The Viscount’s Veiled Lady

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‘You’re afraid of spoiling him?’

She hesitated before answering. It was hard not to lavish attention upon a three-year-old boy who’d lost his father and whose mother was obsessed with the idea of finding a new husband, but it seemed disloyal to say so.

‘Perhaps, but I suppose that’s preferable to neglect.’

‘As long as it doesn’t become stifling. Too much attention can be as bad as too little.’

‘Indeed?’ The solemnity of his expression made her hackles rise. ‘And you have experience of raising boys, I suppose?’

‘None at all, although I do have experience of being one.’

‘And were you over-indulged, Lord Scorborough?’

‘I wouldn’t say so, no.’

‘Were you stifled, then?’

There was a flash of something in his eyes, something piercing and intense like pain, at the same moment as a female voice spoke from the direction of the staircase.

‘Lance?’

The man in question rushed across the hallway, his expression turning instantly from bewildered perplexity to tender concern as Frances watched in surprise. The Lance Amberton she’d heard rumours about had been wild and dangerous. This man appeared to be the world’s most devoted husband. Evidently both brothers had changed.

‘Good evening, Violet.’ Arthur sounded as formal as if he were presenting her to the Queen. ‘Might I introduce Miss Frances Webster?’

‘Miss Webster.’

The woman broke into a wide smile as she took her husband’s arm and walked towards them. At ground level, Frances could see that her memory hadn’t exaggerated. Violet Amberton was without doubt the tiniest woman she’d ever laid eyes on, with white-blonde hair and disproportionately huge eyes in an amiable-looking face.

‘I’m sorry to impose upon your evening, Mrs Amberton.’ She inclined her head, trying to convey a sense of apology through her veil. ‘I’m afraid that I sprained my ankle and Lord Scorborough here rescued me.’

‘And now he’s brought you to join us for dinner?’ The woman’s gaze flickered between them, though her expression was inquisitive rather than calculating. ‘I’m so pleased. If we join forces, we might be able to stop these two talking about mining all evening.’

‘You mean you don’t find iron smelting as fascinating as we do?’ Lance put a hand to his heart. ‘You wound me, my love.’

‘Oh, but I’d never want to do that.’ She leant her head against his shoulder playfully. ‘But now I expect dinner is ready. I do appreciate your coming to dine with us, Miss Webster. If you can start a new topic of conversation, I’ll be forever indebted to you.’

‘I’m afraid that my dress...’ Frances gestured downwards again.

‘Oh, dear.’ The tiny woman looked sympathetic. ‘What a shame. I’d offer to lend you something, but I’m afraid you might find my clothes a little on the short side. Not to mention too wide.’ She patted her bulging stomach and laughed. ‘But it truly doesn’t matter. I’m just delighted to have another woman to talk to. Please call me Violet.’

‘Then you must call me Frances.’

‘Then that’s settled. Here.’ Arthur extended his arm in a manner that was less of an invitation than a command, but Frances took it anyway, too touched by the other woman’s offer of friendship to spoil the moment.

‘Excellent.’ Lance clapped his hands together. ‘Now let’s eat. I don’t know about anyone else, but I’m famished.’

Chapter Six (#ud4e05c63-852b-582b-a900-a9e73873fa77)

Arthur swallowed a generous mouthful of port, wondering why he’d ever thought that bringing the woman to Amberton Castle was a good idea in the first place. Besides the inconvenience to himself, if his brother didn’t stop giving him pointed looks across the table then he’d do more than kick him under it. Happy as he was to take Lance’s mind off its usual preoccupation of worrying about Violet, his unexpected appearance with Miss Webster wasn’t something he cared to discuss. Even with his brother. Even when the circumstances positively cried out for an explanation. Even now that the ladies had adjourned to the parlour and he had the distinct feeling that he wasn’t going to be able to avoid the subject any longer.

‘So...’ Lance pushed a wooden-and-mother-of-pearl inlaid box towards him, opening the lid to reveal a row of thick, brown cigars. ‘Are you going to tell me what’s going on or do I have to guess?’

‘There’s nothing to tell.’ Arthur selected the nearest cigar and lit it with a candle. ‘But you can guess if you like. That ought to be entertaining.’

‘All right.’ Lance leaned back in his chair, inhaling thoughtfully before blowing a cloud of smoke into the air above his head. ‘In that case, I can only assume that you’ve decided to get revenge on the nefarious Lydia Webster by developing a tendresse for her younger sister. I imagine this is just one of a series of private liaisons.’

‘Not very private since I’ve brought her here.’

‘Ah, but naturally you’ve brought her here for my inspection and approval.’

‘Your approval?’

‘Knowing me to be an excellent judge of the female character, yes. I further presume that you’re eloping in secret, which explains why she hides her face even while eating.’

‘There’s no tendresse.’ Arthur snorted. ‘This is the first time I’ve seen her in six years.’

‘Then you ought to be more careful. Riding around the county with young, unmarried women is more my old style than yours.’

‘It’s nothing like that. She really did sprain her ankle.’

‘Ah. Pity.’

‘Pity?’ Arthur almost spluttered on his cigar. ‘She’s Lydia’s sister!’

‘And we’re twins, but that doesn’t make us the same person. I like her.’

‘As I recall, there aren’t many women in the world you don’t like.’

‘Past tense and no offence taken, since you’re obviously sensitive on the subject. I’m a happily married man these days, as you very well know.’

‘Yes, I do and I apologise.’ Arthur grimaced and then frowned at the table. It had been a low blow, reminding Lance of his misspent past, especially when he was now so utterly devoted to Violet. Why was he being so sensitive?

‘Anyway,’ Lance went on, ‘there were a few women I didn’t like. I don’t recall ever saying anything positive about Lydia Webster, for example.’

‘True. You called her a cold-hearted fortune hunter.’

‘There you go then, but, married or not, I can still appreciate a woman of intelligence. I’ve no idea what your Miss Webster and Violet were talking about, but I don’t remember Lydia ever taking such a keen interest in poetry.’

‘Novels. They were discussing the works of Jane Austen.’

‘Didn’t she write poetry?’

‘No, and it’s not my Miss Webster.’

‘Noticed that eventually, did you?’ Lance chuckled. ‘Does she look like Lydia?’

‘Uncannily, except that Frances has a scar on one cheek. She had some kind of accident a few years ago.’

‘And that’s why she covers her face?’ Lance sobered instantly. ‘Then I’m sorry for joking.’

‘You weren’t to know. She hasn’t told me what happened.’

‘But you’ve seen it?’

‘Yes.’ Arthur blew a cloud of smoke out to hide his expression. Lance’s gaze seemed altogether too perceptive all of a sudden.

‘Maybe she doesn’t like to talk about it.’

‘She doesn’t, but there’s still no need for her to cover up like that. It’s only a scar.’

‘But it’s her choice whether or not to show it. If she feels more comfortable wearing a veil, then it’s none of our business.’ Lance shrugged. ‘Besides, I’d have thought you’d be glad she covers her face if she looks so much like Lydia.’

Arthur puffed out another smoke ring thoughtfully. That was true. He ought to feel glad. Surely the last thing he’d want was to look at an almost mirror-image of Lydia all evening, yet he actually wanted to see Frances’s face again. Why? It wasn’t as if he felt any residual attachment to his former fiancée, that much he was certain of, but the fact that Frances felt the need to cover her scar bothered him. Was she embarrassed or had she been made to feel so unattractive? He didn’t want her to feel that way...

‘In any case,’ Lance continued, ‘you still haven’t explained what you’re doing with her. Don’t tell me you found her limping around the Moors all on her own?’

‘No, she came to the farm.’

‘Your farm? Why?’

‘I’ll give you two guesses.’

‘Lydia sent her?’ Lance let out a low whistle. ‘You have to give the woman credit for nerve. She’s still fishing for a title, then?’

‘So it would seem.’

‘Well, it’s taken her long enough. She’s been widowed for almost a year. To be honest, I expected her to try something before.’

‘She has. She’s written twice asking me to meet her.’ Arthur raised his cigar to his lips and then pulled it away again. ‘How do you know how long she’s been widowed? I didn’t think you were so interested in Whitby society.’

‘I pay attention to some things, especially things that might involve my family. I make it my business to know when my brother’s being hunted.’

‘Well, she’s not going to catch me.’

‘Don’t be so sure. Women like that know how to get what they want and they don’t give up easily. Only why on earth did she send her sister to you?’

‘No idea. She must have thought a personal appeal would be more effective.’

‘But she didn’t visit you herself?’

‘No. Too worried about her reputation apparently.’

‘Thank goodness for that. So what message are you going to send back?’

‘I said that I’ve already given my answer.’

‘Mmmm...’ Lance sounded pensive ‘...just stay on your guard. I wouldn’t put anything past Lydia Web—what’s her married name again?’

‘Baird.’

‘Lydia Baird. She’s just the type to try to catch you in a compromising situation. Be careful she doesn’t turn up on your doorstep.’

‘One look at the farm and she’d probably change her mind.’

‘It might be too late by then.’

‘Which would be her problem, not mine. I won’t be tricked into doing the honourable thing.’

‘Won’t you? We both know you’re not as bad-tempered as you make out.’

‘I’m incredibly bad-tempered and I refuse to be trapped into anything I don’t want. I’ve lived enough of my life that way.’

‘Glad to hear it.’ Lance nodded approvingly. ‘You do like her, though.’

‘Lydia? Don’t be ridiculous.’

‘Nice try. You know perfectly well I meant Frances. You were looking in her direction all the way through dinner and you’ve just proven that you were listening to her conversation as well. You know you can’t fool me when it comes to women.’

‘Apparently I can since you’re so far off the mark.’

‘So you’re saying that you don’t like her?’

‘I don’t like any woman. I’ve learnt my lesson in that regard and it was a pretty damned painful one, too. From now on, I intend to leave the entire female sex alone and I’d appreciate them returning the favour. I only feel responsible for Frances, for tonight anyway.’

‘If you say so.’ Lance pushed his chair back and heaved himself to his feet. ‘In any case, I’ve had a very enjoyable evening and so has Violet, I can tell. If I weren’t so far off the mark I’d suggest you bring her again next week.’

‘The next time she invades my privacy, injures herself and then compels me to take care of her, you mean?’

‘You never know... So what’s the plan for tonight? I presume you’re taking her back to Whitby?’

‘Yes, under cover of darkness. She insisted.’

‘You know that’s not the time most respectable ladies ask to be taken home?’

‘Quite. Only she doesn’t want her parents to find out where she’s been. I think she intends for me to deposit her on the outskirts of Whitby and then hobble the rest of the way. It’s ludicrous, of course. I’ll have to see her to the door.’

‘The same door where her sister lives?’ Lance shook his head. ‘Absolutely not. You might as well stick your head in the lion’s mouth. Let me take her back in the carriage instead. If she needs an excuse, then she can say she twisted her ankle out walking and I found her. It’s not such a long way from the truth, but this way you don’t have to go and there’s no risk of bumping into you-know-who.’

Arthur nodded absently. It was a better idea than his own, he supposed, though he felt strangely reluctant to give up the prospect of a night-time ride with Frances. Despite the inconvenience, he realised he’d actually been looking forward to it...

* * *

‘Ladies!’ Lance swung the drawing-room door open with a flourish. ‘I hope you haven’t missed us too dreadfully.’

‘Woefully, my love.’ Violet laughed over her shoulder. She was sitting beside Frances on a red-velvet sofa, though only she turned around to look at them. ‘But we managed to bear it somehow.’