Page 11 of A Kiss to Stop a Wedding

A faint drizzle was falling when Flora and her aunt and uncle arrived by carriage at Whilton Hall.

The driver was instructed to negotiate the narrow bridge and gatehouse arch to the inner courtyard, where footmen were waiting at the entrance door, umbrellas at the ready to shield the guests from the rain.

In the drawing room the candles had already been lit to drive off the gloom of the lowering skies outside. They found Sir Roger Condicote and his lady were present and talking with the Viscount, who rose to greet his new guests.

He lifted Flora’s hand to his lips before leaning forward to bestow a chaste kiss on her cheek.

‘Welcome, my dear.’ Keeping hold of her hand, he turned to address her aunt and uncle. ‘I am very pleased you could all attend at such short notice.’

‘Not at all, not at all, my lord,’ declared Mr Farnleigh, smiling at the Condicotes .

‘Indeed,’ added Sir Roger, ‘we are only too delighted to come.’

‘Yes, yes,’ gushed Mrs Farnleigh, moving into the room. ‘As you know, in general we live very quietly, but to be invited to dinner, only days after the assembly, well, we consider ourselves blessed with a surfeit of pleasure this week!’

The Viscount gave a thin smile. ‘It is only a small party; we await but one more guest.’ He turned towards the small colourless woman dressed in widow’s weeds and sitting in the corner. ‘You already know my cousin, of course. Almeria is here once again, to act as my hostess for this visit.’

‘Your servant, Mrs Gask.’ Mr Farnleigh gave the widow a low bow before turning back to the Viscount. ‘We are delighted to see you returned to Whilton Hall, sir. I hope you intend to make a long stay this time?’

‘Alas, I can spare no more than a few days,’ replied the Viscount, finally releasing Flora’s hand. ‘Which made it necessary for this sudden invitation. I could not leave the county without dining with my fiancée.’

‘Pho!’ cried Mr Farnleigh, smiling broadly, ‘As to that, sir, you know you are welcome to take pot luck with us any evening. We don’t stand on ceremony with you, my lord!’

‘Just so.’ The Viscount inclined his head and with a final, small smile for Flora, he wandered off to sit and converse with Lady Condicote .

‘Well, well, Flora,’ murmured her uncle, as she sat down beside him, ‘We must put this invitation down to you, then, my dear. A cosy dinner for a few friends, arranged at such short notice—it shows His Lordship esteems you highly.’

‘It shows a disregard for anyone else’s convenience,’ she retorted, albeit quietly. ‘We were obliged to cry off from dinner with the Albrights tonight.’

‘But you have spent the whole day with Jenny. And Mr and Mrs Albright were not at all offended that we could not dine with them.’

‘No, they were most understanding,’ Flora admitted. ‘But it is not often Mrs Albright is well enough to host a dinner these days. I am sure she was looking forward to the company.’

Mr Farnleigh chuckled and patted her hand. ‘Don’t you worry, Flora, once your wedding is out of the way your aunt and I will have plenty of evenings to dine with the Albrights while you are off enjoying your new life as a viscountess!’

Flora said no more. She could not admit that she would have preferred to dine with her friends, rather than with her fiancé.

It had not always been that way. When Quentin had asked her to marry him, she had thought it the answer to her dreams. He was handsome, rich and extremely charming. She might not love him, but she enjoyed his company and thought that love would follow, once they were married.

That still might happen, but during this past year of their protracted engagement she had seen very little of her fiancé.

He was busy in town, or visiting friends, and even when he was at Whilton Hall sometimes a whole week would pass without them meeting.

Sometimes she wondered if he really wanted to marry her at all.

These disturbing thoughts were interrupted when the drawing room door opened. Her uncle looked up.

‘Ah, this must be our last guest.’

The Viscount was already on his feet and going forward, saying, ‘Welcome, Mr Talacre.’

* * *

Matt paused in the doorway, taking in the scene in one glance.

The panelled room glowed softly with candlelight and illuminated the little group in the centre.

He was surprised to see the Farnleighs there with their niece and he wondered if the elderly woman sitting beside Flora, and dressed head to toe in black, was a relative of theirs, until Whilton introduced her as his cousin, Mrs Gask.

Come to add an air of respectability to the bachelor’s household, he suspected.

Matt’s eyes were drawn back to Flora. Her glorious red hair was caught up in a knot at the back of her head, with a few delicate curls allowed to frame her face.

Pearl drops hung from her ears and a single strand of pearls circled her neck, accentuating the creamy skin on display above the low-necked gown.

The Viscount was coming towards him and he was obliged to drag his eyes away from Flora. He made some reply to Lord Whilton, accepted a glass of wine and went to sit down beside Mr Farnleigh. They conversed, but all the time his gaze kept straying back to Flora.

She was seated on the ancient, winged settee, newly re-upholstered in pale blue velvet that complemented the tawny silk of her gown, and when she turned to look at him her hazel eyes were large and luminescent beneath brows that might have been sculpted by the hand of a master.

And her expression was one of shock and horror to see him there.

This makes no sense.

Why on earth would the Viscount invite him to a dinner where Flora was present? The fellow had been less than pleased at the assembly, when Matt had walked up with Flora on his arm. If he suspected he had a rival for his fiancée’s affections, why would he bring them together like this?

Whilton was playing some deep game, but Matt wanted none of it.

He behaved with perfect propriety, but made no attempt to speak to Flora while they waited for dinner to be announced.

Then it could not be avoided. The Viscount escorted Lady Condicote while Sir Roger accompanied Mrs Farnleigh and Flora’ s uncle offered his arm to Mrs Gask.

Matt had no choice but to follow on with Flora.

‘What are you doing here?’ she whispered as they made a slow procession to the dining room.

‘I might ask you the same,’ he murmured. ‘I was expecting to talk business with His Lordship. I suspect he thinks I was flirting with you at the assembly.’

‘You certainly tried to give him that impression,’ she muttered. ‘Your final comment about being well entertained was designed to taunt him!’

‘It was irresistible.’ His lips twitched at the memory.

She gasped. ‘How dare you use me in your quarrel!’

‘It was nothing to do with any quarrel, merely a natural ballroom rivalry.’

The Viscount had annoyed him with his superior air and Matt had known that his words, and the audacious glance he had thrown at Flora, would anger him. However, the lady was clearly not amused and Matt wished now he had not allowed his irritation to get the better of him.

He said in a low voice, ‘It was badly done of me; I beg your pardon.’

There was no time to find out if he had placated her because they were already entering the dining room.

Matt saw at once that their host had set out to impress.

The table was covered with an overabundance of silver and glass that glittered and winked in the candlelight.

Having held the chair for Flora to sit down, he walked around to take his place between her aunt and Mrs Gask, who was seated at the foot of the table.

He was determined not to give the Viscount cause to think there was anything untoward going on between Flora and himself.

As the dinner progressed, he divided his attention between Mrs Farnleigh and his hostess while around them conversation ranged from the new theatre opening in south London to the latest verses published by Lord Byron.

Finally, Matt heard his name on the Viscount’s lips.

‘I understand Mr Talacre here is the manager of some sort of…pleasure gardens in Gloucestershire,’ he announced. ‘Is that not so, sir?’

‘I am part-owner of Bellemonte, yes.’

The Viscount waved one white hand. ‘I stand corrected.’

‘Mr Talacre has told us a little about this,’ put in Mr Farnleigh. ‘It appears the gardens were in a very poor state when he came across them and he has quite turned their fortunes around.’

‘I must say it sounds all quite fascinating.’ said Lady Condicote, admiring.

‘Indeed?’ The Viscount smiled, but Matt could see no amusement in those cold blue eyes. ‘It appears I am the only one who knows nothing about this venture of yours, sir. Perhaps you would like to explain a little more about these gardens. Are they perhaps like Vauxhall, open to everyone? ’

‘As long as they can pay the entrance fee,’ Matt replied. ‘I employ wardens—constables—to maintain good standards of behaviour.’

Sir Roger chuckled. ‘To keep the fine young bucks in check, I imagine!’

‘Yes, when necessary. We provide entertainment, too, throughout the season. Concerts and balls. Even fireworks, upon occasion.’

‘But who attends these entertainments?’ demanded the Viscount. ‘You are near Bristol, are you not? There can be no comparison with London Society. It must be full of cits and traders.’

Matt allowed himself a smile. ‘Some very wealthy traders live in the city, my lord. We do not preclude anyone. There are also those who visit Clifton and Hotwells for the waters. They are often in need of entertainment and happy to make the two-mile journey to visit Bellemonte.’

‘Hardly the ton , then.’

‘Perhaps not, in the main.’ Matt sipped his wine. ‘But lucrative.’

‘And your patron is the Earl of Dallamire, I believe,’ added Sir Roger. ‘Does he often attend?’

‘Occasionally, when his duties allow.’