The Viscount's Veiled Lady

by Jenni Fletcher

  Frances. The thought of her made his heart flip over in an utterly uncharacteristic fashion. She’d agreed to go to the garden party and unveiled, too. Whatever irritations he had to contend with, they paled into insignificance besides that. He wouldn’t let her down by backing out now. Being stared at, gawked at and generally speculated upon as if he were some kind of rare zoological exhibit would be irritating, but he could walk away from those. What he couldn’t walk away from was Frances, his friend, his good friend, his good friend who he found increasingly attractive and whose company he found himself craving more and more.

  It wasn’t an ideal situation. In fact, given the identity of her sister, it was a very long way from ideal, but the need to see her again was becoming an ache, one that he knew he ought to ignore, but couldn’t. Over the five days since he’d last seen her, hardly a minute had passed when he hadn’t thought about her—and had it really just been five days? It felt like an eternity. He wanted to meet her in public formally, to show her around Amberton Castle, to speak with her parents...

  The latter thought drew him up short. Why did he want to speak with her parents? Surely only a proper suitor would do that and he wasn’t one of those...was he?

  He sat down on the bench at the front door to pull on his boots. Over the past few days, on those few occasions when he hadn’t been thinking about Frances, that was, he’d let himself consider what Lance had said about his ‘accident’ and the other similar cases he’d seen in the army. He’d started seriously to consider the possibility that it might have been an isolated occasion after all, one brought on by an unbearable situation.

  Painful though it had been, he’d even allowed himself to think about what had happened to his father. Lance and Frances were both right about that. Yes, he might have contributed to his collapse, but it hadn’t been intentional. He’d always feel guilty about it, but he hadn’t known what he’d been doing. And if everyone else thought he was punishing himself too much, then why shouldn’t he put the past behind him and move on? He didn’t feel in danger of another episode again now. On the contrary, he felt happier than he had in a long time. So why shouldn’t he banish his fears and lead a normal life? Why shouldn’t he pay court to Frances?

  He wasn’t quite sure when he’d started to change his mind about himself and his future, only he sensed that it had been happening for a while, starting around the time when she’d first shown him her scar in his kitchen. He’d thought that his heart was untouchable, but now he realised it had only lain dormant. In any case, now that he’d opened his mind to the idea of being a suitor, he seemed unable to stop thinking about it. At the very least, he needed to speak with Frances since there was the strong possibility that she only thought of him as a friend. The way that she’d rested her head on his shoulder when he’d been telling her his story had felt intimate, but perhaps she’d only meant to comfort him. There was only one way to find out...

  He closed his front door and strode across the yard, aware of a tingling sensation in his chest that felt, annoyingly, like excitement. As if he were a youth in the throes of first love and not a jaded farmer who was ten years older than the object of his affections... Then he stopped abruptly, caught off guard by a high-pitched squealing sound followed by a commotion coming from the direction of the stable. What the...? He spun quickly towards it, noticing as he did so the open gate of the pigsty, and broke into a run. He must have been so distracted earlier that he’d left the sty open after filling the trough and now the location of his two sows and their twelve piglets was becoming increasingly, and loudly, obvious.

  He burst into the stable just in time for five of the piglets to rush past him, leaving his horses jumping and kicking their hind legs in outrage.

  ‘Whoa.’ He put a hand on the nearest horse’s neck and looked around. The rest of the piglets were already fleeing, leaving a trail of commotion as they trotted back to the yard.

  He muttered a string of epithets, pulling his jacket off and draping it over the stable door as he closed it firmly behind him. Then he rolled his sleeves up, surveying the scene with dismay. The piglets were spread out all over, their little pink bodies covered with varying amounts of muck and other substances he preferred not to think about. His suit would never survive the chase, let alone be in a fit state to be seen afterwards, but there was no time for him to go and change or who knew what fresh turmoil he might find. Meg was barking at the top of her lungs, the usually somnolent cats were scattering in all directions, the chickens seemed to be in fear for their lives and the boy from the village still hadn’t arrived yet. There was chaos and uproar everywhere he looked. Which meant that he had no choice but to catch them himself. More than that, he had to hurry.

  He muttered one last imprecation and charged in.

  * * *

  Frances stood beside a bed of purple-blue hydrangeas at Amberton Castle, feeling as self-conscious as if she were naked. She’d deliberately not brought a veil with her so that she couldn’t change her mind and now she felt as though every eye in the garden was upon her.

  It wasn’t true, of course. The rational part of her brain knew that. On the contrary, most people were busy playing games amid the flower beds, exploring the strange, rose-shaped maze or drinking chilled wine under a canopy that appeared to have been specially erected for the occasion. Her parents, meanwhile, were standing on either side of her like a pair of sentinels ready to do battle so that, although a few people had looked at her face a little longer than was strictly polite, no one had reacted in horror or outrage. Some of her old friends had even smiled as if they were actually pleased to see her out in society again.

  Despite that, every introduction had been painful. She’d felt every look, felt them as though she were being pummelled by hundreds of tiny, invisible fists. When she undressed for bed that night, she had the vague suspicion that her body would be covered with a patchwork of purple bruises.

  Worst of all was the fact that Arthur hadn’t come. After the way he’d encouraged her, the way that he’d promised to support her, he’d failed to keep his end of the bargain—a bargain he’d initiated! She’d been a fool to think he might actually care about seeing her, to think that he was any more reliable or had any more depth than Leo either. So much for friendship. The next time she saw him, she’d find the biggest stone on the beach and hurl it straight at his head.

  ‘Mr and Mrs Webster?’ Violet Amberton approached them with a good-natured smile. ‘Would you mind if I borrowed your daughter for a while? My husband keeps insisting I sit down, but I’m afraid that if I do then I won’t be able to get up again. A gentle stroll would be just the thing and I’d like a companion. If you don’t mind, of course, Miss Webster?’

  ‘Why, I’m sure she’d be delighted.’ Her mother looked both startled and pleased at the same time. ‘Wouldn’t you, darling?’

  ‘Yes, thank you, I’d like a walk very much.’ Frances inclined her head politely, temporarily suspending all thoughts of violence against Arthur. His sister-in-law was a far better actress than she would have expected. Nobody witnessing her behaviour would have had any idea that they’d met before.

  ‘There now.’ Violet led her towards a gravelled path that meandered its way through the centre of the garden. ‘Now that we’ve officially met and become friends, you’ll be able to visit whenever you want, if you want to, of course.’

  ‘Of course. You know I wanted to come before, only under the circumstances...’

  ‘Oh, yes, Arthur explained the difficulty.’ Violet squeezed her arm. ‘But I’m happy you’re here now.’

  ‘So am I.’ Despite Arthur’s absence, at that moment, Frances realised she felt genuinely happy. ‘Your garden is beautiful. What a lovely idea to hold a party outside.’

  ‘Yes, just as long as it doesn’t rain. But Lance was right, I could never have coped with a ball. Carrying a baby is more tiring than I expected. I get exhausted even when I
’m not doing anything.’

  Frances smiled sympathetically. Violet did look tired, not to mention at least twice the size she’d been when they’d last met. There was a note of worry in her voice that hadn’t been there before either.

  ‘I’m sure everything will be all right.’

  ‘Thank you.’ Violet’s smile wavered uncertainly. ‘Although I have to admit I’m a little nervous.’

  ‘If you want to talk about it...’

  ‘Oh, I wouldn’t want to burden you.’

  ‘It wouldn’t be a burden. Sometimes talking about a worry can help.’

  ‘Yes, and the truth is...’ she looked around with a distinctly guilty expression ‘... I can’t talk to my husband about it. He’s worried enough for both of us.’

  ‘Then tell me instead. I’m a good listener.’

  ‘I will. Not today, but another time...’ Violet smiled gratefully. ‘You know that dress looks very fetching on you.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  Frances dropped her gaze shyly. She’d been pleased with the gown her mother had picked out for her, too, albeit somewhat alarmed by the light fabric and low-cut neckline, so different from her usual modest garments, though her mother had argued that in summer, anything else would look ridiculous. It was slightly out of date, with less bunching at the back than was currently fashionable, but they’d made a few alterations together, removing every last trace of flounce and frill so that the long, form-fitting bodice gave her a sleek, elegant line.

  The only concession to mourning was the colour, but regarding herself critically in the mirror that morning, Frances had been pleased to see that, for the first time in years, she didn’t look like a ghost. Her time on the beach had given her cheeks a healthy colour and she had to admit, the combination of tanned skin, dark eyes and black dress did look striking. At the last moment, she’d picked up a black ribbon and slid the pendant she’d carved from the stone Arthur had given her along it, tying it around her throat to complete the effect.

  ‘Is this one of your pieces?’ Violet noticed the pendant, too.

  ‘Yes, it’s supposed to be a shell.’ She felt herself blushing, not that the words themselves were incriminating. Only Arthur would have understood their significance.

  ‘I can tell. It’s quite beautiful.’

  ‘I was just thinking the same thing about your house.’

  ‘Oh, yes, it’s a lovely place, although it might not be ours for much longer.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘We’re thinking of moving. Not far, only I’d like to be closer to the ironworks so that Lance isn’t traipsing about the Moors in all weathers. And this is Arthur’s house, after all, no matter what he says.’ Violet looked around, her tone a little too uninterested. ‘I can’t think where he’s got to. He definitely said he was coming.’

  ‘Maybe he changed his mind.’

  ‘Oh, I doubt that. Lance took him a new suit this morning.’

  ‘What have I done now?’ The man in question came up behind them, wrapping an arm around his wife’s shoulders. ‘And speaking of doing, I hope you’re not over-exerting yourself.’

  ‘I’m walking around a garden.’ Violet sounded exasperated. ‘I haven’t jumped over any hedges or climbed any trees. Honestly, if it were up to you I’d spend the next three months in bed being pampered.’

  ‘Isn’t that how wives want to be treated by their husbands? I could lie at your feet reciting poetry and feeding you delicacies.’

  ‘Then I really would look like a whale.’

  ‘You know it’s hard for a man to discover that his company isn’t sufficiently scintillating.’ Lance heaved a sigh. ‘But then I suppose I always knew this day would come. My wife keeps sneaking away from me, Miss Webster.’

  ‘But I always come back.’ Violet smiled mischievously.

  ‘True, but in this case, I’m afraid I really have to steal you away. Your Aunt Caroline and Uncle Ben have just arrived from York. Apologies, Miss Webster, but family duty calls.’

  ‘Why don’t you come and meet them?’ Violet offered, but Frances shook her head.

  ‘Perhaps in a while. I think I’d like to walk a bit more first.’

  ‘Of course.’ Violet squeezed her hand. ‘Then we’ll see you soon for the dancing. I’ve asked the band to do a few sets out here, just for fun.’

  Frances watched the Ambertons walk away, no doubt debating the wisdom of whether or not Violet should be allowed to dance, then turned her footsteps towards a small woodland area. It still amazed her that two brothers, twins especially, could be so completely different. The contrast between Lance and Arthur was as stark as that between the garden and the Moors beyond. One was cultivated and urbane, the other harsh and rugged. One fitted into society with apparent ease, the other didn’t. One was here now, the other... She pushed the thought from her mind. Clearly she’d read more into her friendship with Arthur than actually existed. She’d thought she could trust him for a start. She’d thought she could rely on him, too. She’d even thought that he might care for her a little. All foolishness.

  She pushed on through the woodland, trailing her hands against the sides of the trees and letting herself relax away from the crowds. There were a few apple trees, she noticed, laden with such an abundance of fruit that some of the branches drooped almost to the ground. The apples themselves were large and juicy-looking, almost ready for picking. She stopped and slid her back down one of the trunks, listening to the rustle of the leaves above her head. They sounded a lot like the sea, like waves on the shore...two other things that were similar and yet different...

  She closed her eyes, letting a shaft of stray sunlight warm her face. Arthur hadn’t come. She’d been so sure that he would, but now her disappointment was fading, replaced by a sleepy torpor. He hadn’t come, but she was used to rejection...and she was still there, surrounded by warmth and beauty and a feeling of peace that was lulling her into a gentle slumber. The light caress of the breeze on her cheeks felt wonderful and her nook against the tree trunk was surprisingly comfortable. She gave a wide yawn and folded her hands in her lap. Surely a brief nap wouldn’t hurt.

  Chapter Fifteen

  The warm glow dissipated as a shadow fell over her.

  ‘You’re a damnably hard woman to find!’

  ‘What?’ Frances opened her eyes, momentarily alarmed by the sight of a dark silhouette looming above her. Fortunately, she recognised the voice almost at once.

  ‘I’ve been looking for you for an hour.’ Arthur sounded half-annoyed, half-aggrieved.

  ‘Well, I’ve been here for...’ She frowned. How long exactly had she been there? Had she really fallen asleep? She felt slightly groggy. ‘Longer than you, anyway! I thought you weren’t coming.’

  He folded his arms as if he were offended. ‘I said that I would.’

  ‘Eventually, you mean?’

  ‘I was detained.’ He unfolded his arms again. ‘By some pigs if you must know.’

  ‘Pigs?’

  ‘Yes, two whole litters of them. They chose a particularly inconvenient time to escape and cause havoc. I was just on my way out of the house.’

  He ran a hand through his hair and she narrowed her eyes to take a closer look at him. He was dressed in a plain dark suit, smart enough, but showing some signs of wear, and hadn’t Violet said something about Lance taking him a new suit that morning? Besides, his story sounded too ludicrous not to be true.

  ‘So you’re late because you’ve been chasing pigs?’

  ‘Yes. Chasing, shoving and a spot of wrestling, too. Sows are heavy and piglets are slippery, little b—’ he grimaced ‘—creatures.’

  ‘I can imagine.’ She pressed a hand to her mouth to cover a giggle.

  ‘I’m glad that you find my travails amusing, but if you’ve quite finished...’ he reached a hand out ‘... I need a dri
nk. It’s thirsty work hunting pigs, not to mention women sleeping in orchards.’

  ‘You haven’t had a drink yet?’ She took his hand, warmed by the idea that he’d come straight to find her.

  ‘No, we had an agreement, didn’t we?’ He hoisted her to her feet with one quick tug. ‘I didn’t want you to think I’d gone back on it.’

  ‘Oh!’ She came up so quickly that she bumped straight into his chest with a thud and he caught her elbows to steady her, his gaze intent suddenly.

  ‘You thought that I had, didn’t you?’

  ‘Had what?’

  ‘Gone back on my word.’

  ‘Not for the first hour, but after that...’ She shrugged. ‘Well, what was I supposed to think?’

  ‘So you ran away and hid?’

  ‘I wasn’t hiding! I was taking a break and plotting revenge.’

  ‘Indeed?’ His eyes glittered with amusement. ‘And what particular form of vengeance did you come up with? I doubt it could be worse than chasing piglets.’

  ‘I was going to put sand in your next cake.’

  ‘Is that so?’

  ‘And throw a few rocks at you.’

  ‘That’s more like it. Then it’s a good job I did come to find you. Now, shall we get back to the house before I collapse from dehydration?’

  He offered an arm and she looked at it in surprise for a few seconds before finally threading her hand through the crook of his elbow and letting him lead her back to the path, all the while trying to maintain an outward appearance of composure. It felt strange to be touching him. Strange and decidedly unsettling. They weren’t doing anything wrong. On the contrary, they were simply walking side by side like any other respectable lady and gentleman. Except that in all the weeks they’d been meeting on the beach, they’d never linked arms before, had barely even touched except by accident. Now she felt acutely aware of her body, of the thump of her heartbeat against her ribcage and the too-fast sound of her breathing, not to mention the thrilling sensation in her side as his muscular arm pressed against it.