Page 28 of A Kiss to Stop a Wedding

F lora leaned back against the squabs and closed her eyes.

The niggling doubts about the Viscount had gone.

He was arrogant and cruel. He had brought her and Matt together out of malice, enjoying their discomfiture.

She remembered the look in Matt’s eyes when he saw her sitting beside the Viscount.

Shock, but dismay, too. The attraction between them had not been her imagination.

There was no hope that they could even be friends, but she wanted to see him, to tell him why she was marrying the Viscount.

Tomorrow might be too late. Now Quentin had decided not to sell the statue Matt would want to see his lawyers as soon as possible.

If she was going to talk to him it must be now. Tonight.

Flora opened her eyes and looked out. The heavy clouds had moved off and in the west the clear sky was a fiery orange from the setting sun.

It was early enough. Her aunt and uncle would not expect her to return yet.

As the carriage slowed to pass out through the gates of Whilton Hall she quickly issued new orders to the coachman.

He was not to take the road to Birchwood, but carry on to Whilton. And he must hurry.

Having let down the window, Flora left it open.

She wanted to breathe in the fresh air as they rattled at pace between the flower-filled hedgerows.

It calmed her and helped to curb her impatience.

It was a good three miles to the town, the road following a circuitous route through farmland.

Ahead, she could see the small wood that marked the halfway point in her journey. Not long now.

The carriage rattled on and soon they were plunged into shadow as the road carved its way through the wood.

It was more sheltered here, the trees were still dripping from the recent rains and the air coming through the window was redolent with damp earth and leaf mould.

Something just off the road caught Flora’s eye.

Staring into the shadows she saw a black and white shape. A horse, standing among the trees.

‘Stop, stop!’

The coachman pulled up at her sharp cry. Flora opened the door and jumped out, not waiting for the steps to be let down.

‘That is Mr Talacre’s horse.’ She looked around, eyes searching the gloom. ‘If Magpie is here, where is her rider?’

The coachman looked about him and pointed with his whip .

‘Over there. No, you stay here, ma’am, let Amos go!’

Flora paid no heed. Before the footman had even climbed down, she was running towards the figure lying half hidden in the ferns at the edge of the trees. It was Matt, face down on the ground and lying so still that her heart stopped.

Steeling herself for the worst, she tore off her gloves and put two fingers on his neck, as she had seen her doctor do when checking for a pulse.

‘Is…is he dead, miss?’ asked Amos, running up.

She shook her head. There was no doubt; she could feel the steady beat against her fingers. The dripping trees has soaked his greatcoat, but there was an ominous, darker stain on the sleeve and she feared what else they might find if they moved him.

‘He is unconscious,’ she said, trying to speak calmly.

‘Looks like he’s taken a shot through the arm,’ observed Amos, standing over her.

‘Yes. It will be easier if we remove his coats before we turn him.’

She worked the heavy coat off his shoulders and eased the sleeve down his injured arm, then did the same with his evening coat, exposing a billowing shirtsleeve, soaked with blood.

She saw a small hole in the material and, biting her lip to steady her nerves, she used her fingers to tear it wider, revealing the bullet wound beneath .

Flora dragged the fichu from her neck to make a pad against the wound.

‘Amos, give me your neckcloth. We must bind up his arm.’

As soon as the makeshift bandage was secure, she asked Amos to help her turn the unconscious man.

Together they carefully shifted Matt on to his back, his coat and greatcoat beneath him.

Blinking away a tear, Flora gently removed the leafy debris that was stuck to his face.

There was a bruise blooming on his temple where his head had fallen upon a protruding stone, but a careful examination of his clothes show no other signs of blood.

A shift in the wind direction sent a chill breeze along the road and Flora shivered.

‘His clothes are wet; he will be growing chilled out here. We must get him into the carriage and take him to Whilton. But carefully, we do not know if he has any internal injuries.’ She looked around. ‘Ask John Coachman to come and help us.’

The footman hurried off and she looked doubtfully at Matt’s large, solid frame. Even with three of them, how would they ever manage to carry him safely to the coach?

A movement in the shadows caught her eye and she looked up.

‘Jepps! Whatever are you—no! Don’t you dare run away!’ she charged him, in her sternest voice. ‘Come here.’

The man approached slowly, his face haggard. Flora stared at the rifle he was carrying in one hand.

‘You… you did this?’ she demanded, horrified.

‘I didn’t want to,’ he muttered, his voice breaking. ‘His Lordship ordered me. I told him I couldn’t, but he said he’d have me whipped and turned off if I didn’t do as he said.’

Matt was stirring. Commanding Jepps not to go away, Flora looked down at him.

‘Don’t move,’ she said. ‘You have been shot.’

‘Aye, the villain winged me. The devil of it is I came off Magpie.’

‘The mare is still here,’ she assured him. ‘Keep still now, you have lost a lot of blood.’

‘Nothing a good night’s rest won’t cure.’ He tried to sit up and fell back, his face twisted in pain. ‘Confound it! I fell on my bad leg,’ he gasped. ‘Can’t get up.’

She placed one hand against his chest. ‘Then do not try. We will carry you.’

Matt was not listening. His attention had switched to the groundskeeper.

‘Jepps, isn’t it?’ The man nodded silently and Matt’s eyes fell to the rifle. ‘Was it you who shot me?’

‘Lord Whilton ordered him to do it,’ said Flora.

‘The devil he did!’ exclaimed the coachman, who had come up with Amos .

Matt kept his eyes on Jepps. ‘Then why the deuce are you still here?’ he demanded.

‘Miss Warenne told me to stay.’

‘Aye, and we’d’ve caught ’im soon enough if he’d run off,’ muttered the footman, taking the rifle away from Jepps.

‘We need him to help get you into the carriage,’ she explained.

‘As simple as that!’

Matt’s laugh ended in a grunt of agony and Flora said, quickly, ‘Hush now, we need to move you.’

Between the four of them they carried Matt to the coach without mishap, but lifting him inside required some manoeuvring.

At last he was lying on the bench seat and Flora gently placed his injured arm across his chest. She thought he had lost consciousness again, but just as she was spreading his evening coat over him, he spoke.

‘Where’s Jepps?’

‘Here, sir,’ said a voice from the dusk.

‘Step closer, man.’

Flora sat down opposite Matt in the carriage as Jepps appeared in the doorway.

‘I am that sorry, Mr Talacre, sir,’ he said, white-faced and almost shaking with terror.

‘His Lordship brought the rifle this morning and told me I was to waylay you in the woods. But it’s been almost ten years since I fired at anything but a gamebird!

As soon as I put my eye to the sights I knew I couldn’t do it.

’Tis a very different thing to shoot one of your own rather than a Frenchie in battle.

And in cold blood, too! But I was shaking so much and my finger caught the trigger—’

‘Aye, well, I suppose I should be thankful you weren’t actually aiming for me! Don’t worry, I am not going to press charges.’

‘You—you ain’t going to have me arrested?’

‘No. But I don’t think you should go back to Whilton Hall.’

‘No, sir, I was thinking that myself.’ Jepps swallowed. ‘Once His Lordship knows I failed he’ll be mad as fire.’

‘Aye, he will. I think it would be best for you to disappear.’

‘Run away, you mean?’ The man looked even more frightened.

‘No, I don’t, but I want Whilton to think that’s what you have done. You will come with me tonight and in the morning I will send you off to Bellemonte with a note for Cripps, my manager. He will set you on in the gardens.’

Flora had been listening silently from the shadows, but now she gasped. ‘Is that wise?’

‘Whilton is unlikely to think I have employed the man who shot me. ’

‘No, but how are you going to explain his presence at the Red Lion?’

‘I’m not going back to the Red Lion.’

She was just about to demand what he meant when Amos appeared behind Jepps.

‘I’ve fetched the mare and secured her to the carriage, Miss Warenne. We’re ready to set off now.’

‘Tell me,’ Matt asked the footman, before she could answer, ‘is there somewhere on the Banbury Road I can put up for the night? Somewhere you and your master are not known?’

Amos scratched his head and declared that was a question for John Coachman.

‘Then ask him, if you please,’ said Matt. ‘Take Jepps with you and find him a seat on the box. He is coming with me.’

‘What is your plan?’ said Flora, when the others had gone. ‘Do you think the Viscount might come looking for you?’

‘It’s possible, if he thinks his plan has failed. More to the point I don’t want you mixed up in this. If your carriage is seen in Whilton town at this time of night, there will be the devil to pay.’

Flora was about to say she did not care a jot, but at that moment Amos returned.

‘There’s a posting inn not too far from here, sir. The King’s Head. John knows of it, but he’s never had occasion to stop there. Jepps says he ain’t known there either. He hasn’t been further than Whilton since he arrived in Warwickshire.’

‘Excellent,’ said Matt. ‘Tell John to drive there now, if you will.’

‘But as steadily as he can!’ added Flora.

‘Don’t fuss, woman,’ Matt muttered as the carriage pulled away. ‘I have had much worse than this.’

Flora strained her eyes against the darkness but it was impossible to see his face clearly. She heard him drag in a breath and slid to her knees on the floor beside him.

‘Are you in pain?’ she asked softly.

‘My arm hurts like the devil, but that’s to be expected.’

‘And your leg, is that troubling you?’ She looked at his knees, which were bent up to fit him on the bench seat.

‘It’s not so bad. I shall be better once I can stretch out in a bed.’

She looked out of the window as the coach slowed a little.

‘We are turning off on to the road towards Banbury. It is the mail coach route, so the going should be a little smoother.’

‘With you beside me, I feel nothing.’

She chuckled, encouraged by his teasing.

‘You are clearly delirious, sir!’

‘Not so confused as to think you were on your way to Birchwood House when you came upon me,’ he retorted. ‘Where were you going?’

She flushed a little. ‘To Whilton, to find you. I was so incensed at Quentin’s behaviour that I wanted to apologise.’

‘You have no need to apologise for the Viscount.’

‘But I do. Quentin tricked us both this evening. He behaved despicably. And then, to order Jepps to shoot you—I can never forgive him for that.’

‘Then why the devil are you marrying him?’ he demanded.

‘I must.’

‘But you don’t love him. You could not love such a man!’

‘No.’ There. She had admitted it, but could she tell him the rest of the sorry tale? She heard him sigh.

‘If you must sit on the floor, rest against me. This side of my body is unhurt.’

Flora, too tired to argue, relaxed against him. He was such a kind man. Honourable, too. That was what made it so hard to tell him the truth about her family. He might not hate her, but it was inconceivable that he would be able to forgive her mother’s traitorous actions.

‘Tell me.’ He reached out and put his good arm about her. ‘Tell me why you must marry him.’

She hesitated a moment longer, then, sitting in the darkness on the floor of the rocking carriage, she told him all she had learned that day.

‘So, you see,’ she ended, ‘if I do not marry Quentin, he will make sure my mother’s treachery is made public, and my father’s, in carrying her out of the country.

It would destroy the Farnleighs. They brought me to Whilton sixteen years ago and have made their home here.

They would have to leave the town, their friends, the life they have made for themselves. ’

‘But they must bear some of the blame,’ he said angrily. ‘They concealed the truth from you. They kept you here, virtually a prisoner, in this little town.’

‘The Farnleighs love me, they only wanted my happiness. They did what they thought was best.’

‘Benevolent gaolers.’ His arm tightened around her shoulders. ‘You should have had so much more, Flora! A London Season, a chance to meet a man who was worthy of you.’

‘No, no, that would never have happened. If I had known the truth, I should have had to divulge it to a suitor and who would want such a wife? Uncle Farnleigh admitted he had merely hinted at my past to at least two of my admirers and they withdrew at once, despite the fact that I am not a pauper.’

‘Then they were fools not to see your true character!’

Flora sighed. If the matter could be kept a secret, if it was shared only with her immediate family, then perhaps there might be a chance of happiness.

But she knew if she did not marry Quentin he would divulge her past to the wider world and there would always be whispers, slights.

Society would not readily forgive her for the sins of her parents.

She said, ‘If I refuse, Lord Whilton will destroy everyone I love. He has already tried to destroy you, merely to prevent you recovering your statue. By the bye, I know it is genuine. I saw the marks on Aphrodite when I was at Bellemonte and when I went back to Whilton Hall I compared them. They are an exact match.’

‘Yes, I know. My lawyers shall fight that battle and win it.’

His voice was fading. She said, penitently, ‘I beg your pardon, you should be resting.’

‘No, I am glad you have told me.’

She leaned her head against him. ‘I am so sorry this happened to you, Matt.’

‘Hush now, I have been in worse fixes than this. But no more for now.’

No more, ever.

Flora closed her eyes against the tears that threatened.

She had no future with Matt Talacre. If she jilted the Viscount, he would tell the world she was the daughter of a French spy.

She knew Quentin’s spiteful nature; he would also go out of his way to make sure Matt’s patrons knew her history.

It would ruin him and, even if he didn’t hate her for it, Flora would hate herself for destroying everything he had worked so hard to build.