Page 23 of A Kiss to Stop a Wedding

‘But how often have we seen him in those two years?’ she argued. ‘The number of times he has come to Whilton cannot add up to more than a few months.’ She bit her lip. ‘I wonder sometimes if I am doing the right thing in marrying him.’

That brought a cry of protest from her aunt. ‘Oh, my love, pray do not be saying such a thing! Whatever are you thinking? ’

‘Better that I should voice my doubts now, than when it is too late,’ replied Flora, playing with the ring on her finger.

‘My dear Flora, calm yourself.’ Her uncle smiled at her in a kindly fashion.

‘This is nothing more than wedding nerves! The Viscount will make you an excellent husband. He is kind, considerate, and you like each other well enough. Stronger feelings will follow, once you are living together, and you will have plenty to occupy your time, which is what you want, is it not, my love? You know he has several houses besides Whilton Hall, for you to look after.’

‘And there will be your visits to London,’ added her aunt, ‘Summers spent in Brighton, perhaps. Oh, heavens! You will be the envy of every other young lady in the county!’

Seeing the Farnleighs’ happy faces, Flora realised they would not understand why she was anxious about this marriage.

She barely understood it herself, except that today, after talking with the Viscount, she had been aware of a mild feeling of disappointment.

He was attentive, his tone caressing, but her insides did not flip over when he smiled at her, nor did her pulse jump at his every touch.

Oh, do be sensible, Flora, she scolded herself. You are fretting over silly, girlish fancies. Just like whatever was the problem with the scullery maid. It is nothing of consequence.

* * *

Sir Roger and Lady Condicote’s midsummer ball at Condicote Manor had become the highlight of the summer for their friends and neighbours.

This year was of especial interest, because Lord Whilton had returned from London expressly to attend the ball and dance with his fiancée, Miss Flora Warenne, just one month before their marriage in the little parish church at Whilton.

Flora knew all eyes would be on her tonight.

She had dressed for the occasion in a new gown of iridescent blue silk that shimmered as she moved, changing from deepest midnight and azure to the palest ice blue.

It was low at the neck and high at the waist with tiny puff sleeves and was the first of many gowns the local seamstress was making for her, in readiness for her wedding.

Looking at herself in the mirror before they left Birchwood, Flora wondered aloud if, perhaps, the shot silk was a little too extravagant for a country dance, but her aunt was quick to reassure her.

‘By no means, my love. Lady Condicote has decreed you and Lord Whilton must open the ball.’

Flora shuddered. ‘I wish she had not. I am unused to being the centre of attention.’

‘I know, my love, but on this occasion, it can do no harm. It is only a country ball, you know. It is not as if it is London where people might remember— ’

Mrs Farnleigh broke off so suddenly that Flora looked at her in concern.

‘Remember what, ma’am?’

‘Oh—your…your parents, of course.’

Her aunt was looking so flustered that Flora was puzzled.

‘But that would be a good thing, wouldn’t it?’ she said. ‘In fact, I should like to meet someone who knew my mother, it would be interesting to talk to them.’

‘Well, well, and perhaps you shall, one day,’ said her aunt, taking her arm. ‘But enough of this silly talk. Let us go downstairs, my love. The carriage will be at the door and you know how your uncle hates to keep the horses waiting.’

* * *

Lady Condicote and her husband were waiting to greet their guests as they arrived. A few words were exchanged, compliments received and returned, and then the Birchwood party was free to move on towards the ballroom.

Lord Whilton was waiting for Flora at the door and, as he came towards her, she felt her spirits lift a little to see the admiration in his eyes.

He took her hand and kissed it. ‘My dear, you look beautiful tonight.’ He leaned closer. ‘Only wait until we are married. I shall give you the family sapphires to wear and you will look truly magnificent!’

‘Oh?’ She touched the string of pearls around her neck. ‘Are my mother’s jewels not grand enough, then? I understand they were a present to her, from Papa, on the occasion of their marriage.’

‘They are perfectly acceptable for a country dance,’ he assured her, ‘but as my wife you must wear only the finest jewels.’

He stayed beside her, talking with her aunt and uncle until it was time for the first dance, when he escorted her to the middle of the floor.

As first lady, she had the privilege of calling the dance and had chosen one she knew the Viscount liked and danced well.

She hoped this would encourage him to stay at her side, at least until supper, but after a second dance she could tell he was not enjoying himself.

His smile was strained, she heard him sigh more than once, and although he was perfectly polite as he led her from the floor, she knew he was relieved when Sir Roger came up to claim her hand for the quadrille.

As she stood with Sir Roger, waiting for the music to begin, Flora looked for the Viscount and was pleased to see him partnering Lady Condicote on the far side of the room.

At least he was not snubbing his hosts. However, at the beginning of the next country dance, she spotted him heading off in the direction of the card room.

She sighed, knowing she would not see her fiancé again until the end of the night.

Flora kept her head high and her smile in place as she performed the familiar steps, but she elected to sit out the next and gently dismissed her partner. She made her way to the supper room, where a selection of wines and punches had been set out on a long table for guests to help themselves.

As she ladled punch into a cup she heard the sounds of another familiar tune striking up in the ballroom, but for once it did not excite her.

She felt overdressed and wished she had kept this gown for a grander occasion.

She had worn the shot silk to impress Quentin, but even that was not enough to keep him at her side.

Flora sipped the punch and reminded herself that she should not be disappointed.

She had always known the Viscount preferred cards to dancing.

In the past she had not allowed it to worry her, but tonight he had promised much.

He had said he would dance the night away with her and she was angry and disappointed that he had let her down.

‘Good evening, Miss Warenne.’

She froze. The sound of that deep, familiar voice at her shoulder set her heart beating so hard she was obliged to put her other hand around her punch cup before she could turn.

‘Mr Talacre.’ She tried to steady her galloping nerves, aware of the people around them. ‘What, what a pleasant surprise. I did not know…’

‘Lady Condicote sent me an invitation and I thought I should come. I have made so many friends here, you see. ’

She wanted to reach out and touch him, to make sure he was real, but instead she threw him a warning glance.

‘Please do not mention my visit to Bellemonte,’ she said quietly. ‘No one knows of it. They must never know.’

‘As you wish.’ He gazed at her for a moment. ‘I could not stay away.’

Flora’s heart was thudding and it was difficult to breathe. She should not feel like this. It was as if he had stepped out of her dreams. She shook her head.

‘I… I do not know what to say.’

‘Then do not say anything.’ He removed the cup from her fingers. ‘Will you dance with me?’

‘I am sorry, I cannot.’

‘But you love to dance, as do I.’ He smiled. ‘I take great pleasure in dancing.’

‘I thought most men preferred cards.’

He shook his head. ‘Not this man. Well, madam?’

No. She could not. Could she?

Why not? Quentin has not kept his promise. Why should you not dance with someone else?

Matt held out his arm, his eyes warm with understanding.

‘One dance,’ he said.

Slowly her hand slid on to his sleeve. ‘One dance.’

Flora accompanied him back to the ballroom, where the orchestra began to play a familiar tune.

She forced herself to be calm, knowing that it would be easy to make a mistake, even in a dance she knew well.

She did not want to draw attention to herself or her partner.

They must do nothing to cause talk or speculation.

One dance. Two. It was impossible not to enjoy oneself with a partner as proficient as Matt Talacre. She agreed to dance the Scotch reel with him and he matched her for skill and enthusiasm. She forgot everything but the sheer exhilaration of the moment.

* * *

The music ended and they stood on the dance floor, happy and breathless.

‘Thank you,’ exclaimed Flora, ‘that was wonderful!’

She was laughing up at him, looking radiant in her blue gown, her cheeks flushed, eyes bright. Matt told himself to bow and walk away. Flora was marrying Whilton in a few weeks’ time, everyone here knew that. If he danced with her again, tongues would wag.

He glanced towards the orchestra.

‘The next is the last dance before supper. A waltz. Will you dance it with me?’

The reel had left Flora dizzy and elated. She could barely keep still, eager to dance again. The waltz was well accepted now. Even her aunt and uncle had learned it and had been known to join in.

She gave Matt her hand and a beaming smile. ‘Of course I will!’

They joined the dancers forming a circle about the dance floor, ready for the first section, la marche.

It was slow and sedate, the couples promenading around the floor in stately fashion.

Then came the pirouette. Matt’s arm went around Flora’s waist, holding her close.

She raised her hand to clasp his in an arch above their heads and slowly they began to move around each other.

* * *

Flora had often danced the waltz, most recently with the Viscount at the assembly, but this time was different.

Her heart was singing, she felt more alive, more aware of every breath, every beat as she moved around her partner.

Then she glanced up to find Matt’s eyes fixed on her, his gaze dark and intense, and she could not look away.

Her steps never faltered. They were as one, circling, hearts beating, oblivious to everything and everyone.

Time stopped. It was just the two of them, and the music.

The tempo changed. Their gazes still locked, they performed the final dizzying steps. Matt pulled her around until they were dancing breast to breast and her heart was hammering as they whirled about in one last, frantic circuit of the dance floor.

The music ended and everyone came to a stand, laughing and chattering, applauding the orchestra and each other.

Everyone except Flora and Matt. She felt his arms drop away from her, but she could not move. Couples went off towards the supper room, but still she gazed at him, her eyes questioning. Matt was staring at her as if he, too, was unable to comprehend what had just happened.

‘Well, well,’ drawled a cold, sneering voice. ‘Mr Talacre. I do believe you have plans to steal my lady as well as my statue.’