The Viscount's Veiled Lady (Whitby Weddings 3)

‘So you won’t even talk to me?’ The handkerchief dabbed again. ‘You won’t let me explain?’

‘There’s no need to explain. You thought that I’d drowned so you married another of your suitors. That’s about right, isn’t it?’

‘Arthur!’ Lydia’s eyes opened wide. ‘You make it sound so sordid.’

He heaved a sigh and gestured for her to precede him into the parlour. After all, perhaps Frances had been right. Perhaps he ought to have met with Lydia when she’d first asked him to, ought to have let her say her piece so that she wouldn’t have felt compelled to visit him. Perhaps he owed her that much for old times’ sake. At the very least, he ought to hear her out now.

‘I apologise.’ He took a seat and cleared his throat. ‘I shouldn’t have said that. I’m not angry, Lydia, not any more.’ To his surprise, he really wasn’t. Even looking straight at her, he didn’t feel the slightest hint of anger. ‘Honestly, I think you did the right thing. I truly hope you were happy with John Baird.’

‘I...well, yes, I suppose I was...that is, as happy as I could have been under the circumstances.’ Lydia’s eyes seemed to grow bigger and rounder the longer she talked. ‘But I always still thought of you. I know that sounds awful, but we were so perfect together.’

‘No.’ Arthur shook his head firmly. ‘We weren’t. How could we have been when we never really knew each other?’

‘But of course we knew each other! How can you say otherwise?’

‘Because we never talked, Lydia, not properly anyway. I never knew anything about your hopes or your dreams or interests, nor you about mine. I told you about my father’s objections to our marriage, but I never told you how I felt or how unbearable my life was with him. I never thought you wanted to hear any of that. You always had a crowd of admirers about you.’

‘But I never cared about any of them!’ She paused briefly. ‘Except for John Baird, of course.’

‘Of course.’ Arthur fought to stop his eyebrows from lifting. ‘Look, I’m not trying to hurt you by saying this, but I don’t believe either of us was ever truly open and honest with the other, or with ourselves for that matter. We should never have got engaged in the first place. It was a mistake. Doubly so to keep it a secret.’

‘But we were engaged!’ Lydia was starting to sound desperate. ‘It was never formally ended.’

‘Except by your marriage.’ He held a hand up before she could say anything else. ‘I don’t want to argue. I resented you for a long time, but now I see that I was at fault, too. In any case, it doesn’t matter any more. The plain truth is that we would never have made each other happy, Lydia. We were never in love, not really.’

He reached for her hand, trying to draw the sting from his words. She was really quite extraordinarily beautiful, he thought absently, with the kind of face a painter might yearn to immortalise. He’d been utterly besotted once, but now, beautiful as she was, he could look at her and feel...nothing. In fact, when he looked at her face now, he had the strange impression of something lacking...a red scar on the right cheek. Oddly enough, her face looked wrong without it, or at least his idea of the perfect woman’s face did. Because his idea of the perfect woman’s face was quite simple. It belonged to Frances.

‘Not all marriages are based on love.’ If he wasn’t mistaken, the tears in her eyes were genuine this time. ‘We could still be happy.’

‘No. I couldn’t and I doubt that you would be either. You deserve to be with somebody who truly loves you. Only I’m not that man.’

‘Have my looks faded so much then?’ She looked visibly shaken. ‘Am I so unappealing to you now?’

‘Lydia, you’re still the most beautiful woman in Whitby, in the whole of Yorkshire most likely, but looks aren’t everything.’

The tears in her eyes dried instantly, replaced by a flash of anger. ‘This is revenge, isn’t it? You’re trying to hurt me for marrying John. That’s why you danced with Frances at the garden party, too! Oh, yes, I heard all about the attention you paid her, but I was going to forgive you!’

He dropped her hand. ‘Do you really think I’d use her like that?’

‘Why else would you dance with her?’ Her mouth dropped open and her tone shifted abruptly. ‘Why, Arthur?’

‘Why do you think?’

‘You mean...you care for her? You’re in love with her?’

‘Yes.’ It didn’t occur to him to either hesitate or deny it. It was true, although ironically enough, if Lydia hadn’t asked him directly, he might never have realised the extent of his feelings. He didn’t just like Frances, he was in love with her. He wanted marriage and a future with her. And he was telling the wrong woman.

‘She’s my sister!’

‘Yes.’ He couldn’t deny that either.

‘How could you? How could either of you?’

‘It wasn’t intentional. I know it’s not ideal, but it’s not revenge either.’

‘But how

did it happen?’ The anger seemed to drain out of her face suddenly, her gaze flickering towards the clock on the mantelpiece. ‘When? She’s hardly mentioned you since...’ her voice dropped to almost a whisper ‘...she took you my message.’