‘You call that indiscreet? Have you taken leave of your senses, girl?’
‘I hope not, but it’s really not so bad. Once everyone knows that it was me and not Lydia who came unescorted, then they’ll understand it’s all just a storm in a teacup.’
‘I very much doubt that!’
‘You’re absolutely right, sir,’ Arthur interjected before she could argue again. ‘I ought never to have invited your daughter to visit. It was inappropriate and ungentlemanly and I beg your forgiveness.’
‘If you want my forgiveness, then you can put the situation right, sir.’
‘As I have every intention of doing.’
‘What?’ Frances spun towards Arthur in alarm. He’d looked as shocked as everyone else when she entered, though she’d avoided catching his eye ever since, afraid of what she might see there. Would he think her brazen, too? ‘No! Don’t be ridiculous!’
‘I don’t believe it’s ridiculous.’ He ignored her protest. ‘Miss Webster, would you do me the honour—’
‘There’s no need for this!’
‘—the very great honour—’
‘You don’t have to—’
‘—of accepting my hand in marriage?’
‘Of course she will!’
‘Father!’ Frances swung from Arthur to her father and then back again in dismay. The whole situation was spiralling out of control and she couldn’t seem to stop it. This wasn’t what she’d intended, not at all! She’d come to rescue Arthur, for pity’s sake, not to spring another trap. She already felt as though the walls were closing in around them and yet, oddly enough, he didn’t look angry. Quite the opposite—his lips were curving in a smile, a surprisingly serene-looking smile, almost as if he didn’t mind at all...
She gaped at him in shock. Arthur Amberton was smiling!
‘Perhaps you could give us a moment to discuss this alone?’ The words were addressed to her father, though she didn’t move her eyes from Arthur.
‘Absolutely not!’
‘But—’
‘No buts! You’ve had too much freedom altogether, young lady, if this is what comes of it. If you think that I’m letting you out of my sight again before your wedding day, then you’re very much mistaken!’
‘Papa...’
‘Lord Scorborough.’ Her father held a hand out towards Arthur. ‘I know you’re a man of your word, no matter what else people say about you. I’ll expect you to call on me soon.’
‘Gladly.’ Arthur shook his hand firmly. ‘I look forward to it, sir.’
‘Good. In that case, I believe that we’ve all had enough excitement for one day. Frances, Lydia, Mrs Kitt...’ he gave each of them a look that brooked no opposition ‘...we’re leaving.’
* * *
Frances sat on her mother’s newest purchase, a rococco-style sofa in the parlour, staring at the wall after the worst night’s sleep of her life. She’d felt even more disturbed than she had after her accident. Back then she’d lain awake night after night, her emotions in turmoil as she’d struggled to come to terms with what had happened, but at least she’d only had herself to worry about. Now she was afraid she’d managed to ruin someone else’s life, too.
Hadn’t Arthur understood what she’d been doing when she’d burst into his parlour so unexpectedly? Hadn’t he guessed that she’d come to rescue him, not to trap him for herself? It had taken all of her nerve to go through with it, especially in front of her father, but at that moment it had seemed like the only way to save him from Lydia’s trap. Even now, she didn’t see what else she could have done.
Except that somehow it had all gone wrong. She’d saved him from one engagement only to shackle him into another—with her! She ought to have known that he’d do the honourable thing and protect her, though surely he must have been fuming inside. No matter how well he’d hidden it behind that enigmatic smile, he must have been rueing the day he’d ever set eyes on her, seeing her intrusion as a betrayal, perhaps even another scheme...
She tipped her head back and threw an arm over her face. She really ought to take a nap. No doubt she looked even worse than she felt, but she already knew that sleep would elude her. Everything she’d thought and expected of her future had been turned on its head. Never mind what Arthur thought of their situation, she didn’t even know herself. She was engaged. The whole situation seemed bizarre, incredible even. She had put aside all thoughts of marriage after Leo, so it was hard to open her mind up to the idea again, even harder to work out how she felt about it. She liked Arthur. They were friends. No...she chided herself...after their kiss, they were surely more than that, but as to what she had no idea...
In any case, there was a long way between liking and loving. When she was younger she’d always expected to marry for love. She’d convinced herself that she cared for Leo, ignoring the self-centred, shallow side of his character simply because she’d wanted a love story and not a marriage of convenience, but deep down, she’d known it hadn’t been real. Was she making the same mistake with Arthur? Ignoring his dark side simply because she didn’t want to see it?
No. Despite everything, her lips curled at the thought. She knew all about Arthur’s dark side. After just a couple of months, she knew it, knew him, better than she knew almost anyone else in the world and she still liked him. More than that, she loved him.
She let her arm fall to her side again, struck by the force of her sudden conviction. She loved him. Surely that was the other reason, besides friendship, why she’d run headlong along the beach to rescue him, faster than she’d ever run before, so fast that she’d thought her lungs might burst. It was because she hadn’t wanted anyone else to marry him, but what if—her breath stalled in her throat suddenly—what if he might have preferred to be caught with Lydia? After all, she hadn’t overheard any of their conversation. She didn’t even know how long they’d been talking. What if Lydia had been right and ten minutes with her had changed his mind? What if one glimpse at her sister’s face had undone the bitterness of the past six years and made him forget her completely? It was one thing to rescue a man when he needed rescuing. Quite another to interrupt a romantic reunion, possibly even a proposal. Her unexpected arrival had forced him into offering for her instead, but what if, given the choice, he would have chosen Lydia? What if she’d made a terrible mistake and he hadn’t wanted to be rescued at all?
She dropped her face into her hands, cheeks flaming with mortification. Was that what she’d done? Because if she’d ruined things between Arthur and Lydia, then she’d have to put them right again. She’d refuse to marry him if it came to it. She wouldn’t marry a man who loved somebody else, especially her own sister...
She still hadn’t spoken to Lydia about any of it. One look at her expression across the breakfast table that morning had put paid to the idea. She hadn’t looked angry exactly, only silent and aloof, refusing to meet her gaze no matter how many times she’d asked for the marmalade. It was clear that her sister was in no mood for talking to her about anything, which meant that the only other option was to speak with Arthur himself. Which was easier said than done. He’d said that he’d call soon, but her father had made it clear that a private conversation was out of the question. In which case, who could she ask what was going on?
‘Ah, there you are.’ Her mother swept into the room suddenly, wearing a navy-and-lavender-striped-taffeta day dress. ‘Come along.’
‘Hmmm?’ She looked up in surprise. ‘Where?’
‘I thought we might do a little shopping. Then perhaps we’ll get some lunch, too.’
‘I don’t know, Mama, I’m not really in the mood...’
‘Oh, do come along. It’s been for ever since we went shopping together and you’ll need some nice things now you’re engaged. There’s no need to wear full mourning any longer.’ She gestured at her own gown. ‘We can make a start on your trousseau.’
&
nbsp; ‘Already?’ Frances felt a fresh rush of panic. If she started to make a trousseau, then it was as good as admitting her marriage was going ahead. ‘Don’t you think it’s a bit early for that?’
‘Not at all. Your father and I think it would be a good idea for you to be seen out buying wedding clothes—’ her mother gave her a knowing look ‘—just to squash any rumours.’
‘Oh.’ She bit down on her bottom lip anxiously. ‘Do you really think that people will be talking about me?’
‘Of course!’ Her mother laughed. ‘Amelia Kitt is a dear girl, but she’s never been remotely capable of holding her tongue. She’ll have made sure that everyone in Whitby knows about your engagement by now.’
‘Oh, dear.’
‘There’s no need to look so anxious about it. Personally I think things have worked out rather well.’ Her mother walked across to the window and peered through the net curtains. ‘I admit it all seemed a bit strange to me at first, but then I remembered the way Arthur looked at you when you were dancing the other day, like a man entranced. It’s funny, at the time I thought the two of you seemed quite familiar, almost as if you were already well acquainted, but then I knew you couldn’t be since he’s such a famous recluse.’
‘Mmmm.’ Frances shifted uncomfortably in her seat.
‘Then I had the most enlightening conversation with Georgie this morning.’ Her mother straightened the curtains again. ‘Although that still doesn’t explain what you were doing at his farm yesterday.’
‘Mama...’
‘And you know, it also struck me as odd that both you and Lydia rushed there after lunch, separately, too. You in particular must have hurried to get there so quickly on foot.’
This time she didn’t bother to say anything.
‘Not to mention the fact that whoever sent your sister that warning note must also have known she went to Amelia Kitt’s first because nobody called here to ask... But there it is. Some mysteries can’t be explained, I suppose.’ Her mother gave a sophic-looking smile. ‘And sometimes a bit of guesswork is all that’s required.’
‘Has Papa guessed, too?’
‘Gracious, no. Your father deals in facts and figures, my darling. I love him dearly, but imagination has never been his strong suit. Now, shall we go?’
Frances pushed herself up off the sofa. Shopping was the very last thing she wanted to do, but it looked as though her mother wasn’t going to take no for an answer and she supposed it was better than lying around worrying.
* * *
It took her less than an hour to change her mind. Two more before they were finally free of the dressmaker’s and on to the milliner’s. By the time three hours had passed Frances was starting to fear that their shopping expedition would never end. She was tired of being measured, of being looked up and down and told what colours would suit her, not to mention overwhelmed by the vast selection of fabrics and designs. If she’d been certain about what her future entailed, then she might have made some attempt to enjoy herself, but as it was she could only feel a sick sense of guilt in case her trousseau proved unnecessary after all. At least her mother seemed to be having a good time, throwing herself into the task with enthusiasm by ordering half-a-dozen new day dresses and a ballgown despite Frances’s best attempts to restrain her.
They arrived home mid-afternoon, laden with an impressive selection of gloves, shoes, bonnets and assorted undergarments. Under other circumstances, Frances thought she would have been impressed by her mother’s attention to detail. As it was, she wasn’t sure where she was going to store everything.
‘Well, I think that was a very productive day, don’t you?’ Her mother pulled off her coat with a sigh. ‘I’m exhausted.’
‘Shall I call for some tea?’
‘I think that would be a wonderful idea.’
‘I’ll just be a couple of minutes.’ Frances smiled at her mother’s contented expression. She hadn’t seen her looking so happy in years. ‘Only I’ll just take these boxes upstairs fi—’
She didn’t get any further as the door to her father’s study opened and he stepped out, accompanied by another man, a gentleman judging by his appearance, starkly and yet elegantly dressed in a black superfine suit and grey-silk waistcoat. Both he and her father were smiling, though it wasn’t so much that as his identity that made her jaw drop in amazement.
‘Arthur?’
She forced her mouth shut again with a snap, though she still couldn’t stop herself from staring. How many more versions of one man could there be? This one looked like a blend of the old and new Arthurs, well groomed, fashionable and yet still somehow ruggedly handsome. He’d been growing his hair over the past month so that he looked less severe and his new clothes—at least she presumed they were new—fitted him perfectly. Almost too perfectly, she thought, forcibly dragging her eyes away, enhancing his broad frame and drawing attention to the muscular body beneath.
‘Frances.’ He reached for her hand when she made no move to lift it, raising it to his mouth and pressing his lips against the backs of her fingers, holding her gaze with the same intensity she’d seen on his face just before he’d kissed her at Amberton Castle.
‘Yes.’ She wasn’t sure what else to say, struck dumb by the change in him. Yes, she was Frances... But it hadn’t really been a question, had it? It was more of a greeting, not requiring an answer...unless she ought to say his name, too... She took a deep breath, trying to collect her scattered thoughts, which wasn’t easy when he showed no sign of releasing her hand...
‘I thought you might like to join me for a walk on the promenade?’
‘I...’ She glanced nervously towards her father. ‘I thought...’
‘I believe Lord Scorborough and I have come to an understanding.’ To her surprise, her father’s expression bordered on approval. ‘Under the circumstances, I think a walk is perfectly acceptable.’
‘You can wear your new bonnet, dear.’ Her mother was already enthusiastically opening up a hatbox. ‘The cream lining looked so pretty with your hair.’
Frances made a face. After being poked at and prodded for hours, she had a feeling she looked even more ragged than she had that morning. All the new bonnets in the world were never going to disguise that.
‘There’s no need, Mama. I’m still dressed for outdoors, as you see.’ She relented at her mother’s crestfallen expression. ‘But of course if you think I ought to freshen up first... I’ll just be a moment, A—Lord Scorborough.’
She grabbed an armful of boxes and fled upstairs to her bedroom, quickly removing her old bonnet and replacing it with the new. To her surprise, the wide brim and cream-coloured lining really did make her look better, so much so that it seemed a shame to wear it with her old grey cloak.
Carefully, she opened up another box and drew out a new, navy-blue paletot. It was one of the few items that she’d chosen herself, a three-quarter-length velvet jacket with gold buttons that she’d fallen in love with at first sight. She caressed the fabric and then pulled it on over her shoulders, smoothing out the sleeves and adding a new pair of navy gloves to complete the ensemble. There. She regarded herself in the mirror approvingly. At least now she wouldn’t look so out of place beside her handsome fiancé.
Fiancé. The very word made her heart stall, as did the prospect of the conversation she now had to have with him. Now that the opportunity had presented itself, she almost wished she could find a way to escape it. Somehow she had to find a way to explain the events of the day before and offer to release him from their engagement. No matter what understanding he’d come to with her father, she had to offer him that. If she could just keep a clear head...
She made her way down the staircase again, surprised to find him deep in conversation with her very animated-looking mother.
‘Ah, here she is.’ Even her father was smiling by the time she reached them. ‘You look very nic
e, my dear.’
‘Shall we?’ Arthur offered his arm and she looped her hand through it, wondering just how exactly she expected to keep her mind clear when even that light touch sent a ripple of excitement racing through her. She shifted her body sideways, trying to keep as far away from him as possible without actually leaning.
‘Very good.’ Her father nodded approvingly. ‘Now, tea, I think.’
Chapter Nineteen
‘What was all that about?’ Frances asked the moment they were out in the street.
‘All what?’ Arthur gave a small tug, drawing her closer.
‘You and my mother.’ Her heart skipped a beat as their shoulders bumped together. ‘You seemed engrossed.’
‘Oh, that. We were discussing the price of lace. I’m given to understand that it’s gone up recently.’
‘You were talking about lace?’
‘Yes. Lace is made from yarn. Yarn is a crop. I’m interested in crops. Ergo...’ He shrugged. ‘Is it so hard to believe I can make polite conversation?’
‘No-o, but what about my father? How did you convince him to let us go for a walk? He said that I wasn’t allowed out of his sight until we were married.’
‘I surmised, correctly as it turned out, that your father had been listening to some of the more bizarre rumours about me. I simply had to convince him that I was still a gentleman.’
‘Is that why you’re dressed like that?’
‘Is it so obvious?’ He laughed, tugging at his shirt collar with his spare hand. ‘I managed to get the pig smell out eventually, or at least I hope I did. My sister-in-law said I looked rather dashing. Or don’t you agree?’
‘I didn’t say that.’ She felt her cheeks blossom with colour. ‘It might just take some getting used to, that’s all.’
‘As might your new coat and bonnet. Both of which look very pretty on you, by the way.’
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