Lance rolled his eyes. ‘About a hundred and fifty, give or take. Violet’s trying to restore the family name.’
‘After we both did our best to destroy it?’ Arthur took another swig. ‘Well, hat’s off to Violet for trying.’
‘There’s something we’ve both been wanting to talk to you about, actually...’ Lance started speaking hesitantly, then stopped mid-sentence as Arthur gripped his arm. ‘Ow! What’s the matter?’
‘I thought I recognised someone...’ He narrowed his eyes. In fact, he was almost positive he recognised someone, though at this distance it was hard to be sure... ‘Did Violet invite Leo Fairfax by any chance?’
‘Probably.’
‘Damn!’
‘Why?’
‘Frances was engaged to Leo Fairfax.’
‘Your Frances?’
This time he didn’t object to the possessive pronoun. ‘Yes. It was years ago, after you came back from Canada.’
‘Ah.’ Lance frowned. ‘No, I didn’t know. He’s over by the trees, paying court to some heiress or other.’
‘I don’t want Frances being upset.’
‘I could ask him to leave.’
‘No, she wouldn’t want a scene, but I’d better warn her. Where did she and Violet go?’
‘To the rose garden, I think.’
‘Good. Keep an eye on Fairfax for me. Don’t let him go that way.’
Lance nodded purposefully. ‘You can count on it, big Brother.’
* * *
Frances took a few deep breaths as Violet led her along a pathway lined on each side by sweet-smelling rose bushes, as if breathing deeply would somehow stop her from feeling so self-conscious. Personally she thought that she’d met more than enough people for one day and she felt more nervous than ever after Arthur’s kiss, as if everyone would take one look at her and guess what she’d been doing, though surely they couldn’t...
‘Ianthe?’
Violet called out to a woman in a turquoise gown and plain bonnet, walking arm in arm with another lady who resembled nothing so much as a wedding cake. She was wearing an old-fashioned crinoline that looked to be about five feet across and was clad entirely in white. Frances blinked at the sight, surprised enough to forget her own anxieties for a few moments. She’d never seen anyone wear quite so much lace in one outfit and in broad daylight to boot. It was actually hard to spot the small face beneath the lace-bedecked parasol and flowery headdress, though when she did, she saw that it belonged to an elderly lady who, if she wasn’t mistaken, derived great enjoyment from the spectacle she presented.
‘Mrs Ianthe Felstone, Miss Sophoria Gibbs,’ Violet introduced them. ‘This is my new friend, Miss Frances Webster.’
‘Miss Webster.’ The younger lady had doe-like eyes that sparkled when she smiled. ‘How do you do? This is my aunt Sophoria and...’ she gestured behind them towards a strikingly handsome, dark-haired man who was bouncing a small child in his arms a few feet away ‘...my husband, Mr Robert Felstone, and our son, Edward.’
‘My Mama and Papa.’ Harriet had decided to accompany them.
‘Also known as Ianthe and Robert.’ The lady laughed. ‘My brother Percy and Robert’s brother Matthew are both around, too, though goodness knows where. In any case, I’m delighted to make your acquaintance, Miss Webster. Violet’s told us so much about you.’
‘I’m pleased to meet you, too.’ Frances smiled, wondering what exactly Violet had thought to tell them besides the obvious fact of her scar, though neither woman was staring.
‘Are you enjoying the garden party?’ Ianthe asked her.
‘Yes, very much.’
‘I’m sure it will be pronounced a great success.’ The older woman spoke this time. ‘I never thought a garden could hold so many people.’
‘But it’s not too busy, I hope...’ Violet threw a worried look in her direction. ‘Only one invitation always leads to another.’
‘I’m having a lovely time.’ Frances smiled reassuringly, feeling a sudden urge to prove it as the band struck up a tune. ‘In fact, I’d like to dance.’
‘You would?’ Violet beamed. ‘Then we’ll have to find you a partner.’
‘You’ll do no such thing.’ Arthur’s voice behind her sent a hot quivering sensation racing through her body, as if she’d just touched something scorching. ‘Miss Webster’s already spoken for.’
He made a small bow and she curtsied back, smiling a goodbye to the others, all of whom looked to be experiencing varying degrees of surprise. Only the older lady looked unperturbed, giving her a knowing wink before she turned away.
‘I don’t recall us talking about dancing earlier.’ Frances looked up at him enquiringly as they made their way back to the lawn.
‘I believe it was implied under the terms of our agreement. We’re here to support each other, aren’t we?’
‘So we are. In that case, I’m honoured.’
‘There’s just something I need to tell you first.’
‘You can’t dance?’
He gave a snort before his gaze darkened. ‘I may be out of practice, but it’s not that. It’s about one of the guests.’
‘Yes?’
‘I’m afraid Violet didn’t know about your engagement to Leo Fairfax.’
‘You mean he’s here?’ She sucked in a sharp, panicky breath. Not that it should come as a surprise, she realised. The Fairfaxes were pillars of Whitby society, after all. She ought to have guessed he’d be invited.
‘We can leave if you want to?’
‘No.’ She clenched her jaw resolutely. ‘I’m not hiding any more.’
‘Good. Lance is keeping an eye on him, but...’
‘No,’ she repeated the word, more firmly this time. ‘There’s no need for that either. I ought to go and say hello.’ She lifted her chin and then faltered. ‘Will you come?’
‘Try to stop me.’
They made their way through the throng, past a quizzical-looking Lance, towards an attractive-looking couple drinking champagne and talking in the shade of a large oak tree. The lady, Frances noticed, was especially beautiful, with a mass of strawberry-blonde ringlets and vibrant green eyes.
‘Leo.’ She felt determined to speak first.
‘Frances.’ His gaze shot straight to her cheek and then past her shoulder. ‘How good to see you again.’ He cleared his throat as if the words had actually hurt. ‘Do you know Miss Braithwaite?’
‘I don’t believe that we’ve met, no. A pleasure, Miss Braithwaite.’ Frances smiled politely, though the woman seemed to be having as much trouble meeting her eyes as her former fiancé. ‘Although I believe you know Lord Scorborough, Leo?’
‘Yes, of course. Scorborough.’ Leo held out his hand, though for a moment she thought Arthur was going to ignore it. He simply stared at the other man for a few seconds, neither moving nor speaking, before he finally took hold of his hand and shook it. Judging by the sudden grimace on Leo’s face, however, it was less of a shake than a crush.
‘Well, it was good to see you again.’ Frances put a hand on Arthur’s arm, vaguely alarmed by the grimness of his expression. ‘But I think the dancing’s about to begin. Will you excuse us?’
‘Of course.’ Leo looked visibly relieved.
She pulled Arthur towards the area of the lawn cleared for dancing, waiting until they were in the midst of the gathered couples before whirling on him. ‘What was that?’
‘What?’ Arthur shrugged nonchalantly. ‘I was saying hello.’
‘You didn’t say anything!’
‘Didn’t I?’
‘No! I think you actually hurt his hand. I never thought I’d feel sorry for Leo, but that looked painful.’
One side of his mouth curved sardonically. ‘It’s a trick my old skipper taught me. He used it when he didn’t like the price he was being offe
red for his catch. The number would get higher the longer he held on.’ He lifted an eyebrow. ‘Surely you don’t feel that sorry for Fairfax?’
‘No.’ She bit her lip and then couldn’t repress a giggle. ‘Maybe not.’
‘Good. Now, I believe the first dance is a waltz. A little surprising for the outdoors perhaps, but since we’re breaking every other rule today...’ He winked as he put one hand on her waist. ‘If you’ll permit me, Miss Webster?’
She wasn’t sure when the music started or what the band was playing. She was only vaguely aware of the steps, too, though she seemed to be moving relatively smoothly, Arthur’s hands guiding her through a mass of swaying couples. There were other people there, too, gathered around the edges of the lawn watching them, but everyone seemed perfectly good-natured. Her parents were smiling and nobody was staring at her with disgust or derision, except perhaps Leo, who was cradling his hand and looking as though he’d just swallowed a bee.
‘I could still go and horsewhip him if you want?’ Arthur murmured in her ear and she laughed.
‘I think you’ve done enough.’
‘Well, the offer stands. After wrestling a battalion of pigs, I don’t think Leo Fairfax should prove too much of a challenge. But I don’t want him ruining things. I want today to be special for you, Frances.’
Special... The word reminded her of what he’d said in the orchard and she stumbled, her knees giving out briefly beneath her.
‘Are you all right?’ Arthur caught her up again instantly, sweeping her round in a circle as if nothing untoward had happened.
‘Yes. It’s just been a while since I danced.’
‘Me, too. There isn’t much occasion for it on farms or fishing boats.’
‘Do you still miss it?’ She felt nervous asking the question. ‘Being at sea, I mean?’
‘No. I did for a long time, as though my body had come home, but the rest of me was still lost at sea somewhere, but now I finally feel as if I’m whole again, body and soul and heart, too.’ He looked so intense that her every nerve ending seemed to tingle in response. ‘What about you? How do you feel, Frances?’
Happy. That was the first word that entered her head. Unexpectedly, incontrovertibly, deliriously happy.
‘I feel whole again, too,’ she answered simply and then smiled up at him. Whole and happy and not about to let anybody, Leo Fairfax especially, ruin it for her.
Chapter Seventeen
‘Is something the matter, dear?’ Mrs Webster peered anxiously at Lydia across the luncheon table. ‘You’ve hardly eaten a mouthful.’
‘I’m not hungry, Mama.’
‘Is there something else you’d like? Shall I ask Cook?’
‘No.’ Lydia folded her napkin. ‘I just need some fresh air. I’ve decided to make some calls this afternoon.’
‘Calls?’ Their mother’s face blanched slightly.
‘Yes. It’s almost a year since John passed away. Surely I can set aside full mourning now?’
‘But you’re so close, darling. Don’t you think you could wait just a bit longer?’
‘No.’ Lydia’s tone was adamant. ‘I want to go out and I’ve already asked for the trap to be brought round. I won’t be gone long, but if I stay in this house any longer, I’ll scream.’
‘Oh, dear...’ Their mother still looked faintly queasy as Lydia marched out of the room. ‘What do you think, darling?’
‘I think she’s right.’ Frances picked up her teacup and sipped at the contents. ‘She’s been trapped inside long enough. This past year has been very hard on her.’
‘I know. I only wish I could speak with your father, but he’s gone to his office already... Do you think I ought to send him a note?’
Frances looked out of the window speculatively. After almost a full week of rain, the sun was shining again at last. The Ambertons’ garden party had been succeeded by a series of storms that had kept most residents of Whitby trapped indoors so that she’d felt even more empathy for Lydia’s predicament than usual. The days had seemed interminable. Not being able to go out, to go down to the shore, to see Arthur...
She sighed as she recalled her last glimpse of him. After their waltz, she’d danced a polka with Robert Felstone, a galop with Ianthe’s brother Percy, then played hoop rolling and skittles with Arthur, Harriet and some of Violet’s younger cousins until the party had finally drawn to a close. He’d handed her up into her parents’ carriage, his fingers lingering on her elbow and even squeezing slightly before he released her, as if he’d been trying to convey some kind of message.
‘Frances?’ Her mother’s voice penetrated her thoughts.
‘Sorry, Mama, I was dreaming.’
‘So I noticed. Do you know, both you and Lydia have been doing that a lot recently? Sometimes I think I might as well talk to the walls. I asked if you thought I ought to send a note to your father?’
‘No. Lydia said she won’t be long.’ And judging by the sounds of preparation coming from the hallway, she was already halfway out of the front door...
‘Well...’ Her mother sighed. ‘I’m still not altogether sure that she ought to, but at least it might stop her staring into space all afternoon.’
Frances took another sip of her tea. She’d been preoccupied with her own thoughts over the past week, but now that their mother mentioned it, Lydia had been uncharacteristically pensive. In fact, she’d been acting oddly ever since the morning after the garden party. She’d caught her staring in her direction a few times, too, her gaze openly resentful, almost jealous, as if she knew what had happened between her and Arthur, although surely she couldn’t. Who could have told her? They’d received a number of callers over the past few days, but she’d been in the parlour with all of them and nothing particular had been said. Which meant that the only person who could have said anything was...
‘Mama?’ She peered over the rim of her teacup, trying to sound casual. ‘I suppose you told Lydia all about the Ambertons’ garden party?’
‘Why, yes, of course. Truth be told, she overwhelmed me with questions, but I suppose that was only to be expected. I’m sorry she had to miss it.’
‘Did she ask about Arthur Amberton by any chance?’
‘Well, I told her the pair of you danced.’ Her mother threw a swift glance at the door. ‘After all, it’s been six years since she last saw him and I didn’t think that she’d mind. I thought she might even be pleased for you, though I have to say she didn’t look it.’
‘Did you tell her that we played games afterwards?’
‘Well...yes. It was such a charming sight, the two of you playing with the children like that. I must say he was very attentive to you.’
‘I’m sure he was just being polite.’
‘Perhaps—’ her mother’s eyes shone ‘—although I doubt it was just politeness. Good manners aren’t the first thing one associates with Arthur Amberton these days.’
Frances stood up and wandered across to the window again, her mother’s words ringing in her ears. It was true, Arthur wasn’t known for his gentlemanly behaviour any more, but maybe that also explained why he’d been silent for the past week. Admittedly, it hadn’t been safe to walk on the beach due to the size of the waves and she hadn’t expected him to call at the house with Lydia living there, but couldn’t he have sent a letter? Or even a note, just something to suggest that he hadn’t already forgotten her! He was the one who’d said that he wanted to kiss her again—and soon—so where was he? Was he busy on the farm or was he regretting what had happened? She tensed at the thought. The afternoon of the garden party had seemed so perfect, but perhaps it had all been an illusion, an idyllic interlude with no relation to everyday life. In which case, perhaps his kiss had simply been a passing fancy, too...
She paused with the teacup halfway to her lips, surprised by the sight of Lydia standing on the pavement outside t
alking to a boy, the baker’s boy if she wasn’t mistaken. Instinctively, she took a step back, concealing herself behind the curtains as Lydia looked around furtively and then handed him a piece of paper.
Frances watched carefully, struck with a faint prickle of suspicion. Strangely enough, Lydia hadn’t uttered a single word to her about Arthur ever since the garden party despite her incessant questions beforehand, which was especially odd considering what their mother had told her. And Lydia was planning to go out this afternoon, with a particularly determined look on her face. The trap was already standing by to take her...
Frances put her teacup aside and ran out of the dining room, across the hallway and down the backstairs, running along the alleyway and emerging into the street just in time to catch the boy before he turned the corner. Fortunately, there was no sign of Lydia as she called out to stop him.
‘Sam?’ She ran up, panting. ‘It’s Sam, isn’t it?’
‘Yes, miss.’
‘Did my sister just give you a message?’
‘Not a message, miss, just a note.’ He looked anxious. ‘But I’m not supposed to talk about it.’
‘No, of course not, I understand. Only I wondered if you could tell me who it’s for?’
‘I don’t think I ought to, miss.’ He scrunched up his mouth for a moment and then grinned. ‘But I’m not to deliver it for another half-hour. That’s the important part.’
‘I see. Well, that’s good to know, thank you.’
‘You won’t tell her I said nothing, will you?’
‘It’ll be our secret.’ She reached into her pocket and fished out a coin. ‘You’ve been a great help, Sam.’
She ran back to the house, pausing in the hallway to catch her breath and try to unravel the mystery. If Lydia was going to visit Arthur, as she suspected, then why would she send him a note, too? It didn’t make any sense. Why send a note to a man you were already visiting? Unless the note was for somebody else. Somebody who might then take it upon themselves to go and intrude upon them... She gasped, half-shocked by the idea of anything so underhand, half-appalled at herself for being so suspicious. If she was right, then it meant she had less than an hour to get to Arthur and warn him, but surely she couldn’t be right. Surely not even Lydia would do anything so brazen... But what was it she’d said when she’d first asked her to visit him on her behalf? If she could just have ten minutes alone with him...
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