The Viscount's Veiled Lady (Whitby Weddings 3)

‘I’m sure he was just being polite.’

‘Perhaps—’ her mother’s eyes shone ‘—although I doubt it was just politeness. Good manners aren’t the first thing one associates with Arthur Amberton these days.’

Frances stood up and wandered across to the window again, her mother’s words ringing in her ears. It was true, Arthur wasn’t known for his gentlemanly behaviour any more, but maybe that also explained why he’d been silent for the past week. Admittedly, it hadn’t been safe to walk on the beach due to the size of the waves and she hadn’t expected him to call at the house with Lydia living there, but couldn’t he have sent a letter? Or even a note, just something to suggest that he hadn’t already forgotten her! He was the one who’d said that he wanted to kiss her again—and soon—so where was he? Was he busy on the farm or was he regretting what had happened? She tensed at the thought. The afternoon of the garden party had seemed so perfect, but perhaps it had all been an illusion, an idyllic interlude with no relation to everyday life. In which case, perhaps his kiss had simply been a passing fancy, too...

She paused with the teacup halfway to her lips, surprised by the sight of Lydia standing on the pavement outside t

alking to a boy, the baker’s boy if she wasn’t mistaken. Instinctively, she took a step back, concealing herself behind the curtains as Lydia looked around furtively and then handed him a piece of paper.

Frances watched carefully, struck with a faint prickle of suspicion. Strangely enough, Lydia hadn’t uttered a single word to her about Arthur ever since the garden party despite her incessant questions beforehand, which was especially odd considering what their mother had told her. And Lydia was planning to go out this afternoon, with a particularly determined look on her face. The trap was already standing by to take her...

Frances put her teacup aside and ran out of the dining room, across the hallway and down the backstairs, running along the alleyway and emerging into the street just in time to catch the boy before he turned the corner. Fortunately, there was no sign of Lydia as she called out to stop him.

‘Sam?’ She ran up, panting. ‘It’s Sam, isn’t it?’

‘Yes, miss.’

‘Did my sister just give you a message?’

‘Not a message, miss, just a note.’ He looked anxious. ‘But I’m not supposed to talk about it.’

‘No, of course not, I understand. Only I wondered if you could tell me who it’s for?’

‘I don’t think I ought to, miss.’ He scrunched up his mouth for a moment and then grinned. ‘But I’m not to deliver it for another half-hour. That’s the important part.’

‘I see. Well, that’s good to know, thank you.’

‘You won’t tell her I said nothing, will you?’

‘It’ll be our secret.’ She reached into her pocket and fished out a coin. ‘You’ve been a great help, Sam.’

She ran back to the house, pausing in the hallway to catch her breath and try to unravel the mystery. If Lydia was going to visit Arthur, as she suspected, then why would she send him a note, too? It didn’t make any sense. Why send a note to a man you were already visiting? Unless the note was for somebody else. Somebody who might then take it upon themselves to go and intrude upon them... She gasped, half-shocked by the idea of anything so underhand, half-appalled at herself for being so suspicious. If she was right, then it meant she had less than an hour to get to Arthur and warn him, but surely she couldn’t be right. Surely not even Lydia would do anything so brazen... But what was it she’d said when she’d first asked her to visit him on her behalf? If she could just have ten minutes alone with him...

Frances grabbed her cloak and bonnet, pulling on her sturdiest pair of boots before running back out into the street and down towards the beach. At least the tide was out, that was one small mercy, and the damp sand would be easier to run on. If she was wrong, then it didn’t matter, but if she was right, then Arthur Amberton was about to find himself caught in a trap.

She only hoped she could reach him before it snapped shut.

* * *

Arthur climbed over a low stone wall and trudged back towards the farmhouse, Meg at his heels. He’d been up since dawn, mending fences that had been damaged in the previous night’s storm and his stomach was complaining loudly. He needed something to eat, then he needed to check on his animals and then...well, then perhaps he could take a walk down to the beach and see if Frances was there. It had been almost a whole week since the garden party, six days since he’d kissed her, one hundred-and-forty-four hours of missing her company and dreaming about taking a chance on the future after all...

Violet certainly thought that he should. She’d taken him aside after the garden party to tell him as much in no uncertain terms, as he recalled. Lance had shrugged apologetically in the background, though he’d clearly agreed with every word. Neither of them had seemed to think that he was too unstable and for the first time he hadn’t argued back. He’d awoken the next morning positively eager to run down to the beach, only to find the Yorkshire weather conspiring against him. It had barely stopped raining since.

He stopped as he rounded the side of the barn, heart leaping at the sight of a trap parked outside the house. Had Frances decided to visit him there instead? He’d said that she was welcome at the farm whenever she wanted, but he hadn’t actually expected her to come. Not that it mattered, he told himself as he hurried towards the house and pushed open the front door, stopping short in surprise when Meg gave a bark.

‘Who is it?’ he called out, his heart sinking slowly and then plummeting rapidly as a woman swathed head to foot in dark purple stepped out of the parlour to greet him. She was just as beautiful as he remembered, possibly even more so, but he had to fight the impulse to turn round and run at the sight of her.

‘Arthur...’ She held both of her hands out in greeting. ‘It’s good to see you again.’

‘Lydia.’ He ignored the gesture, folding his arms instead and resolving to lock his front door from now on. ‘What are you doing here?’

‘You didn’t respond to my letters.’ Her voice sounded faintly tremulous, as he guessed it was intended to. ‘I had to come and speak with you face to face.’

‘I did respond. I thought I made my answer clear.’

‘That wasn’t an answer, it was simply a refusal! How could you be so cruel?’ She rifled inside her reticule, drawing out a frilly handkerchief to dab at her eyes. ‘After everything we meant to each other?’

‘That was six years ago. A lot’s happened since then. Too much.’