Page 26 of A Kiss to Stop a Wedding

‘And there was plenty for her to tell,’ put in Aunt Farnleigh, bitterly. ‘Charles and his colleagues never considered that they would need to guard their tongues in front of his wife!’

‘Her cousin was only a go-between,’ added Mr Farnleigh.

‘Her letters were being smuggled across the Channel to his French masters. Then Charles began to suspect someone in his household was passing on secrets and when he mentioned it to Mary, she confessed the whole. It was quite deliberate, she had been revealing names, dates, places—details that could be very useful to the French. Charles realised it could only be a matter of time before the truth came out.’

Aunt Farnleigh nodded. ‘That was when he came to us. The Treaty of Amiens had just been signed and he wanted to take your mother to France, where she had been promised sanctuary. He asked if we could give you a home.’

‘You knew they would not be coming back?’ asked Flora.

She remembered it so vividly. She had been ten years old, excited to be spending a few weeks with her aunt and uncle while Mama and Papa enjoyed an excursion to France. They had all been so happy, talking of what they would do when they were back together again. It had all been a pretence.

‘Oh, my love, it was such a difficult time,’ said Aunt Farnleigh, wiping her eyes. ‘My brother loved Mary so much, he could not bear to leave her.’

Suddenly Flora felt very much like a child again.

‘Why did they not take me, too?’ she asked, in a small voice.

Her uncle was looking uncomfortable, frowning and biting his lip as he struggled to find the words to explain.

‘There were already rumours in Whitehall, Flora. It had to appear as if he and Mary were off on a short jaunt. Leaving their beloved daughter behind was the perfect bluff.’

Flora’s world was collapsing around her. She gripped her hands together. She wanted to weep, or scream.

‘How could they?’ she whispered. ‘How could they abandon me?’ She shook her head. ‘Papa was always very busy, but Mama was with me constantly. How could she? How could she desert her own child?’

‘Oh, my dear, it was a very dangerous situation, you must believe that,’ said her uncle, begging her to understand.

‘Mary knew she had destroyed your father’s career, that they must give up the life they had known.

As for Charles, he was distraught. Mary’s treachery might be discovered at any moment and he wanted to do the best for you both.

She would have been executed if she had been caught, so he knew he must get her out of the country, but he could not bring himself to subject you to the hardships and difficulties he knew they would face in France. ’

That would have been nothing to me, compared to losing my parents.

‘Instead, he used me,’ she muttered. ‘I was a pawn, sacrificed for their safety.’

Uncle Farnleigh shook his head. ‘Leaving you behind broke their hearts, believe me.’

‘Yes, yes,’ cried her aunt. ‘Your mama never forgot to take her pearls, Flora. She left them for you. With instructions that we were to give them to you on your eighteenth birthday, the age she was when she married your father.’

‘But you were never going to tell me that, were you?’

‘How could we?’

Aunt Farnleigh began to weep and Flora closed her eyes, wondering how she would ever live with the pain of it.

‘We were all four of us guilty of deceiving you, Flora,’ said her uncle. ‘I am so very sorry.’

‘Everything you told me then was false,’ she said. ‘A ruse to convince me and the world that they were coming back.’

‘Yes.’ Aunt Farnleigh dabbed her eyes. ‘But then we heard about the accident and, well, we were so thankful that you were safe with us.’

The tears burning Flora’s eyes could no longer be held back and she gave a sob as they spilled over. With a cry Aunt Farnleigh flew across the room to sit beside her.

‘Oh, no, no, my love, do not weep.’ She put her arms about Flora. ‘We loved you every bit as much as your parents. They knew we would bring you up as our own.’

It was a blessed relief to allow the tears to fall, but Flora only indulged for a few moments. There were still so many questions and time was short.

‘Why did you not tell me?’ she asked, trying to keep her voice calm.

‘After the accident it was all hushed up and we did not think it necessary,’ explained Aunt Farnleigh. ‘No one remembers it now and we knew it would only upset you.’

‘But Lord Whilton knows of it,’ said Flora. ‘You told him.’

‘Of course.’ Uncle Farnleigh nodded. He walked over to take up his favourite stance, before the fireplace. ‘Having asked permission to pay his addresses, it was only right to tell him.’

‘But it was not right to tell me.’

‘We wanted to protect you,’ said her aunt. ‘It would only have caused you distress to know the truth, whereas it would be quite wrong not to inform a prospective husband.’

Flora suppressed her anger. She knew it was the way of her world, to protect the weaker sex from unpleasant truths. A sudden thought occurred to her and she looked up.

‘Were there other prospective husbands , then?’ She did not miss the look exchanged between her aunt and uncle and she went on. ‘I can think of at least two gentlemen who showed a decided partiality for me, but they suddenly changed their minds. Did you tell them the sordid details, too?’

‘No, no, my love,’ exclaimed her aunt, close to tears again.

‘Never any details. Your uncle was always most discreet. He only hinted at some past scandal. Lord Whilton was told the same, but he made his own enquiries and insisted upon being told the whole. And you must see, it makes it particularly gratifying that he was still prepared to offer for you, even after he learned your true circumstances.’

Flora fought back a sharp retort to that. What good would it do now?

‘That is why you have been protective of me,’ she muttered. ‘Why we have lived quietly in Whilton all these years. It was always important that I should not attract attention or cause a scandal. You were afraid someone might remember the rumours and began to ask questions. ’

‘My love, you know that every woman needs to be careful of her reputation,’ said her aunt. ‘We love you like a daughter. We should have been just as watchful, whatever your history.’

Flora nodded. A lot of things made sense now: the excessive care the Farnleighs took of her, why she had never gone to London for her come out. She rose and shook out her skirts.

‘I am going to walk in the garden. I need a little fresh air.’

‘Would you like me to come with you?’

‘Thank you, Aunt, but no. I shall be better on my own. I promise I shall not leave the gardens.’

After all, where could I go now?

‘Yes, yes, of course my dear,’ said her uncle. ‘This has been a great shock to you, I can see that. However, I think it is for the best that you know everything before you marry. I wanted to tell you myself, but His Lordship was against it.’

She nodded, recalling how she had walked in upon their conversation and her aunt had passed it off as a discussion about a servant. If it hadn’t all been so tragic she might have laughed. How absurd to think Quentin would ever show concern for a lowly scullery maid!

‘Lord Whilton has warned me he will make all this public if I cry off.’

‘Good heavens!’ Mrs Farnleigh clapped her hands over her mouth and turned her frightened eyes upon her husband.

‘Surely you would not change your mind at this late stage!’ he said to Flora.

‘Uncle, he is trying to coerce me into marrying him!’

‘No, no, I am sure you misunderstand. The man loves you. He is desperate to have you for his wife, that is all.’

She gave a bitter laugh. ‘He is desperate to put my family crest into his coat of arms!’

‘Well…well, what of that? A man wants to be proud of his wife.’

‘Grandfather Warenne believed it was all a fabrication, did he not, Aunt?’ Flora looked towards Mrs Farnleigh. ‘That is what Papa always said. There is no coat of arms in any of the early family portraits.’

‘When the crest was attributed to your family is not important,’ her uncle replied. ‘You are entitled to use it.’

‘But that’s the point,’ said Flora. ‘Quentin believes in all this antiquated nonsense. He wants a brood mare. He is marrying me in order to have an heir.’

‘Of course he wants an heir,’ retorted Aunt Farnleigh. She flushed a little. ‘We talked of all this, Flora, how it is a wife’s duty…’

‘Yes, but then I was not being coerced into marriage! ’

Her uncle scoffed. ‘I am sure the Viscount was not serious. It is far more likely that he was shaken by your sudden talk of crying off. No, no, trust me, Flora, the Viscount is a sound man. He has been more than generous over the marriage settlement and he will make you a good husband. And for most of the year you would be settled at Whilton Hall, very close to us and to all your friends.’

He patted her clumsily on the shoulder.

‘Take a turn around the garden, my dear. Consider all the advantages of being a viscountess. A married woman has far more freedom, you know, and in time, you will have a family to occupy you. And there is the Viscount’s fortune.

I can assure you, my dear, having drawn up the marriage settlements I know you are going to be a very wealthy woman!

There is your place in Society to consider, too: a place you richly deserve!

You would be a fool to throw it all away at this late hour. ’

Flora’s head was spinning, but she knew she needed to make a decision. And quickly, she thought, remembering the Viscount’s final threat.

‘Excuse me,’ she said. ‘I would like to walk in the garden now.’

As she left the room her aunt’s voice followed her, shrill and trembling with anxiety.

‘Please, Flora. Think very carefully about this! If the Viscount did denounce your mother, it would reflect badly on us all. We would be obliged to leave Whilton and this house—our home for the past sixteen years.’

Flora closed the door as the words gave way to sobs.

Not stopping to fetch a wrap, she made her way to the garden door.

As she reached the gun room door, Scamp barked and scratched on the panels.

He had been her companion on so many solitary walks it came naturally to her to let him out and together they made their way to the gardens.

Outside, clouds were building for a thunderstorm and the air was still and heavy, adding to the oppression on Flora’s spirits.

At first she strode around the gardens, raging against those she had believed loved her.

Every one of them had proved false. Her parents had abandoned her and the Farnleighs had been complicit in the lies told to a ten-year-old girl.

Gradually her pace slowed and the fierce anger inside abated.

How could she blame her aunt and uncle when they had only ever wanted her happiness?

She remembered how kind they had always been.

The Italian greyhound puppy they had given her to help assuage the grief of losing her parents, the trouble they had taken with her education, interviewing countless governesses to find one who combined kindness with good teaching skills.

Her uncle’s patience when he taught her to drive his gig.

Even when Lord Whilton had approached them, asking permission to pay his addresses, they had not tried to exert their influence.

He was allowed to call, to court her. True, she had refused him the first time, but when he had asked her again she had accepted.

It had been her decision and hers alone.

Would her answer have been any different, had she known the truth?

She remembered she had thought the Viscount very agreeable when they had first met.

He was tall and good-looking, with his golden-blond hair and blue eyes.

He had been charming, too, in those early months.

A little lacking in humour, perhaps, and he was not as fond of dancing as Flora, but in every other way she had thought him most acceptable.

Was it the arrival of Matt Talacre that had changed all that?

Matt’s rugged features could not be called classically handsome and his lean body was too muscular, the broad chest hinting at strength rather than elegance, yet he had an animal grace when he moved.

She remembered dancing with him. It had been more than a pleasure.

She had been transported, as if they were the only couple on the dance floor.

Flora had reached the sheltered rose garden and sank down on a stone bench. If Quentin’s godfather had not died last year, she would have been married by now. She would have known nothing of her past. She would never have met—

No! Flora quickly pushed that last thought away.

Any feelings she had for Matt Talacre must be firmly crushed.

He must be as dead to her now as her parents.

Aunt and Uncle were a different matter, however.

She did not doubt they loved her. Nor did she doubt that they now regretted not telling her the truth about Mama.

‘But what else could they have done?’ she said aloud. ‘How do you tell a young girl that her parents have deserted her?’

Hearing the distress in her voice, Scamp jumped up beside her and nosed at her clasped hands. Absently she fondled his ears while she closed her eyes, thinking back.

She clearly remembered when they had told her she was an orphan. It was the only time she had seen tears in her uncle’s eyes and Aunt Farnleigh had held her close while she cried, their tears mingling. Despair welled up in Flora. Her eyes stung.

She had lost her parents, but her aunt had lost a beloved brother. They had done their best. None of this was their fault, nor hers, but it was her actions now that would decide their future happiness. With a sob she pulled the spaniel on to her lap, buried her face in his soft coat and wept.