The Viscount's Veiled Lady

by Jenni Fletcher

  ‘You don’t have to say that.’ She glanced up suspiciously. ‘I know I must look a fright. I hardly slept a wink last night.’

  ‘Ah. Then I suppose I can hazard a guess as to the reason.’

  He turned his head towards her and she averted her gaze quickly, looking down at the glistening water of the harbour below, at the cobblestoned streets and red-roofed houses, as if the words she was searching for might appear in thin air. They were walking along the promenade already, past the whale-bone arch erected almost twenty years before to commemorate the whaling crews that had set out from, but never returned to, Whitby.

  ‘Arthur, when I burst in on you all yesterday...’

  ‘With your permission, I’ll obtain a special licence tomorrow.’ He stopped walking abruptly. ‘It’s not entirely appropriate, given that your sister’s still in mourning, but your father agrees it might be best.’

  ‘Tomorrow?’ She gasped, feeling slightly winded, as if all the air had just left her body.

  ‘Yes. For some reason I have a prejudice against long engagements.’ His lips curved upwards. ‘I also think it would be best to marry before Violet has her baby. I’d like for Lance to be my best man and I doubt I’ll be able to prise him away afterwards.’

  ‘Oh, yes, I see that, but...’ She folded her hands in front of her as if that might help her get her thoughts into some kind of order. ‘Arthur,’ she said again, ‘you don’t have to go through with this. When I barged in yesterday I was only trying to help. I’d worked out what Lydia was planning to do, but by the time I arrived, it was too late to warn you. So I climbed in through the dining-room window and made it look as though I’d been there all along. I wasn’t trying to trap you, I promise.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘You do?’ She knitted her brows in confusion. He was smiling that enigmatic smile again, the one that had baffled her so much the day before.

  ‘Of course. In fact, I can honestly say that suspicion never crossed my mind.’

  ‘So you guessed what I was doing?’

  ‘Not at first. It only occurred to me later, but the truth is that I didn’t care why you did it. I’m only glad you did.’

  ‘So you’re not angry?’

  ‘Not in the slightest. There was really only one thing that bothered me.’

  ‘What’s that?’ She tensed again immediately.

  ‘Just that it wasn’t much of a proposal, what with your father and sister and what’s-her-name standing there?’

  ‘Amelia Kitt?’

  ‘That’s the one. So...’ He dropped down on one knee in front of her.

  ‘What are you doing?’ She gawped at him, as shocked as if he’d just started undressing in front of her.

  ‘I’d have thought it was obvious.’ He glanced pointedly downwards.

  ‘But you don’t have to! That’s what I’m trying to tell you. I wasn’t trying to trap you!’

  ‘I believe we’ve covered that and, for the record, I don’t feel trapped. Not with you. When I thought I might have to propose to your sister, on the other hand...’

  ‘You were going to propose to Lydia?’ Her heart plummeted. ‘Is that what you wanted?’

  He gave her a look that was part-irritation, part-amusement. ‘That seems a strange question when I’m down on one knee.’

  ‘But if you only proposed to me because... Why are you smiling?’

  ‘Frances.’ His smile spread even further. ‘You timed your arrival perfectly. Ten seconds later and, believe me, I wouldn’t have been smiling at all. I might never have felt the impulse again. Believe me when I say that I’m deeply grateful to you.’

  Grateful? She shook her head, trying to make sense of so many conflicting emotions. He preferred her to Lydia, she felt elated by that, but she didn’t want him to marry her out of gratitude either. The very thought made her suddenly, irrationally angry. What kind of proposal was that?

  ‘But we’re still trapped, both of us, and we don’t have to be.’

  ‘I believe that your father might see it differently.’

  ‘My father can see it in whatever way he wants!’ She squeezed her hands into fists. ‘He only needs some time to recover from the shock. He’ll come around if I talk to him.’

  ‘I think not.’ Arthur’s smile faded as he got back to his feet. ‘He’s right about Amelia Kitt. All of Whitby will know that your sister came to visit me by now. Your story ought to save her reputation, but not yours and certainly not mine. I don’t mind being called a recluse, but I draw the line at being a debaucher of innocents.’

  ‘But no one will think that! Not when it’s me. People will assume...’

  ‘People will assume the worst because that’s what they do.’ He was starting to look angry now, too. ‘No matter what you think, your scar doesn’t make you exempt from the rules.’

  ‘Well, maybe I don’t care about rules or reputation! Maybe I’d rather be a social pariah than an object of pity!’

  ‘Pity?’ He was scowling openly now. ‘Who do you think pities you?’

  ‘Everyone! Poor Frances Webster, they call me, that poor, jilted girl with the scar. Well, I don’t want to be her any more. I’d rather people thought I was ruined!’

  ‘Personally I’d prefer it if you were Frances, Lady Scorborough.’

  ‘No!’ She shook her head furiously. ‘I won’t be pitied by anyone and that includes you.’

  ‘Is that what you think? Hell, woman, what does a man have to say? I’m not asking you to marry me out of pity!’

  ‘Then duty or honour or whatever you want to call it. They all amount to the same thing. Don’t try to deny it. You were the one who said that you’d been a bad son and a bad brother and you didn’t want to be a bad husband, too. You said you didn’t want to marry! If it hadn’t been for yesterday then you still wouldn’t. But I don’t need you to be honourable and I don’t need you to support me either. I’m selling my own jewellery now and I don’t need a husband telling me what I can and can’t do.’

  ‘I don’t want to tell you what to do! I’m not trying to trap you either. We can be independent together.’

  ‘Oh.’ She blinked, the wind taken out of her sails somewhat. ‘Well, that doesn’t matter anyway. I can manage perfectly well on my own.’

  ‘So can I!’ He grasped hold of her arms, pulling her towards him. ‘Only I don’t want to any more. You’re right, if it hadn’t been for yesterday then I might not have changed my mind, but I have. I thought I wasn’t suited to marriage, but I still want to give it a try. For some reason, I want to share my life with a pig-headed, stubborn, infuriating woman like you. Now will you let me finish this damned proposal or not?’

  ‘Pig-headed?’

  ‘Yes, if you think that I wouldn’t want you just because of your scar. I thought I showed you how I felt last week. Or did you think that was just pity, too?’ He lifted a hand to her cheek. Despite the roughness of his words, his touch was gentle, sending a warm pulse through her body. ‘Because it wasn’t. Now, Frances Webster, will you marry me? Not because your father insisted, but because I do. I want you. The only question is whether you want me, too.’

  ‘You really don’t care about my scar?’ She caught her breath as his other hand slid round her waist.

  ‘Do I need to prove it?’

  ‘Yes.’

  She breathed the word on a sigh as he lowered his head and touched his lips lightly against hers. He tasted salty, she thought, though that was hardly surprising when they were stood on top of a cliff with the sea breeze blowing all around them, making the ribbons on her new bonnet flutter like streamers.

  She tipped her head back, feeling as if she were being lifted, too, as she reached her arms around his neck and let her lips mould against his, all the yearnings and cravings that she’d ever felt, but put aside, rushing back to her in a raw, unrestrained t
orrent. His arm tightened around her and she could feel desire building again, even stronger than the first time they’d kissed, so strong she felt as though she were being consumed by it. The tip of his tongue traced a path along the seam of her lips as if he wanted her to open them so she did, then almost leapt backwards in surprise as his tongue slipped inside, stroking and exploring and caressing until finally it joined with her own.

  She was vaguely aware of a warning voice at the back of her head, telling her to stop. She doubted that this was what her father had anticipated when he’d agreed to them taking a walk together. First a public argument and then this, a kiss that was pushing the very limits of decency. It was really quite scandalous. She ought to insist that they stop and move apart...which she would, in just a few more seconds. Another minute perhaps...

  ‘There.’ It was Arthur who lifted his head finally, his ochre eyes black with desire as they gazed down into hers. ‘Now do you believe me?’

  ‘Yes.’ She smiled, feeling faintly dizzy.

  ‘Good. Because there’s no escaping the engagement now. I believe we’ve just made a public spectacle of ourselves.’

  ‘Oh!’ She looked around, though fortunately there was nobody else in sight. ‘No, it’s all right. I don’t think anyone saw us.’

  ‘Don’t be so sure.’ He grinned. ‘I expect there are tongues wagging behind several drawing-room curtains at this moment.’

  She felt her cheeks redden and laughed. ‘Well, then, we’ll just have to hope they recognise you in those clothes. I don’t want them to think I’m engaged to you and kissing somebody else.’

  ‘Good point.’ He reached up and swept his top hat away from his head. ‘There. I don’t want anyone to mistake me for Lance either. Now...’ he tightened his other arm around her again ‘...about that special licence? I want to marry you as quickly as possible.’

  Frances bit her lip. She wanted to marry him as quickly as possible, too, but there was something else she needed to do before that.

  ‘Could we wait until next week?’ She shook her head quickly when he frowned. ‘It’s not that I don’t want to marry you. It’s just that I want to put things right with Lydia first.’

  ‘You need to put things right?’ He looked distinctly unsympathetic. ‘As I recall, you weren’t the one who did anything wrong.’

  ‘I know. I know she acted badly, too, but it was partly my fault. I should have told her about us after the garden party, I just didn’t know how to. I think she’s hurt.’

  To her surprise, he didn’t argue. ‘You might be right. I think she was genuinely shocked by what happened yesterday.’

  ‘She certainly didn’t expect to see me.’

  ‘Not just by that. Perhaps I was too blunt in what I said, but I wanted her to understand.’

  ‘What did you tell her?’

  He heaved a sigh. ‘That our whole engagement had been a mistake and that she deserved someone who would love her for herself, but that it couldn’t be me.’ He pulled her close again. ‘Because I cared for somebody else. You.’

  ‘Oh.’ Frances felt guilty and elated at the same time. ‘I think she really believed that if she had ten minutes alone with you then everything would go back to the way it was six years ago.’

  ‘She said something like that.’

  ‘I still can’t help but feel sorry for her. Lydia sets so much store by her appearance, but it isn’t her fault really. All our lives, everyone’s always told her how beautiful she is, as if that’s all she is, just a face. It’s not surprising she’s come to place so much value on it herself.’

  ‘That still doesn’t excuse what she did.’

  ‘I know, but maybe now her first year of mourning is over, things might get better. I hope so. In any case, I want to put things right with her before we get married. I’d like for her to come to the ceremony.’

  ‘All right.’ He sighed again. ‘If that’s what you want then I won’t object, but I refuse to wait long. I’ll give you a week and no more. Next Monday at the latest.’

  ‘Thank you, Arthur.’

  ‘Not a day later, mind.’ He made a harrumphing sound and put his top hat back on again. ‘Now I’d better get you home before your father comes storming down the street looking for us.’

  ‘Shouting at the top of his lungs again?’ She laughed. ‘In a funny way it’s nice to know he cares so much.’

  ‘He cares a great deal. He told me so in his study this afternoon. He only hopes that I’m good enough for you. As do I, for that matter.’

  ‘And all this time I thought my parents were embarrassed by me.’ She curled her arm through his again. ‘I misjudged them both.’

  ‘And me, too. Admit it, you thought that ten minutes alone with your sister would change my mind about her, too, didn’t you?’

  ‘I...’ She chewed on her lip guiltily. ‘Not exactly, but...’

  ‘You wondered?’

  ‘Yes.’

  He drew her closer so that they were walking shoulder to shoulder. ‘Frances Webster, if it takes the rest of my life I’m going to convince you how beautiful you are.’

  ‘Only to you.’

  ‘Do you want anyone else?’

  ‘No.’ She laughed. ‘I suppose not.’

  ‘Good, because I’ve always been a one-woman man. It turns out I just needed to find the right woman.’

  Chapter Twenty

  ‘I’m going out riding today.’

  Lydia marched into the drawing room, looking even more stunning than usual in a tight-fitting, mauve riding habit.

  ‘Are you, darling?’ Their mother lifted her head from the game of snakes and ladders she was playing with Georgie. ‘On your own?’

  ‘No, with a gentleman friend.’

  ‘I don’t think your father...’

  ‘I’m not asking Father’s permission,’ Lydia snapped. ‘I’m a grown woman with a son—’ she threw a dazzling smile towards Georgie ‘—and I have my own money. If Father doesn’t like the way I behave, then I’ll leave and set up my own establishment. I don’t know why I didn’t think of it before.’

  ‘Lydia!’ Their mother’s expression was aghast. ‘You wouldn’t!’

  ‘Wouldn’t I? I don’t see why I shouldn’t, seeing as certain other people get to behave however they want.’

  Frances dropped her eyes back to her polishing. After four days of strained silences and a distinctly chilly atmosphere, she’d almost given up hope of having any conversation with, let alone getting through to, her sister.

  ‘Although...’ Lydia’s voice turned sly ‘... Frances might want to come and say hello to my escort. She used to be quite fond of him, as I recall.’

  ‘Who?’ Their mother’s eyes widened.

  ‘Leo Fairfax.’ Lydia smoothed her hands over her bodice. ‘I met him out walking in Pannett Park the other day and he was very solicitous. I’d forgotten how handsome he is, too.’

  ‘Then I hope you have an enjoyable ride...’ Frances got to her feet with as much dignity as she could muster ‘...but I spoke to him the other week at the garden party and I’ve no desire to do so again, thank you.’

  She managed to preserve an expression of calm all the way to her bedroom before starting to cry. It wasn’t because of Leo, but that her own sister could be so deliberately cruel was a bitter pill to swallow. No matter how hurt she might be, Lydia’s sudden interest in her former fiancé, a man who she’d never shown the faintest hint of interest in before, seemed like revenge pure and simple.

  In which case, she decided, sitting up again and wiping her eyes, why shouldn’t she visit Amberton Castle? She’d kept away to be tactful and not make Lydia feel any worse, but what was the point when her sister was so determined to be angry?

  * * *

  ‘I’ve been promising to show Violet some of my jewellery for weeks,’ she explained to h
er mother five minutes after Lydia and Leo had left, the pair of them looking positively resplendent together on horseback. ‘Why don’t you come, too?’

  ‘Not today, I think.’ Her mother glanced anxiously towards Georgie. ‘I’m worried about your sister.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘She’s just so bitter. I’m afraid she might do something foolish.’

  ‘She’s a grown woman, as she said, and I’m sure Leo will take good care of her.’

  ‘Like he did with you? Oh!’ Her mother pressed a hand to her mouth. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that.’

  ‘It’s all right, Mama, I know what you meant, but that was four years ago. I’m sure he’s grown up a lot since then.’

  She tried to put the whole situation out of her mind and look forward to seeing Violet again as the carriage rolled up into the Moors, but it wasn’t easy. The sound of Leo’s voice in her parents’ hallway had set her mood and her nerves on edge. Was he trying to get back at her, too? she wondered. Not just because of the events of the garden party, but because she’d dared to replace him and with a viscount to boot?

  The same thoughts kept spinning round and around her head for so long that she was relieved when the carriage finally pulled to a halt outside Amberton Castle and she was able to climb down, almost colliding with a red-haired youth as he came hurtling out of the front door.

  ‘Sorry, miss!’ the boy called over his shoulder as he ran in the direction of the stables.

  ‘What’s the matter?’ she shouted after him, but he was already too far away to hear. Quickly, she went in through the open door, just in time to catch a flurry of maids rushing upstairs with jugs and towels.

  ‘What’s happening? Is Mrs Amberton all right?’ She was struck with a sudden sense of foreboding.

  ‘It’s the baby, miss,’ one of the maids answered over the banister. ‘It’s coming now.’

  ‘Oh!’ Frances dropped the box of jewellery she was carrying on to a bureau and followed them, taking the stairs two at a time.

  ‘Violet?’

  She ran up a second flight of stairs and burst into a bedchamber to find the tiny woman hunched over with pain, one hand grasping the bedpost while the other clutched at her stomach. Her cheeks were crimson-red and streaked with sweat while the housekeeper, a tall and gaunt-looking woman wearing a frankly terrified expression, stood over her, waving her arms helplessly.