The Viscount's Veiled Lady (Whitby Weddings 3)

‘Why?’ She looked up at him in surprise. ‘You didn’t have anything to do with it.’

‘I’m still sorry it happened to you.’

‘But if it hadn’t then I’d be married to a man who never really loved me and who valued my appearance more than he did my self. How could I have ever been happy with a man like that?’

He lifted his chin, holding her gaze in stony-sounding silence for a few moments before muttering a string of particularly vehement swear words.

‘Arthur!’ She didn’t know whether to be shocked or to burst out laughing. ‘Georgie might hear you.’

‘Sorry.’ He looked unrepentant. ‘But Fairfax deserves them.’

‘I know. Twice over!’ She opted for laughter. ‘I didn’t say you were wrong.’

‘How can you be so cheerful about it?’

‘Because it is how it is. Wishing it were otherwise won’t do any good and I still have my sight. If I’d lost that, then I wouldn’t have been able to paint or make jewellery or do any of the things I love. And in a funny way, it’s given me more freedom than most women. Nobody expects me to marry or follow the rules any more. The ordinary rules don’t apply because I’m different, or at least people see me differently. Even my parents do. If my accident hadn’t happened, then I couldn’t devote so much time to my art. I wouldn’t be able to come to the beach like this without a chaperon. I wouldn’t be able to...’

She stopped mid-sentence. She’d been about to say that she wouldn’t have been able to come and meet him, but she couldn’t say that without implying too much about her feelings and she didn’t understand those herself. She and Arthur were friends now, sort of, but that was all. Even if, in some ways, they felt like kindred spirits. Their meetings on the beach were a kind of escape from the real world, a place outside rules and conventions and judgements, one where they could both be themselves. Or at least that was the way it seemed to her.

‘What I mean is that now I’m free. Leo’s rejection hurt, but I’m a realist now. I know what people think when they see me and I know who really cares about me. I’ve learned the hard way, but at least I know.’

She leaned back on her elbows. Although whether that last statement was entirely true... She’d found out how much Leo cared about her, but what about her family? They’d all made a point of saying how much they still loved her and yet it was her parents who’d first suggested she wear a veil out of doors. They never insisted on her accompanying them to socia

l events either, letting her wander wherever she liked instead, in stark contrast to Lydia. Could they really still love her if they were so embarrassed by her?

‘Not all men are the same.’ Arthur’s tone was gruff as he lay down beside her, folding both arms behind his head.

Frances took one look and sat up again quickly. It felt too intimate, lying side by side on a blanket with only a three-year-old as chaperon. ‘I think a lot of men would have reacted like Leo.’

‘Perhaps, but we’re not all so shallow.’

‘You fell in love with Lydia.’

She could have bitten her tongue out the moment the words were out of her mouth. They sounded bitter and jealous and faintly accusing even to her. Instead, she wrapped her arms around her knees, feeling chilly all of a sudden.

‘So I did.’ She sensed rather than saw his face turn towards her. ‘But not just because of her looks. Or do you think I’m so superficial?’

‘No, but I think men value physical beauty more than women do.’

‘That doesn’t mean they can’t admire other attributes, too. Things that often outweigh it.’ His tone shifted abruptly. ‘On the other hand, maybe you’re right. Maybe I was that shallow once. Maybe I was so dazzled by your sister’s beauty that I saw what I wanted to see in her character.’

‘Lydia has a lot of good qualities,’ she answered defensively.

‘Perhaps, but I’m not sure I ever got close enough to find out. I admit I was flattered by her attention, by the fact that she favoured me, but she was always surrounded by other admirers. I thought that I loved her, but when I look back, there were so few times when we actually talked. I’m not sure I ever had more than a dozen private conversations with her.’

‘Lydia said you had to keep your engagement a secret until you could convince your father to accept her.’

‘True, but we still could have talked once in a while. I thought so anyway, but she always kept me at a distance, as if she were afraid of getting to know me. We were engaged for three years, but at the end of it, I barely knew her.’

Frances didn’t answer, couldn’t even think of an answer, as she watched Georgie start work on another sandcastle. It didn’t sound like Lydia to be shy, but then in retrospect, perhaps Arthur was right. She’d spent more time talking with him than her sister ever had. What did that say about Lydia’s real feelings for him?

‘Maybe it’s simply a matter of time and perspective. Take these two shells, for example.’ Arthur pushed himself upright again, scooping up a couple of shells from the sand. ‘One is smooth and shiny and catches the eye. The other is rough with jagged edges. Which is the more beautiful? The answer seems obvious at first, the shiny one, but the longer you look at the rough one, the more you start to notice other, more interesting features about it. Look at the intricate pattern here on the underside. Look at all the dints and scratches. You can tell that this shell has been through a lot. It’s been beaten and battered by the sea, but it’s still strong and resilient and captivating in its own way. It’s a less obvious beauty, but it’s still beautiful none the less.’

She found herself leaning sideways, leaning across him to peer at the shells in his hand. ‘But you still think the smooth one is the most attractive?’

‘Objectively, yes. It has all the qualities that we’re supposed to admire. It’s smooth and regular and a good size. But since I’ve come to admire other, less tangible qualities, I prefer the second.’

‘So beauty’s in the eye of the beholder? Are you a philosopher now?’