The Viscount's Veiled Lady (Whitby Weddings 3)

‘Better mad than a prisoner. I’ve spent the last year trapped indoors. I can’t go through that again!’

Arthur stared at her incredulously, hearing the creak of the front door opening, followed by ominous-sounding footsteps in the hallway. Was she mad? He’d just told her that he didn’t care for her, that there was no future for them, that he was in love with her sister and she still wanted to trap him into an engagement? Worst of all was that there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about any of it! He didn’t want to be trapped, but if he refused then he’d be acting like the worst kind of dishonourable cur, destroying both Lydia’s reputation as well as his own chances of paying court to Frances if he could, by some incredible chance, find a way to escape. If those chances weren’t utterly destroyed already...

‘Scorborough?’

Thomas Webster loomed in the parlour doorway, accompanied by the infamous Amelia Kitt, a pretty blonde who was trying and failing to conceal her avid curiosity behind a veneer of concern. Not one, but two witnesses, and not just family members who might be persuaded to stay silent. Arthur swore inwardly. When it rained, it certainly poured.

‘Mr Webster, Mrs Kitt.’ He made a formal bow. ‘What an unexpected pleasure.’

‘There’s no pleasure about it! What’s going on here?’ The tone of Webster’s voice showed he was in no mood for social niceties.

‘It’s not what you think, Papa. It’s all a misunderstanding.’ To her credit, Lydia attempted a defence. ‘Arthur and I were just talking.’

‘Talking?’ Her father’s bellow filled the room. ‘Tell me, what kind of respectable lady comes unescorted to a gentleman’s house simply to talk?’

‘Oh, Lydia!’ Mrs Kitt could hardly contain her excitement. ‘How could you be so indiscreet? I felt it my duty to warn your father where you were going, but how could you? You’ll be ruined.’

‘She will not.’ Her father strode into the room, hauling himself up to his full height. ‘Not if I have any say in the matter.’

Arthur watched as the older man’s face turned from puce to dark purple, almost the same shade as Lydia’s dress. It was strange, he thought, to discover exactly what you wanted most in life just at the moment it became unattainable. He had a sudden clear vision of Frances beside him, living here in his house, sitting by his fireside, sleeping in his bed, doing more than sleeping... He felt a sharp pang of regret. That was the future he wanted. Except that now he was going to have to marry her sister.

‘Papa, I know it looks bad...’ To his surprise, Lydia was still trying to talk them out of it.

‘It looks worse than bad! It’s shameful! How long has this been going on?’

‘Nothing’s going on! This is the first time I’ve visited, I promise.’

‘Then you’d better have a good explanation...’

‘She came to find me.’

The voice from the corridor made every head in the room turn around. Was he imagining things now? Arthur wondered, as the very woman he’d just been yearning for appeared in the doorway, looking to all intents and purposes as if she’d just wandered in from the kitchen, without a cloak or a bonnet or any sign of a veil. He blinked a few times to be sure. It was definitely Frances, but what was she doing there? How had she got there? If she’d come in through the front door then surely someone would have noticed.

On the other hand, what did it matter when he’d never been so glad to see anyone in his whole life?

‘Frances?’ It was Mrs Kitt who spoke this time as her father appeared to be speechless.

‘Hello, Papa, hello, Amelia. I was just about to make a cup of tea.’ Frances gestured behind her, smiling blithely as if she were already the mistress of the house. ‘Would anyone else care for a cup?’

Chapter Eighteen

‘Will somebody please explain to me what in blazes is going on!’

Frances winced at the sound of her father’s roar. She hadn’t thought that his voice could get any louder, but apparently she’d underestimated him. He sounded as if he were trying to summon the entire population of Sandsend village to the door. He’d been loud enough from the dining room where she’d eventually managed to force a window jamb open and climb inside without anyone either seeing or hearing her, but now he was positively deafening.

Unfortunately, she wasn’t entirely sure that she could explain. She’d arrived at the farm just as her father’s carriage had drawn up, too late to either stop Lydia or warn Arthur. One glimpse of the trap by the front door had told her everything she’d needed to know about what was happening inside and, if it hadn’t, then her father’s shouting would have made it clear soon enough.

She’d arrived to

o late, but she still had to do something. No matter her loyalty to Lydia, no matter her own feelings for Arthur either, she couldn’t let him be trapped. He didn’t want to marry anyone, he’d made that clear early on in their friendship, and she wasn’t about to stand by and let it happen. No matter what else, they were friends, and friends didn’t let other friends be coerced.

In which case, she’d decided, divesting herself of her outer garments, there was only one thing she could do, something that would make her father’s earlier outburst seem like a gentle breeze beside a hurricane, but she had no choice. She only hoped that Arthur understood.

‘Of course, Father.’ She moved further into the room, smiling with a calmness she was a long way from feeling. ‘It’s all perfectly innocent.’

‘Innocent?’ Her father sounded on the verge of an apoplexy. ‘First Mrs Kitt arrives to say that my eldest daughter is compromising herself with an unmarried gentleman, then I arrive to find not one, but both of my daughters alone and unchaperoned? Which part of all that is innocent?’

‘Lydia’s. She came to be my chaperon.’ Frances threw a nervous glance at her sister, afraid that she might contradict the statement, but to her relief she didn’t utter a word.