary.’

  ‘Is it necessary?’

  ‘No, but sometimes it’s hard, feeling like a burden to others. At least my jewellery has value.’

  He lifted an eyebrow, regarding her in silence for a couple of moments before mercifully changing the subject. ‘How do you go about turning jet into jewellery anyhow? It just looks like a rock to me. It’s not even shiny.’

  ‘That’s what’s so wonderful about it. The potential is all there, only most people don’t notice. It just takes a while to bring out the true beauty beneath. First you have to cut the stone to the size and shape that you want, then you smooth the edges with sandpaper, then you carve the detail.’