Page 3 of A Kiss to Stop a Wedding

‘That explains how you recognised Jepps as an army man. Lord Whilton told me he found the man begging on the streets and took pity on him. He sent him here to work in the gardens.’

‘That makes me think better of His Lordship. We see that a great deal more now, since the men came home from Waterloo.’

They walked on in silence, her companion dropping behind whenever the badly tended plants encroached on the path. They had almost reached the hornbeam hedge and the gate into the woods when Flora’s muslin skirts snagged on a stray bramble. She stopped quickly to avoid doing more damage.

‘Here, let me.’

Flora stood quite still as he bent and carefully unhooked the fine cloth from the thorns.

She watched him, admiring the strong hands that could work so delicately.

The thought of his fingers so close to her ankles made her breathe carefully, anticipating his touch on her skin.

She told herself it was fear of tearing her skirts that stopped her from moving, but that did not explain the slight frisson of disappointment she experienced when he had freed her.

With a brisk word of thanks Flora set off again, but now she was painfully aware of the man at her side.

His face and hands were tanned from working in the sun and his lean body strong and supple, despite that slightly uneven step.

She had never been allowed to walk alone with any man save Uncle Farnleigh or her fiancé and she was slightly unnerved as they began to make their way along the shadowy lane through the wood.

‘What happened to your leg?’ she said, to break the silence. ‘How were you wounded?’

‘My luck ran out.’

She did not want to pry and waited patiently, hoping he would go on. He did.

‘Waterloo, and we had Boney on the run. Most of the Frenchies were in retreat, but some were still putting up a fight.’

She shuddered. ‘I cannot imagine what that must be like.’

‘Like being in hell. There is the deafening noise of cannon and rifle fire, thick acrid smoke blotting out the sky and the screams of the dying or wounded.’ He glanced at her. ‘I beg your pardon. You do not need to know that. ’

‘No, I want to understand,’ she told him. ‘Was that when you were injured?’

‘Yes, a sudden flash of pain followed by blessed unconsciousness. I would have died there, if my commanding officer had not come back to look for me. I was taken to the field hospital, where the sawbones did their worst.’

‘But you survived,’ she said.

‘I was luckier than some.’

She saw his lips tighten and he rubbed his damaged thigh.

‘Is that why you left the army, because of your injury?’

‘In part, but I had had enough of soldiering. Too much death.’ He grimaced.

‘It wasn’t so much the battles, facing the enemy fair and square, I could take that.

But I can never forgive those damned spies and informers whose information led to so many being ambushed, cut down without a chance to defend themselves. ’

He was staring straight ahead, his thoughts elsewhere. Somewhere dark.

Flora wanted to pull him back from his morbid thoughts. She said cheerfully, ‘And now you are a gardener.’

The sombre look fled and he laughed. ‘Not quite, I pay a very knowledgeable man to look after the gardens for me, but I am learning. ’

‘Tell me about your pleasure gardens,’ she invited him, wanting to keep his mind on more cheerful matters.

‘I would not bore you with it.’

‘No, I am genuinely interested. When we met, I was actually planning what I shall do with the gardens here at Whilton Hall when I am mistress.’

He chuckled. ‘They are sadly run down, aren’t they?’

‘Yes. Lord Whilton first showed me the gardens two years ago, when we became engaged, and I have wanted to improve them ever since. His priority has been improving the interior of the house.’

‘In readiness for your wedding, no doubt. Have you set a date?’

‘Not yet.’

Flora clasped her hands together, fingers seeking out the diamond ring beneath her thin kid gloves. In the last two years the Viscount had spent most of his time in London, which only added to the mystery of why he should have proposed to her in the first place.

She said, ‘Lord Whilton has been extremely busy.’

Matt was about to remark that the fellow was neglecting his fiancée as well as his gardens, but the blush on her cheek and something in the lady’s manner stopped him.

It’s none of your business, man. She is not your concern .

‘You said you are from Gloucestershire?’ she asked him, clearly trying to steer the conversation in a safer direction.

‘Yes. Very close to Bristol. In fact, Bellemonte has splendid views overlooking the city.’

‘Bellemonte. That is a pretty name. And you have pleasure gardens there?’

‘Not only gardens but bathing pools, too,’ said Matt, warming to his theme. ‘I have also opened a hotel for our visitors, which is proving a success.’

‘That must be gratifying. I should like to see it all, I have never visited such a place.’

‘You have not been to Vauxhall? Too busy dancing at Almack’s, I suppose!’

He was teasing her, but she answered him seriously.

‘No. I have never been to the capital. I cannot recall travelling more than five miles from Whilton since we moved to Birchwood House, when I was ten years old.’

‘Never?’ Matt was surprised at that, but he did not know the woman, perhaps there was a reason.

She laughed. ‘I am afraid you will think me sadly ignorant of the world, sir, although I regularly read my uncle’s journals and news sheets. And I am looking forward to travelling a great deal more, once I am married.’

He thought there was something a little strained about her answer, but the next moment she was waving a hand, dismissing the subject as she said, cheerfully, ‘But we are digressing, Mr Talacre. Tell me about more about Bellemonte, if you please.’

Matt was happy to talk about it. As a gentleman’s son who had clawed his way back from less than nothing, he was proud of Bellemonte’s success.

He had worked hard to restore the gardens to their former glory as well as repairing the pavilion in the grounds, where balls and concerts were held throughout the year.

His companion appeared genuinely interested, asking pertinent questions which encouraged him to continue until they reached the small track leading off the lane, where he stopped.

‘This is where we part, I think,’ he remarked.