‘Are you going to Lance and Violet’s garden party?’ He surprised himself with the question.
‘Me?’ She looked equally startled. ‘No, I told you, I don’t go to social engagements.’
‘Neither do I usually, though if it’s because of your scar then that’s ridiculous.’
‘No more than becoming a recluse to punish yourself for something you couldn’t help.’
He let one side of his mouth curve upwards, acknowledging the hit. She made a good point. ‘Then shall we both make an exception?’
‘You mean go to the party?’ She turned her face sharply towards the sea. ‘I think that my family will be shocked if I do.’
‘So will mine. And the rest of Whitby won’t know which of us to talk about first. Only I wonder if it’s time for us both to face the world again.’
‘Why?’ She kept her gaze averted. ‘Why should we? We don’t need to prove anything.’
‘No, we don’t need to, but I suppose I want to.’ He gazed at her profile in the sunshine, resisting the urge to draw closer. ‘You’ve made me want to join the world again, Frances.’
‘Oh.’ If he wasn’t mistaken, her cheeks darkened again.
‘You can wear your veil if you want to, but...’
‘I don’t want to.’
‘Good. Then we can go and support each other and if anyone stares, they’ll have me to deal with, not to mention Violet.’
‘What about Lydia? My parents won’t let her attend parties yet, but if anyone tells her that we’re friends...’
‘I’ll speak to her. Soon, I promise. Only let’s go to the garden party first.’ Despite his own better judgement, he felt suddenly determined to persuade her. ‘Will you meet me there, Frances? Will you face the world with me?’
‘Yes.’ She turned towards him again at last, smiling so widely it took his breath away. ‘Yes, I will.’
Chapter Thirteen
‘I’d like to come to the Ambertons’ garden party with you.’ Frances broached the subject with her mother as they walked through Pannett Park the next morning.
‘Pardon, dear?’ Her mother could hardly have sounded more startled if she’d just announced her intention of running away to London and becoming an actress. ‘Did you say that you wanted to come?’
‘Yes. The invitation was for all of us, wasn’t it?’ After one swift glance sideways, Frances kept her gaze fixed firmly on the pavement ahead. Her mother’s cheeks were a luminous shade of pink, as if she were already embarrassed by the idea of being seen with her. Fortunately, the closest pedestrians were a good ten feet ahead and, as far as she could tell, those approaching from the opposite direction weren’t acquaintances. Hopefully that would give her mother sufficient time to recover from the shock, or at least appear to, before she bumped into anyone she knew.
‘Of course.’ Her mother’s voice sounded conspicuously high-pitched. ‘I just didn’t think you cared for parties any more.’
‘I don’t, but since Captain Amberton rescued me the other week, I thought it might be churlish to refuse.’
‘Oh, I’m sure he wouldn’t think so, but if you’d really like to come...’ There was a telling pause. ‘Well, then, I’ll write and accept.’
‘Thank you.’ Frances took a couple of deep breaths. That was item one out of the way. As for item two, she had a feeling that wasn’t going to be quite so easy. After four years of not talking about her scar, it was hard to know where to start.
‘There’s something else.’ She found herself blurting the words out. ‘I’ve decided to stop wearing my veil.’
This time her mother’s response was less verbal than a high-pitched squeak of alarm.
‘My cheek is much better than it was,’ Frances pressed on determinedly. ‘And once people get used to it, they’ll stop looking, don’t you think? Hiding it away only makes it more mysterious.’
‘Perhaps, but...are you certain, dear?’ Her mother looked visibly distressed. ‘People can be so cruel. They might say things...’
‘I know and, yes, it might be upsetting at first, but I don’t want to spend the rest of my life hiding away.’ She stopped walking to pull the lace back from her face. ‘It’s time I faced the world again, Mama.’
‘Yes...’ her mother’s expression softened as she reached up and pressed a hand tenderly against her cheek ‘...perhaps it is.’
‘I don’t want—’ Frances started to argue and then stopped, the unexpected words of acceptance sinking slowly into her consciousness. ‘You mean...you don’t mind?’
‘Not if it’s what you want. I’ll support whatever decision you make, darling.’
‘But what about Papa? What will he say?’
‘I imagine he’ll feel the same way I do. He loves you, too.’
‘But you were the ones who suggested I wear a veil!’
‘Only because we didn’t want you to be hurt. We thought it might make you feel better, just until you were ready to be seen again.’
‘So it wasn’t because you were embarrassed by me?’
‘Embarrassed?’ A pained expression swept across her mother’s face. ‘Never! Is that what you thought? Oh, my darling, I’m so sorry if we ever made you feel that way. We were only trying to help.’
‘But I...’ Frances blinked, struggling to readjust her ideas. All this time she’d assumed that her parents were embarrassed, but now it seemed they’d only been trying to protect her.
‘I’m so sorry, Frances.’
‘Don’t be. I should never have assumed anything so horrible. I’m sorry, too, Mama.’
‘Oh, my darling.’ To her surprise, her mother wrapped her arms around her, pulling her close in the middle of the park, heedless of the scandalised expressions of passers-by. ‘You’ll always be my beautiful girl, no matter what happens. You’re beautiful because of what’s in here.’ She tapped her chest over the place where her heart was. ‘You have to know that.’
‘I do now.’ Frances hugged her back, vaguely aware that she was crying. The words were so close to the ones Arthur had said and if it hadn’t been for him then she might never have heard them. He was the one who’d convinced her that she didn’t need to hide any more. He was making her believe it, too, slowly but surely, and now her mother’s words seemed to be healing some wound inside her. A wound that had been even deeper than she’d realised.
‘Thank you, Mama. If you don’t mind, then I don’t care what anyone else says about me.’
‘Good.’ Her mother’s eyes were bright with tears, too. ‘You’ve always known what’s best for you. You’ve known that better than I have.’ She sniffed sadly. ‘Do you remember what you said about Leo the first time he came for dinner? You said that you had a funny feeling about him, as if he couldn’t be trusted. Considering what happened afterwards that struck me as very observant. But then you were always a good judge of character. You saw through him straight away.’
‘But I thought you liked Leo!’ Frances jerked backwards in surprise. ‘That’s why I agreed to marry him. You and Father said it was a good match.’
‘It was.’
‘You begged me not to end our engagement!’
‘I know. Only I was afraid...’ Her mother’s voice trailed away.
‘You were afraid that after the accident, no one else would ever want me?’
‘Yes.’ Her mother looked shamefaced. ‘But it was wrong of me, I know that now. I should have listened to you in the first place, never mind the second. I should never have encouraged you to marry Leo at all, not when your heart wasn’t truly in it, and I certainly shouldn’t have tried to stop you from ending it. I should have trusted your instincts then as I do now. That’s why your father and I have allowed you have so much freedom over these past few years, because we trust you and we know how much you enjoy your art and jewellery-making.’
‘About m
y jewellery, Mama... I’ve been selling a few pieces.’
‘Yes, I know.’
‘What? How?’
‘Whitby’s a small town, darling. Mr Horsham asked your father before he offered you any money.’
‘And Father didn’t mind?’
‘No. He wants you to be happy, just as I do. We only wondered why you wanted to sell it.’
‘I suppose...’ Frances chewed on her bottom lip for a moment, debating whether honesty really was the best policy ‘... I suppose I thought I could be independent one day. I never wanted to be a burden to you.’
‘A burden?’ Her mother looked horrified again.
‘But it also makes me happy,’ she carried on, hurriedly. ‘I don’t want people feeling sorry for me. I want to achieve something. My art makes me feel as though I have some value again.’
‘You’re invaluable to us, darling.’
‘Thank you, Mama.’ Frances pressed her face against her mother’s neck to hide her expression. She’d assumed that her parents thought her reputation and value were as irreparably damaged as her face, but apparently that wasn’t true either. We trust you... And all this while she’d been deceiving them, not just by going into trade, but by meeting an unmarried man on the beach. Was it possible that her mother already knew about Arthur, too? No, surely they’d been too discreet, but what would she say if she told her? Would she accept that they were just friends? Even if, during that last meeting, they’d felt like more?
‘You never know...’ she cleared her throat awkwardly ‘...maybe one day I’ll meet somebody who doesn’t care about my scar.’
‘Of course you might. Somebody worthy of you, my darling.’ Her mother dashed a hand over her face and started walking again. ‘Maybe at this garden party. I wish there was time to order you a new dress, but perhaps we can alter one of mine. It’ll have to be black, of course, but we can still make it pretty.’
‘Just nothing too fussy, please.’ Frances laughed at her mother’s eager expression. ‘And not too many frills either. Otherwise, I’m in your hands. You know a lot more about fashion than I do.’
‘Yes.’ Her mother’s face fell again. ‘I always did know a lot about that sort of thing. I’ve been a bad mother in that way.’
‘You’ve never been a bad mother!’
‘Yes, I have. I was always too concerned about my own appearance and it’s affected both of you girls. I raised Lydia to believe that looks are all that matter and I hurt you by making you feel even worse after your accident. But you see, looks were all I ever had. They were the reason your father married me.’
‘Not the only reason, Mama. Father loves you.’
‘Does he?’ Her mother looked dangerously close to crying again. ‘Perhaps he does still, but he fell in love with my appearance. When we were younger, he always enjoyed showing me off. I was his prize and, to my shame, I enjoyed it. I thought it meant that he loved me, but now we barely talk any more.’ She sighed. ‘Forgive me for saying this, darling, but it’s not easy getting old when you’ve been beautiful.’
Frances squeezed her mother’s arm sympathetically. There was something so melancholy in her voice, as if her beauty truly were a double-edged sword.
‘Do you think it was the same for Lydia with John Baird? He treated her like some kind of prize, too.’
‘Yes, I’m afraid that your sister and I are alike in that way. She always needed to be admired, as I did, and John Baird set her up on such a pedestal. Although between us...’ her mother looked around surreptitiously ‘...I don’t believe he was her first choice of husband.’
‘You don’t?’ Frances felt her heart start to thump.
‘I always thought she favoured Arthur Amberton. I believe there might even have been some kind of understanding between them.’
‘You knew?’ Frances was too surprised to dissemble.
‘So did you?’ Her mother’s eyes widened like giant orbs. ‘Well... I suppose it doesn’t matter now, but I’ve always known how your sister’s mind works. Only in Arthur’s case, I was afraid he might genuinely care for her.’
‘What do you mean, afraid?’
‘Because I knew his father would never allow the match and he always seemed so unhappy. Falling in love with your sister would only have made things worse for him.’ She looked pensive. ‘When I heard about his disappearance, I was afraid there was more to it than simply an accident.’
Frances gazed at her in surprise. Of all people, she would never have expected her mother to have been the one who guessed the truth, though her words gave her a sick feeling, too.
‘So you think he was really in love with Lydia?’
‘I don’t know. With the version he saw of her perhaps, but I think she was afraid to let him get too close. Your sister is less secure in herself than you think. Beauty is all well and good, but admiration isn’t the same thing as love and she knows that, deep down. John, on the other hand, was content to marry her for beauty alone, and after Arthur he was the next obvious candidate. Not a viscount, but wealthy and successful enough to give her the life she thought she wanted, the life she thought her beauty deserved, as if she had something to prove to the world. You know with Arthur gone, I think she was genuinely afraid of being left on the shelf. That’s why she married so quickly.’
‘But if you thought all of this at the time, why didn’t you say something?’
‘Because I find that most wisdom is only learned in retrospect. I wish I could go back and raise you both differently. I’d set a better example, teach you both there’s more to life than how you look.’ She smiled fondly. ‘You learned that lesson despite me, but as for your sister, I’m afraid it’s too late. Do you know, as a girl she was so loving and thoughtful. She never gave a second thought to her appearance. Wherever we went, she always managed to find a patch of mud or some puddle to jump in. I used to despair, but now I’d give almost anything to see that side of her again. I thought that maybe this year in mourning might help, might give her a chance to start again and think about what she really wants from life, but if anything she’s only become more self-obsessed. I worry for her. It’s as though she’s afraid to look any deeper than her own reflection.’
Frances threaded her arm through her mother’s as they made their way through the park gates and back on to the street. She’d never thought of Lydia’s vanity in that way before, but now she wondered if her mother was right and it was really a symptom of some greater fear.
‘I’m sure she’s all right, Mama.’
‘I hope so, but of course she wants to come to this garden party, too, which obviously your father and I can’t allow.’
‘Yes.’ Frances felt a mixture of guilt and relief, glad for once of the strict rules of etiquette that prevented her sister from attending. If Lydia were going to come to the garden party, then she’d have to warn Arthur and he’d doubtless change his mind about attending. Or maybe he’d still come, take one look at Lydia and forget about her own existence altogether. Although if that were going to be the case then surely it would be better to find out sooner rather than later...
No, Frances gave a small secretive smile, surely he wouldn’t forget her. After everything he’d told her about his past, surely he wouldn’t do that. He was going to the garden party because he said it was time for them both to move on and face the world again—together—as if they were somehow a pair. As if perhaps they might be more than friends one day. Was it possible? Could she risk believing in love again?
‘In any case, it’s only another few weeks.’
‘Hmmm?’ She’d lost track of what her mother was talking about.
‘It’s only a few more weeks until it’s been a year and a day since John’s funeral. That’s the very least expected for full mourning. After that, Lydia can go into half-mourning and I won’t restrain her any more.’ Her mother heaved a long sigh. ‘Not before tim
e either. This last year has been exhausting, like trying to hold back the tide. Just a little longer and then your sister can visit whoever, whenever she likes.’
Chapter Fourteen
‘There. Will she approve, do you think?’
Arthur looked at Meg’s reflection in the mirror just in time to see the dog tip her head to one side and yawn.
‘Well, that serves me right for asking a dog. I appreciate the support.’
He bent down to ruffle the sheepdog’s ears and then straightened up again, adjusting his cravat for the fifth—or was it sixth?—time as he tried to judge his appearance for himself. The suit Lance had lent him fitted perfectly and he’d let his hair grow longer over the past few weeks so that he actually resembled the old version of himself today, even if he still refused to grow a fashionable set of whiskers. Loathe though he was to admit it, if it wasn’t for that one omission, he might actually pass muster as a gentleman.
‘Come on.’ He whistled to Meg and started purposefully down the stairs. He’d got out of bed even earlier than usual to see to his chores and he had a boy from the village coming to keep an eye on the animals, but if he didn’t hurry then he was still going to be late. It was the first time he’d taken an entire afternoon off in years and he wasn’t sure that he wasn’t making a huge mistake.
But it wouldn’t be so bad, he reassured himself. Most of the guests would be family and close friends of Lance and Violet, though it was inevitable that there’d be a few members of Whitby society as well. Doubtless it wouldn’t take them long to report back on a sighting of the reclusive Viscount Scorborough, which meant that he’d have to get used to being an object of gossip again. If he had any sense, he’d turn around, go back upstairs and take a well-deserved nap instead. Damn it all, what the hell had he been thinking, accepting the invitation? And not just for himself, but encouraging Frances to attend, too...
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