The Viscount's Veiled Lady (Whitby Weddings 3)

‘Do you still miss it?’ She felt nervous asking the question. ‘Being at sea, I mean?’

‘No. I did for a long time, as though my body had come home, but the rest of me was still lost at sea somewhere, but now I finally feel as if I’m whole again, body and soul and heart, too.’ He looked so intense that her every nerve ending seemed to tingle in response. ‘What about you? How do you feel, Frances?’

Happy. That was the first word that entered her head. Unexpectedly, incontrovertibly, deliriously happy.

‘I feel whole again, too,’ she answered simply and then smiled up at him. Whole and happy and not about to let anybody, Leo Fairfax especially, ruin it for her.

Chapter Seventeen

‘Is something the matter, dear?’ Mrs Webster peered anxiously at Lydia across the luncheon table. ‘You’ve hardly eaten a mouthful.’

‘I’m not hungry, Mama.’

‘Is there something else you’d like? Shall I ask Cook?’

‘No.’ Lydia folded her napkin. ‘I just need some fresh air. I’ve decided to make some calls this afternoon.’

‘Calls?’ Their mother’s face blanched slightly.

‘Yes. It’s almost a year since John passed away. Surely I can set aside full mourning now?’

‘But you’re so close, darling. Don’t you think you could wait just a bit longer?’

‘No.’ Lydia’s tone was adamant. ‘I want to go out and I’ve already asked for the trap to be brought round. I won’t be gone long, but if I stay in this house any longer, I’ll scream.’

‘Oh, dear...’ Their mother still looked faintly queasy as Lydia marched out of the room. ‘What do you think, darling?’

‘I think she’s right.’ Frances picked up her teacup and sipped at the contents. ‘She’s been trapped inside long enough. This past year has been very hard on her.’

‘I know. I only wish I could speak with your father, but he’s gone to his office already... Do you think I ought to send him a note?’

Frances looked out of the window speculatively. After almost a full week of rain, the sun was shining again at last. The Ambertons’ garden party had been succeeded by a series of storms that had kept most residents of Whitby trapped indoors so that she’d felt even more empathy for Lydia’s predicament than usual. The days had seemed interminable. Not being able to go out, to go down to the shore, to see Arthur...

She sighed as she recalled her last glimpse of him. After their waltz, she’d danced a polka with Robert Felstone, a galop with Ianthe’s brother Percy, then played hoop rolling and skittles with Arthur, Harriet and some of Violet’s younger cousins until the party had finally drawn to a close. He’d handed her up into her parents’ carriage, his fingers lingering on her elbow and even squeezing slightly before he released her, as if he’d been trying to convey some kind of message.

‘Frances?’ Her mother’s voice penetrated her thoughts.

‘Sorry, Mama, I was dreaming.’

‘So I noticed. Do you know, both you and Lydia have been doing that a lot recently? Sometimes I think I might as well talk to the walls. I asked if you thought I ought to send a note to your father?’

‘No. Lydia said she won’t be long.’ And judging by the sounds of preparation coming from the hallway, she was already halfway out of the front door...

‘Well...’ Her mother sighed. ‘I’m still not altogether sure that she ought to, but at least it might stop her staring into space all afternoon.’

Frances took another sip of her tea. She’d been preoccupied with her own thoughts over the past week, but now that their mother mentioned it, Lydia had been uncharacteristically pensive. In fact, she’d been acting oddly ever since the morning after the garden party. She’d caught her staring in her direction a few times, too, her gaze openly resentful, almost jealous, as if she knew what had happened between her and Arthur, although surely she couldn’t. Who could have told her? They’d received a number of callers over the past few days, but she’d been in the parlour with all of them and nothing particular had been said. Which meant that the only person who could have said anything was...

‘Mama?’ She peered over the rim of her teacup, trying to sound casual. ‘I suppose you told Lydia all about the Ambertons’ garden party?’

‘Why, yes, of course. Truth be told, she overwhelmed me with questions, but I suppose that was only to be expected. I’m sorry she had to miss it.’

‘Did she ask about Arthur Amberton by any chance?’

‘Well, I told her the pair of you danced.’ Her mother threw a swift glance at the door. ‘After all, it’s been six years since she last saw him and I didn’t think that she’d mind. I thought she might even be pleased for you, though I have to say she didn’t look it.’

‘Did you tell her that we played games afterwards?’

‘Well...yes. It was such a charming sight, the two of you playing with the children like that. I must say he was very attentive to you.’