Page 27 of A Kiss to Stop a Wedding

T he sky was heavy and overcast when the Farnleighs’ landau left Birchwood House for the short journey to Whilton Hall.

Inside the carriage Flora sat alone, dressed in her white muslin evening gown with a muslin fichu embroidered with white work around her neck and fastened at the front.

Her hair was piled up and dressed with white rosebuds.

A glance in the mirror as she left her room had reflected her countenance, pale but resolute.

The threatened storm had not broken by the time she reached the Hall, and she ordered the driver to stop at the stables, preferring to walk. To delay her arrival just a little longer.

As she alighted, she saw the groundskeeper, Jepps, limping across the bridge. She was a little surprised when he avoided her eyes and did not respond to her greeting. Whenever they had met in the gardens he always greeted her civilly, and they had often exchanged a few words about the plants .

Perhaps he was uncomfortable outside his usual milieu—or perhaps he had told the Viscount of her first encounter with Matt Talacre in the gardens.

She doubted that, because Quentin was not in the habit of speaking with his servants, other than to issue orders.

Not that it mattered now, she thought as she made her way across the courtyard and prepared herself to meet the Viscount.

The door to the entrance hall was already open and she stepped inside, handing her cloak to the waiting footman.

It was as she followed him across the hall that she noticed Mrs Goole standing to one side, watching her.

The housekeeper turned and walked off almost immediately, but the look in her eyes stayed with Flora and added another unsettling thought to those already in her head.

The Viscount was waiting for her in the drawing room. Candles were already burning to dispel the gloom of the leaden sky outside, but the dark portraits and black, heavy furniture oppressed Flora. Even the gaudy heraldic crests on the elaborately carved overmantel seemed to taunt her now.

‘Welcome, my dear.’ Quentin came forward. He held out one hand, the diamond ring resting in his palm. ‘May I?’

She watched impassively as he slipped the ring back on to her finger, then he kissed her hands, one after the other, before leading her to a chair. It had been placed beside the carved oak armchair that he favoured and was a similar style, only less ornate.

A seat for a consort beside her lord.

The Viscount poured two glasses of wine and carried them across the room.

‘My cousin will join us shortly, but for now we will drink a toast,’ he said, handing her a glass. His eyes rested for a moment on her ring finger, then he raised his own wineglass. ‘To my beautiful bride.’

‘You will excuse me if I do not join you in that toast, just yet.’

He laughed. ‘Still cross with me, my love?’

She had no desire to smile as she asked, bluntly, ‘Is Goole your mistress?’

His good humour vanished. ‘That need not concern you.’

‘I will not share this house with her.’

He shrugged. ‘Very well, it can be arranged. There, will that do?’

She inclined her head. He had not denied it and she had achieved a victory, of sorts.

‘Let us talk of more pleasant matters.’ He sat down in his own chair and stretched out his long legs, entirely at his ease.

‘It is four weeks to the day until our wedding. It will be a quiet affair, of course.’ He glanced at her, as if to say that she now understood the reason.

He went on, ‘Rather than a grand ball beforehand, I thought we might enjoy a quiet family dinner here with my cousin and your aunt and uncle. What do you say?’

Flora murmured her assent. In her present mood she had never felt less like dancing. He reached over and caught her hand.

‘Excellent. I am delighted we are in agreement. I think we shall deal very well together, Flora, my dear!’ He pressed his lips against her fingers, then raised his head, listening to the sounds of footsteps approaching. ‘And this must be our guest.’

‘Guest?’ Flora quickly snatched her hand away and sat up. ‘I thought we were dining alone—’

‘Mr Talacre, my lord!’

* * *

After the heavy grey rainclouds and even darker entrance hall, Matt blinked in the candlelight of the medieval drawing room.

He walked forward, preparing to make his bow, then he saw Flora and stopped.

She was sitting in a chair next to the Viscount and her shocked face told Matt she had not expected to see him.

At that moment came a flash, quickly followed by a crash of thunder that seemed to rock the very foundations of the house.

The Viscount rose, laughing.

‘Well, well, that is quite an entrance, Talacre. And just in time,’ he said, as the torrential rain beat against the windows. ‘Pray sit down, sir. As you can see, my fiancée has honoured us with her presence. I hope you do not object?’

‘Not at all, my lord.’

Matt gave a small bow and sat down on a settee opposite his host. He had no idea what was going on here, but he would play along. For now.

Flora had not been home when he had called at Birchwood House that morning.

The Farnleighs had not said where she had gone, but part of him had wondered, hoped, that she had gone to Whilton Hall to break off her engagement.

Obviously, that had not happened, but it was equally clear to Matt that she was unhappy.

The Viscount returned to his high-backed chair and kept up a flow of desultory small talk until his timid little cousin bustled in, breathlessly apologising for being late.

A soft-footed servant followed her into the room and served Matt and Mrs Gask with glasses of wine.

The Viscount indicated that his glass should also be refilled, but Matt noticed that Flora had barely touched hers.

When dinner was announced, Lord Whilton rose and held out his hand to Flora.

‘Come, my love, let us lead the way to the dining room.’ He had to raise his voice slightly over the sound of the rain, hammering against the glass.

‘I am sure Mr Talacre will be happy to escort my cousin, is that not so, sir? My fiancée and I have had so little time together recently, I cannot get enough of her.’

Matt’s jaw tightened. The Viscount kissed Flora before pulling her hand on to his arm. She looked pale and strained, as if she was not enjoying his attentions. Could it be the Viscount suspected she was not indifferent to his guest? Damn the man for taunting them both like this!

Matt gave his arm to Mrs Gask. He had no idea how much Whilton knew about his meetings with Flora, but he was determined not to betray himself. Or Flora. Matt felt the anger swell within him. Whilton was a scoundrel to make her so unhappy.

* * *

The dinner was a tense affair, with thunder rumbling around the house, and rain still pattering against the windows.

Only the Viscount appeared to be at ease.

Matt and the two ladies did their best to join in the conversation, but there was a palpable sense of relief when at last the meal was over.

Whilton made a show of escorting the ladies to the door and kissing Flora before she left the room.

When the two men were alone, Matt resumed his seat and waited for the Viscount to speak.

‘What a pleasant evening this has been,’ he drawled, indicating to the servant to refill their wineglasses. ‘I hope you are enjoying it, Mr Talacre?’

‘How could I not?’ Matt replied. He waited until the servants had withdrawn and they were alone before continuing. ‘However, I did not come for a sociable evening, my lord. You promised me a decision.’

‘Such haste!’ The Viscount looked pained. ‘My dear sir, surely we should discuss the matter first.’

‘There is nothing to discuss. You have seen my letter and the evidence. It is quite clear cut. You have only to agree and I will reimburse you for what you paid and arrange for the statue to be removed.’

The Viscount listened with a faint, supercilious smile on his face.

‘And yet,’ he purred, turning his wineglass between his hands, ‘and yet, Mr Talacre, I am minded to refuse.’

‘You would prefer a long and costly legal case?’

The Viscount sneered. ‘You see, I do not think you could bear the expense.’

‘I believe I can.’ For a long moment they eyed one another across the table. ‘Is that your final word on the matter, Lord Whilton?’

‘I believe it is.’

‘Very well.’ Matt rose. ‘I shall take my leave.’

‘Oh?’ The Viscount sat up. ‘What, sir, will you not stay and take brandy with me?’

‘I will not.’

‘But the ladies are waiting for us to join them.’

‘Then pray give them my apologies. Goodbye, my lord. My lawyers will be in touch.’

Matt left the room, cursing himself for a fool.

This matter could have been settled weeks ago if he had not given Whilton the benefit of the doubt.

He knew his hesitation was in part down to Flora Warenne.

He paused in the hall, glancing towards the thin strip of light shining at the top and bottom of the drawing room door. He had thought…

No! He almost snatched his greatcoat from the servant waiting at the door and shrugged himself into it. Flora was going to marry Lord Whilton. Time to put her out of his head. Completely.

He picked up his hat and gloves and headed out into the courtyard. At least the rain had ceased and the sky was clearing: he should make the journey back to the Red Lion before it was completely dark.

* * *

In the drawing room, Mrs Gask was sitting quietly on a settee with her embroidery while Flora paced back and forth, unable to settle.

Through the latticed windows small patches of moonlight lightened the sky.

The storm had passed. She heard the thud of the outer door and quickly went out to the entrance hall, where she addressed a servant sitting by the small window.

‘Has someone gone out?’

‘Why, yes, ma’am. Mr Talacre.’

Flora paused only long enough to order her carriage before turning on her heel and hurrying back to the dining room. She entered without ceremony and saw the Viscount lounging back in his chair, a glass of brandy in his hand.

‘Why did you invite him, Quentin?’

‘Invite whom, my dear?’

‘Mr Talacre.’

‘It amused me.’ He turned his head and gave her a malicious smile. ‘I thought it would amuse you, too. The man has developed a tendre for you.’

Flora was too angry to blush. ‘If that is the case, then it was unkind to taunt him.’

‘The man is an upstart. He deserved to be cut down a little. I wanted to show him he could not have you. Or that wretched stone figure. It was the knowledge that I will not part with the statue that caused him to leave so abruptly, you know. I hope you aren’t heartbroken; I know you have quite a liking for the man.

In fact,’ he said, rising from the table, ‘I think you might be more than a little in love with him.’

He was smiling and she stared at him, repelled by the cruel streak that made him revel in the misfortunes of others.

‘You know I do not love you, Quentin. I cannot understand why you should still want to marry me.’

He put a finger beneath her chin, obliging her to look up.

‘Because, my dear, our children will be beautiful. More importantly, they will carry our blood in their veins. Your ancestors came over with the Conqueror and mine can be traced back to Gascony. We will be uniting two ancient, noble families.’

With a shudder Flora turned and walked over to the window. She stared out into the dusk while the Viscount continued.

‘You also have many qualities that will make you an excellent consort, my dear. As well as your breeding, you have all the accomplishments required of a viscountess. And you are exceedingly desirable.’ She had not heard him approach, but when he spoke again, his breath was on her neck.

‘Why not let me take you to bed now, Flora?’ he murmured, his hands on her shoulders.

‘It is only a few weeks until the wedding, we do not need to wait…’

He gently moved aside the fichu and she felt his lips on her skin. Quickly she twisted away from him.

‘Don’t touch me!’

His lip curled. ‘You forget, madam, I have the power to ruin you.’

‘I forget nothing,’ she retorted. ‘I have promised to marry you and I shall come to your bed on our wedding night, not before.’

She held his gaze, angry and defiant. At length he shrugged.

‘As you wish. I can wait a little longer for you.’

‘Very well.’ She maintained her haughty tone. ‘Then I shall bid you goodnight. I have already ordered the landau; it should be waiting by the time I reach the stables.’

He frowned, but made no attempt to argue. ‘Then allow me to escort you.’

She nodded. Not by the flutter of an eyelash would she show how relieved she was to be leaving. She collected her cloak and maintained a frosty silence as the Viscount walked with her, out through the gatehouse and across the bridge. Her carriage was waiting and he handed her in.

‘You will go home directly, Flora,’ he ordered, as she sat down and arranged her skirts.

‘Where else would I go?’

She snarled out the words, but her anger only amused him. With a laugh he shut the door and stepped back as the carriage pulled away.