The Viscount's Veiled Lady (Whitby Weddings 3)

‘I think he wants to be alone.’

Arthur’s tone was sympathetic, though he made no attempt to approach her either and she folded her arms, feeling cold all of a sudden. ‘I’ve never seen him like this. So...stricken. Mama, too. I should have been here for them.’

‘I’m sorry, Frances.’

‘It’s not your fault. You brought me back as soon as you could. Mama said she didn’t send word straight away because she knew I was helping Violet.’

‘I see.’ Neither of them spoke again for a few moments, as if the air was too heavy for words to penetrate. ‘Is there anything I can do?’

‘No.’

‘If there is...’

‘I’ll send word.’

They lapsed into silence again, the few feet between them feeling like miles.

‘I ought to go back upstairs.’ Frances dropped her arms back to her sides, unable to bear the tension any longer.

‘Of course.’ He straightened his shoulders as if her words had just jolted him. ‘In that case, I’ll be at the farm...if you need me.’

‘Yes.’ She felt a lump swell in her throat and cleared it hastily. ‘Your animals will be hungry.’

‘I have a boy who helps me now.’ He frowned as if he’d intended to say something else and then hastened towards the door. He was only marginally slower than her father had been, as if he couldn’t wait to get away, too.

‘Frances...’ he paused at the last moment on the threshold, his face utterly emotionless ‘... I’m deeply sorry. If I could go back and do things differently, I would.’

She didn’t answer, waiting until he’d gone before sinking down into a chair. Somehow those words seemed the cruellest of all. If I could go back and do things differently... Which things? His engagement to her? His relationship with Lydia? Both? Everything that had seemed so clear the previous night and that morning seemed thrown into doubt, as if she’d simply imagined their closeness. But surely she couldn’t have, not completely. He’d come to her room, he’d taken her in his arms, he’d kissed her leg and asked her to marry him as soon as possible. And yet the news of Lydia’s accident had altered him completely. He seemed almost as shocked as her father. Which meant that there was only one conclusion she could come to, one that seemed more and more obvious the longer she thought of it: that he really loved Lydia after all and the accident had finally shown him that fact. Which meant only one thing for them.

She pushed the thought away. Whatever it meant, it wasn’t important now. Only Lydia was important. Her own relationship with Arthur, whatever it was, or wasn’t, could wait.

* * *

The next few days passed in a blur. Frances spent most of her time in the nursery with Georgie, trying to pretend that everything was all right, or by her sister’s bedside with her mother who never left, not even to eat or sleep. There were no set mealtimes any more, no semblance of a routine. Everything seemed on hold, as if the whole house was holding its breath, waiting for Lydia to wake up.

Arthur visited punctiliously every afternoon, though she wished that he wouldn’t. It wasn’t that he did anything overtly wrong. He was polite and solicitous and said all the right words of comfort, but the lack of warmth behind them meant they had the opposite effect. He never tried to touch her either, always keeping his hands clasped behind his back, as if he found the occasions as strained and painful as she did. There seemed to be some kind of wall between them, one made of ice since their meetings left her feeling so cold.

He made no mention of the special licence or their wedding either, not that she would have expected him to, but their shared silence on the subject seemed to grow more and more conspicuous. A casual observer might have taken them for nothing more than acquaintances. She couldn’t h

elp but wonder if he was worrying about Lydia and the idea made her feel guilty, angry and humiliated all at the same time. The more she considered it, however, the more she thought that she must have been nothing more than a Lydia substitute all along. Not intentionally, perhaps—she didn’t think so badly of him—but still just a replacement, a slightly damaged version of the original.

As if all that wasn’t bad enough, she had Leo to deal with, too. He called one morning and, with her parents occupied, she was the only one left to receive him.

‘You must hate me.’ The first words out of his mouth made her want to slap him. Hard. They were typical of Leo. Even with Lydia lying unconscious, he could only think of the situation in terms of himself. She spent ten minutes listening to his excuses and explanations before declaring it was time for her to go to the nursery.

‘Oh.’ He looked surprised to be interrupted, though he moved to the doorway obediently enough. ‘I seem to cause nothing but trouble for your family.’

She had to bite her lip to stop herself from agreeing, though his regret seemed genuine.

‘I’m sure there was nothing you could have done. Once Lydia gets an idea in her head, it’s hard to stop her.’

‘Yes.’ He bowed his head morosely. ‘But I’m sorry, especially after everything that happened between us... I’m sorry about that, too.’

‘That was a long time ago. You’re forgiven.’

‘Thank you, Frances.’

She showed him out of the house with a bittersweet sense of satisfaction. He still couldn’t look her full in the eye, but at least the pain of his rejection was gone. Speaking to Leo face to face hadn’t hurt at all. Whereas speaking to Arthur, on the other hand...