Frances grabbed her cloak and bonnet, pulling on her sturdiest pair of boots before running back out into the street and down towards the beach. At least the tide was out, that was one small mercy, and the damp sand would be easier to run on. If she was wrong, then it didn’t matter, but if she was right, then Arthur Amberton was about to find himself caught in a trap.
She only hoped she could reach him before it snapped shut.
* * *
Arthur climbed over a low stone wall and trudged back towards the farmhouse, Meg at his heels. He’d been up since dawn, mending fences that had been damaged in the previous night’s storm and his stomach was complaining loudly. He needed something to eat, then he needed to check on his animals and then...well, then perhaps he could take a walk down to the beach and see if Frances was there. It had been almost a whole week since the garden party, six days since he’d kissed her, one hundred-and-forty-four hours of missing her company and dreaming about taking a chance on the future after all...
Violet certainly thought that he should. She’d taken him aside after the garden party to tell him as much in no uncertain terms, as he recalled. Lance had shrugged apologetically in the background, though he’d clearly agreed with every word. Neither of them had seemed to think that he was too unstable and for the first time he hadn’t argued back. He’d awoken the next morning positively eager to run down to the beach, only to find the Yorkshire weather conspiring against him. It had barely stopped raining since.
He stopped as he rounded the side of the barn, heart leaping at the sight of a trap parked outside the house. Had Frances decided to visit him there instead? He’d said that she was welcome at the farm whenever she wanted, but he hadn’t actually expected her to come. Not that it mattered, he told himself as he hurried towards the house and pushed open the front door, stopping short in surprise when Meg gave a bark.
‘Who is it?’ he called out, his heart sinking slowly and then plummeting rapidly as a woman swathed head to foot in dark purple stepped out of the parlour to greet him. She was just as beautiful as he remembered, possibly even more so, but he had to fight the impulse to turn round and run at the sight of her.
‘Arthur...’ She held both of her hands out in greeting. ‘It’s good to see you again.’
‘Lydia.’ He ignored the gesture, folding his arms instead and resolving to lock his front door from now on. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘You didn’t respond to my letters.’ Her voice sounded faintly tremulous, as he guessed it was intended to. ‘I had to come and speak with you face to face.’
‘I did respond. I thought I made my answer clear.’
‘That wasn’t an answer, it was simply a refusal! How could you be so cruel?’ She rifled inside her reticule, drawing out a frilly handkerchief to dab at her eyes. ‘After everything we meant to each other?’
‘That was six years ago. A lot’s happened since then. Too much.’
‘So you won’t even talk to me?’ The handkerchief dabbed again. ‘You won’t let me explain?’
‘There’s no need to explain. You thought that I’d drowned so you married another of your suitors. That’s about right, isn’t it?’
‘Arthur!’ Lydia’s eyes opened wide. ‘You make it sound so sordid.’
He heaved a sigh and gestured for her to precede him into the parlour. After all, perhaps Frances had been right. Perhaps he ought to have met with Lydia when she’d first asked him to, ought to have let her say her piece so that she wouldn’t have felt compelled to visit him. Perhaps he owed her that much for old times’ sake. At the very least, he ought to hear her out now.
‘I apologise.’ He took a seat and cleared his throat. ‘I shouldn’t have said that. I’m not angry, Lydia, not any more.’ To his surprise, he really wasn’t. Even looking straight at her, he didn’t feel the slightest hint of anger. ‘Honestly, I think you did the right thing. I truly hope you were happy with John Baird.’
‘I...well, yes, I suppose I was...that is, as happy as I could have been under the circumstances.’ Lydia’s eyes seemed to grow bigger and rounder the longer she talked. ‘But I always still thought of you. I know that sounds awful, but we were so perfect together.’
‘No.’ Arthur shook his head firmly. ‘We weren’t. How could we have been when we never really knew each other?’
‘But of course we knew each other! How can you say otherwise?’
‘Because we never talked, Lydia, not properly anyway. I never knew anything about your hopes or your dreams or interests, nor you about mine. I told you about my father’s objections to our marriage, but I never told you how I felt or how unbearable my life was with him. I never thought you wanted to hear any of that. You always had a crowd of admirers about you.’
‘But I never cared about any of them!’ She paused briefly. ‘Except for John Baird, of course.’
‘Of course.’ Arthur fought to stop his eyebrows from lifting. ‘Look, I’m not trying to hurt you by saying this, but I don’t believe either of us was ever truly open and honest with the other, or with ourselves for that matter. We should never have got engaged in the first place. It was a mistake. Doubly so to keep it a secret.’
‘But we were engaged!’ Lydia was starting to sound desperate. ‘It was never formally ended.’
‘Except by your marriage.’ He held a hand up before she could say anything else. ‘I don’t want to argue. I resented you for a long time, but now I see that I was at fault, too. In any case, it doesn’t matter any more. The plain truth is that we would never have made each other happy, Lydia. We were never in love, not really.’
He reached for her hand, trying to draw the sting from his words. She was really quite extraordinarily beautiful, he thought absently, with the kind of face a painter might yearn to immortalise. He’d been utterly besotted once, but now, beautiful as she was, he could look at her and feel...nothing. In fact, when he looked at her face now, he had the strange impression of something lacking...a red scar on the right cheek. Oddly enough, her face looked wrong without it, or at least his idea of the perfect woman’s face did. Because his idea of the perfect woman’s face was quite simple. It belonged to Frances.
‘Not all marriages are based on love.’ If he wasn’t mistaken, the tears in her eyes were genuine this time. ‘We could still be happy.’
‘No. I couldn’t and I doubt that you would be either. You deserve to be with somebody who truly loves you. Only I’m not that man.’
‘Have my looks faded so much then?’ She looked visibly shaken. ‘Am I so unappealing to you now?’
‘Lydia, you’re still the most beautiful woman in Whitby, in the whole of Yorkshire most likely, but looks aren’t everything.’
The tears in her eyes dried instantly, replaced by a flash of anger. ‘This is revenge, isn’t it? You’re trying to hurt me for marrying John. That’s why you danced with Frances at the garden party, too! Oh, yes, I heard all about the attention you paid her, but I was going to forgive you!’
He dropped her hand. ‘Do you really think I’d use her like that?’
‘Why else would you dance with her?’ Her mouth dropped open and her tone shifted abruptly. ‘Why, Arthur?’
‘Why do you think?’
‘You mean...you care for her? You’re in love with her?’
‘Yes.’ It didn’t occur to him to either hesitate or deny it. It was true, although ironically enough, if Lydia hadn’t asked him directly, he might never have realised the extent of his feelings. He didn’t just like Frances, he was in love with her. He wanted marriage and a future with her. And he was telling the wrong woman.
‘She’s my sister!’
‘Yes.’ He couldn’t deny that either.
‘How could you? How could either of you?’
‘It wasn’t intentional. I know it’s not ideal, but it’s not revenge either.’
‘But how
did it happen?’ The anger seemed to drain out of her face suddenly, her gaze flickering towards the clock on the mantelpiece. ‘When? She’s hardly mentioned you since...’ her voice dropped to almost a whisper ‘...she took you my message.’
‘Yes. We’ve been meeting on the beach ever since.’
‘In secret? But why didn’t she tell me?’
‘Maybe she didn’t want to upset you. We were only friends to begin with.’
‘To begin with...’ Her eyes drifted back towards the clock again. ‘Well, then, I should go.’
‘Lydia?’ He wasn’t quite sure what her expression was, only that it seemed to contain a hint of panic. ‘Are you all right?’
‘Yes. I just think that we’ve said enough, don’t you?’
She hurried towards the parlour door and then stopped, uttering a shrill exclamation and whirling around at the sound of hoofbeats and wheels outside.
‘Who’s that?’ Arthur moved towards the window, just in time to see a carriage draw up in the yard. ‘Lydia?’ He turned around again, narrowing his eyes suspiciously when she didn’t say anything. ‘What’s going on?’
‘It’s my father,’ she answered through white lips. ‘He’s come looking for me.’
‘And how exactly would he know where to find you?’
‘Because...’ she seemed unable to look at him directly now ‘...I went to visit my friend Amelia Kitt before I came here.’
‘Amelia Kitt, the biggest gossip in Whitby?’
‘Ye-es. I arranged for a boy to deliver a note to me at her house.’
‘What did it say?’
‘Nothing, it was blank. Only I might have implied that it was important and...’ she winced ‘...personal.’
‘And then you told her you were coming here?’
‘Yes.’
‘On your own?’
‘Yes, but I begged her to be discreet!’
‘Knowing full well that she couldn’t be?’
‘I...yes.’
‘And that she’d think it her duty to tell your parents, not to mention the rest of Whitby?’
‘Yes!’ Her expression turned angry again suddenly. ‘But it wasn’t supposed to happen like this! I thought that once you saw me and I explained everything in person then it would all be all right. I thought you’d be glad if my father found us.’
‘You thought I’d be glad to be trapped?’
‘Not trapped. Only I thought you might need a little bit of encouragement, that’s all, like last time.’
‘Encouragement.’ Arthur repeated the word flatly, listening to the sound of a carriage door opening outside. Well, all credit to Lance, he’d warned him often enough that this might happen and now it was too late to do anything about it. He wished he’d jumped out of the parlour window when he’d had the chance.
‘I’m sorry.’ Lydia looked genuinely remorseful.
‘Then prove it. Tell your father the truth. Tell him I had no idea you were here.’
‘I can’t!’ All of the blood seemed to drain out of her face. ‘He’d never let me out of the house again.’
‘Well, if you think that marrying me is the solution then you’re mad!’
‘Better mad than a prisoner. I’ve spent the last year trapped indoors. I can’t go through that again!’
Arthur stared at her incredulously, hearing the creak of the front door opening, followed by ominous-sounding footsteps in the hallway. Was she mad? He’d just told her that he didn’t care for her, that there was no future for them, that he was in love with her sister and she still wanted to trap him into an engagement? Worst of all was that there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about any of it! He didn’t want to be trapped, but if he refused then he’d be acting like the worst kind of dishonourable cur, destroying both Lydia’s reputation as well as his own chances of paying court to Frances if he could, by some incredible chance, find a way to escape. If those chances weren’t utterly destroyed already...
‘Scorborough?’
Thomas Webster loomed in the parlour doorway, accompanied by the infamous Amelia Kitt, a pretty blonde who was trying and failing to conceal her avid curiosity behind a veneer of concern. Not one, but two witnesses, and not just family members who might be persuaded to stay silent. Arthur swore inwardly. When it rained, it certainly poured.
‘Mr Webster, Mrs Kitt.’ He made a formal bow. ‘What an unexpected pleasure.’
‘There’s no pleasure about it! What’s going on here?’ The tone of Webster’s voice showed he was in no mood for social niceties.
‘It’s not what you think, Papa. It’s all a misunderstanding.’ To her credit, Lydia attempted a defence. ‘Arthur and I were just talking.’
‘Talking?’ Her father’s bellow filled the room. ‘Tell me, what kind of respectable lady comes unescorted to a gentleman’s house simply to talk?’
‘Oh, Lydia!’ Mrs Kitt could hardly contain her excitement. ‘How could you be so indiscreet? I felt it my duty to warn your father where you were going, but how could you? You’ll be ruined.’
‘She will not.’ Her father strode into the room, hauling himself up to his full height. ‘Not if I have any say in the matter.’
Arthur watched as the older man’s face turned from puce to dark purple, almost the same shade as Lydia’s dress. It was strange, he thought, to discover exactly what you wanted most in life just at the moment it became unattainable. He had a sudden clear vision of Frances beside him, living here in his house, sitting by his fireside, sleeping in his bed, doing more than sleeping... He felt a sharp pang of regret. That was the future he wanted. Except that now he was going to have to marry her sister.
‘Papa, I know it looks bad...’ To his surprise, Lydia was still trying to talk them out of it.
‘It looks worse than bad! It’s shameful! How long has this been going on?’
‘Nothing’s going on! This is the first time I’ve visited, I promise.’
‘Then you’d better have a good explanation...’
‘She came to find me.’
The voice from the corridor made every head in the room turn around. Was he imagining things now? Arthur wondered, as the very woman he’d just been yearning for appeared in the doorway, looking to all intents and purposes as if she’d just wandered in from the kitchen, without a cloak or a bonnet or any sign of a veil. He blinked a few times to be sure. It was definitely Frances, but what was she doing there? How had she got there? If she’d come in through the front door then surely someone would have noticed.
On the other hand, what did it matter when he’d never been so glad to see anyone in his whole life?
‘Frances?’ It was Mrs Kitt who spoke this time as her father appeared to be speechless.
‘Hello, Papa, hello, Amelia. I was just about to make a cup of tea.’ Frances gestured behind her, smiling blithely as if she were already the mistress of the house. ‘Would anyone else care for a cup?’
Chapter Eighteen
‘Will somebody please explain to me what in blazes is going on!’
Frances winced at the sound of her father’s roar. She hadn’t thought that his voice could get any louder, but apparently she’d underestimated him. He sounded as if he were trying to summon the entire population of Sandsend village to the door. He’d been loud enough from the dining room where she’d eventually managed to force a window jamb open and climb inside without anyone either seeing or hearing her, but now he was positively deafening.
Unfortunately, she wasn’t entirely sure that she could explain. She’d arrived at the farm just as her father’s carriage had drawn up, too late to either stop Lydia or warn Arthur. One glimpse of the trap by the front door had told her everything she’d needed to know about what was happening inside and, if it hadn’t, then her father’s shouting would have made it clear soon enough.
She’d arrived to
o late, but she still had to do something. No matter her loyalty to Lydia, no matter her own feelings for Arthur either, she couldn’t let him be trapped. He didn’t want to marry anyone, he’d made that clear early on in their friendship, and she wasn’t about to stand by and let it happen. No matter what else, they were friends, and friends didn’t let other friends be coerced.
In which case, she’d decided, divesting herself of her outer garments, there was only one thing she could do, something that would make her father’s earlier outburst seem like a gentle breeze beside a hurricane, but she had no choice. She only hoped that Arthur understood.
‘Of course, Father.’ She moved further into the room, smiling with a calmness she was a long way from feeling. ‘It’s all perfectly innocent.’
‘Innocent?’ Her father sounded on the verge of an apoplexy. ‘First Mrs Kitt arrives to say that my eldest daughter is compromising herself with an unmarried gentleman, then I arrive to find not one, but both of my daughters alone and unchaperoned? Which part of all that is innocent?’
‘Lydia’s. She came to be my chaperon.’ Frances threw a nervous glance at her sister, afraid that she might contradict the statement, but to her relief she didn’t utter a word.
‘Lydia came for you?’ Her father looked suspicious, angry and confused all at the same time.
‘Yes. It’s all very silly really.’ She forced a laugh. ‘Only I met Arthur at the Ambertons’ garden party last week and he told me all about his piglets. They escaped that day, you see, and it just sounded so comical that I wanted to see them. I suppose it was a bit indiscreet of me to come on my own, but it was such a nice day and I was so eager that I walked here along the beach after lunch. I had no idea of anyone seeing me, but I suppose somebody must have and sent word to Lydia, who came to rescue me.’
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