The Viscount's Veiled Lady (Whitby Weddings 3)

‘So am I.’ Despite Arthur’s absence, at that moment, Frances realised she felt genuinely happy. ‘Your garden is beautiful. What a lovely idea to hold a party outside.’

‘Yes, just as long as it doesn’t rain. But Lance was right, I could never have coped with a ball. Carrying a baby is more tiring than I expected. I get exhausted even when I

’m not doing anything.’

Frances smiled sympathetically. Violet did look tired, not to mention at least twice the size she’d been when they’d last met. There was a note of worry in her voice that hadn’t been there before either.

‘I’m sure everything will be all right.’

‘Thank you.’ Violet’s smile wavered uncertainly. ‘Although I have to admit I’m a little nervous.’

‘If you want to talk about it...’

‘Oh, I wouldn’t want to burden you.’

‘It wouldn’t be a burden. Sometimes talking about a worry can help.’

‘Yes, and the truth is...’ she looked around with a distinctly guilty expression ‘... I can’t talk to my husband about it. He’s worried enough for both of us.’

‘Then tell me instead. I’m a good listener.’

‘I will. Not today, but another time...’ Violet smiled gratefully. ‘You know that dress looks very fetching on you.’

‘Thank you.’

Frances dropped her gaze shyly. She’d been pleased with the gown her mother had picked out for her, too, albeit somewhat alarmed by the light fabric and low-cut neckline, so different from her usual modest garments, though her mother had argued that in summer, anything else would look ridiculous. It was slightly out of date, with less bunching at the back than was currently fashionable, but they’d made a few alterations together, removing every last trace of flounce and frill so that the long, form-fitting bodice gave her a sleek, elegant line.

The only concession to mourning was the colour, but regarding herself critically in the mirror that morning, Frances had been pleased to see that, for the first time in years, she didn’t look like a ghost. Her time on the beach had given her cheeks a healthy colour and she had to admit, the combination of tanned skin, dark eyes and black dress did look striking. At the last moment, she’d picked up a black ribbon and slid the pendant she’d carved from the stone Arthur had given her along it, tying it around her throat to complete the effect.

‘Is this one of your pieces?’ Violet noticed the pendant, too.

‘Yes, it’s supposed to be a shell.’ She felt herself blushing, not that the words themselves were incriminating. Only Arthur would have understood their significance.

‘I can tell. It’s quite beautiful.’

‘I was just thinking the same thing about your house.’

‘Oh, yes, it’s a lovely place, although it might not be ours for much longer.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘We’re thinking of moving. Not far, only I’d like to be closer to the ironworks so that Lance isn’t traipsing about the Moors in all weathers. And this is Arthur’s house, after all, no matter what he says.’ Violet looked around, her tone a little too uninterested. ‘I can’t think where he’s got to. He definitely said he was coming.’

‘Maybe he changed his mind.’

‘Oh, I doubt that. Lance took him a new suit this morning.’

‘What have I done now?’ The man in question came up behind them, wrapping an arm around his wife’s shoulders. ‘And speaking of doing, I hope you’re not over-exerting yourself.’

‘I’m walking around a garden.’ Violet sounded exasperated. ‘I haven’t jumped over any hedges or climbed any trees. Honestly, if it were up to you I’d spend the next three months in bed being pampered.’

‘Isn’t that how wives want to be treated by their husbands? I could lie at your feet reciting poetry and feeding you delicacies.’

‘Then I really would look like a whale.’

‘You know it’s hard for a man to discover that his company isn’t sufficiently scintillating.’ Lance heaved a sigh. ‘But then I suppose I always knew this day would come. My wife keeps sneaking away from me, Miss Webster.’

‘But I always come back.’ Violet smiled mischievously.