Page 35 of A Kiss to Stop a Wedding

‘G ood morning, Flora. Your last as Miss Warenne! Tomorrow you will become Lady Whilton—are you not pleased the day has come?’

Flora smiled dutifully at her uncle’s cheerful greeting as she took her seat at the breakfast table.

It was four weeks since she had last seen Matt Talacre and pleased was not how she would have described her feelings this morning.

Four weeks of pretending to her aunt and uncle that she was not averse to marrying Quentin Gask.

‘I hope you haven’t forgotten we are joining Lord Whilton at the hall for dinner tonight,’ Aunt Farnleigh reminded her.

‘Of course she hasn’t forgotten,’ said Mr Farnleigh a little testily. ‘It was in His Lordship’s letter to me yesterday, informing us that he and Mrs Gask had returned. Do you not recall? I read the whole to you both. ’

‘Oh, yes, of course. Silly me. The older I get the more forgetful I become.’

‘Yes, yes, well, we are both growing older, my dear,’ replied her fond spouse. ‘That is why it is so very comforting to know that our niece’s future is secure.’

Flora kept her eyes on her plate, fighting down her frustration. It was as if they had forgotten that she was being coerced into this marriage, that Quentin had put a servant into their house to spy upon her.

She glanced up, feeling a rush of affection when she saw her uncle reach across to squeeze his wife’s hand.

They were powerless to change the situation.

Was it any wonder they preferred to think it was all for the best?

They would have been distraught if they knew how she really felt about the forthcoming marriage.

* * *

Matt opened his eyes and stared up at the unfamiliar carving on the tester. He had been travelling so much recently that for a few moments he had no idea where he was. But memory soon returned.

Aylesbury. Some fifty miles from Whilton.

That should be an easy day’s journey in the Earl’s travelling carriage, but Matt was anxious to be going.

The greyish light outside his window told him it was close to dawn.

Conham would not thank him for waking him this early.

He must give his friend another hour at least.

He put his hands behind his head and closed his eyes, recalling the look on the Earl’s face when he had arrived at Dallamire just over three weeks ago.

He remembered that night so well, the shared confidences, the love and support he had received from both the Earl and his wife.

It had helped him, knowing that whatever the outcome, he was not alone now.

He dozed for another hour or so then looked at his pocket watch. Seven o’clock. He would wash and dress and if Conham wasn’t up, he would damn well wake him!

He had only fulfilled part of his plan when the Earl knocked and walked in, dressed and eager to be moving.

‘Come along, Talacre, you sluggard. Time to finish this business!’

* * *

Whilton Hall was glowing in the sunlight when the party from Birchwood House arrived.

They were shown into the drawing room where Mrs Gask was waiting to greet them.

Flora thought she looked smaller and more anxious than ever.

She was very conscious of her duties as hostess and bustled around them endlessly.

‘The Viscount has been delayed… Will you not sit down? Oh, but perhaps, Mr Farnleigh, you would like to pour the ladies some refreshment? We do not stand upon ceremony here tonight and you will find the tray on the sideboard. Tomorrow, though, tomorrow is such a big day… ’

She twittered on like an agitated sparrow until the Viscount came in, apologising for not being there to greet them.

‘The new carving for the overmantel has arrived,’ he explained, indicating the servants following him into the room.

They were carrying a large object covered with a cloth, which they proceeded to place on a stand set up in the window embrasure beside the fireplace. The Viscount was more animated than Flora had ever known him, pacing back and forth until the servants had finished, then he waved them away.

‘The arms of Warenne, impaled with those of Gask,’ he said, as the door closed behind the last of the footmen. ‘Come, come and see it for yourselves.’

Obediently, everyone rose and moved closer to the stand. The Viscount whipped away the cover with a flourish, revealing a large oak shield, intricately carved and painted.

‘There!’ he cried, ‘Is that not magnificent? It will be installed in the chimney piece tomorrow, replacing the arms carved for my father.’

He was beaming at them, waiting for a response. Flora heard her uncle clear his throat.

‘It’s very impressive,’ he said. ‘I do not ever recall seeing the Warenne coat of arms before.’ He glanced anxiously at his wife, who shook her head .

‘Neither Father nor my brother Charles had much interest in ancestry,’ she said, uncertainly.

But the Viscount ignored her and was already addressing Flora.

‘Look, do you see? Two lions passant. The arms of William the Conqueror!’

His reverential tone made Flora want to mock him, but she fought down the impulse and said merely, ‘I did not think he was one of my ancestors.’

‘No, no, most likely not,’ he went on, looking intently at his new acquisition. ‘The lions are also the symbol of Normandy; a fitting match for the lion rampant of the Gasks, my dear.’

An awkward silence fell, ending only when the butler came in and Mrs Gask raised her querulous voice to say, ‘Shall we all go in to dinner?’

Flora was grateful for her aunt and uncle’s efforts to make conversation in the dining room.

For her own part, she was glad to be sitting close enough to Mrs Gask to talk to her.

She felt sorry for the poor lady, brought to Whilton whenever Quentin needed a hostess.

She knew the widow had rooms in the Viscount’s house in Ipswich and, from the little conversation they had, she was able to glean that Mrs Gask enjoyed the town far more than the country.

‘I hope you will come to stay with us when we are in London,’ said Flora. ‘We could visit the theatre together. ’

‘London!’ The lady looked startled. ‘Oh, no—you will be making your curtsy at Court.’

‘Yes, but when the Viscount and I visit the capital after that, I should very much like to have your company.’

‘But you will not be going to—that is, I mean, I will gladly join you here at Whilton, if you wish. My cousin intends that you should make your home here.’

‘Of course, but I shall not be here all the time! I must acquaint myself with the Viscount’s other properties and naturally, we will go to London to enjoy the entertainments there.’ She laughed. ‘I am looking forward to visiting the museums and theatres as much as shopping and going to balls.’

Mrs Gask continued to look horrified and Flora’s nerves prickled uneasily. She glanced towards the head of the table, where Quentin was engaged in conversation with her uncle, then turned back to Mrs Gask.

‘Does Quentin plan to keep me prisoner here?’ she asked her, bluntly.

‘A prisoner? Dear me, no.’ The widow’s laugh was unconvincing and she was almost squirming in her chair. ‘How ridiculous, Miss Warenne!’

The widow jumped as the Viscount suddenly rapped on the table. ‘What are you saying to Miss Warenne, Cousin? Pray tell us all.’

‘We were talking of London, my lord,’ said Flora. ‘I have invited Mrs Gask to join us there for a few weeks, to relieve you from the tedium of accompanying me to all the museums and galleries I intend to see.’

She watched him carefully and observed the faint signs of annoyance flicker across his countenance.

‘My dear Flora, there will be plenty of time to make plans once we are wed. Now, I believe my cousin is about to carry you ladies away to the drawing room.’

‘Oh, yes, yes, of course.’ Mrs Gask rose hurriedly. ‘Mrs Farnleigh, Miss Warenne…?’

The ladies followed their hostess to the door, but as Flora passed the Viscount’s chair, he put out his hand and caught her wrist.

‘We will talk about future plans later,’ he said softly. ‘Between ourselves. It is not something to be discussed with my cousin.’

He was smiling, but his eyes were ice-cold. Flora felt again the familiar chill trickle down her spine. She breathed slowly, schooling herself to speak calmly.

‘As you wish, Quentin.’

Satisfied she had understood him, he released her. By the time Flora reached the door the other ladies were already disappearing into the drawing room and as she walked across the hall to join them, she saw a fair-haired figure hovering in the shadow of the staircase.

‘Mrs Goole.’ She stopped and waited.

The housekeeper hesitated, then came closer, hands folded before her .

‘Yes, ma’am? Is there anything you want?’

The light from the windows was sufficient to see that the woman was nervous, but she glared defiantly at Flora, who sighed.

‘Mrs Goole, I don’t think this is what either of us want , but—’

The woman’s hands clenched into fists and she took a step forward until she was only inches from Flora, her face red and blotched from crying.

‘You know nothing!’ she hissed. ‘He promised me I’d be mistress here. Swore he would marry me. Now I’m to be sent off to one of his other houses in the north!’

‘I am very sorry for you—’

‘I don’t want your pity!’ she spat. ‘I just want you gone!’

To Flora’s surprise, the housekeeper threw up her apron, covering her face. Flora watched her using it to wipe her eyes and she sighed, sympathy overriding every other feeling. She reached out and touched the woman’s arm.

‘Believe me,’ she said quietly, ‘I would not be here if I had any other choice.’

And with that she walked on to the drawing room with never a backward glance.