Page 37 of A Kiss to Stop a Wedding

A t the servant’s unexpected announcement Flora’s eyes flew open, but still she could not believe what she was seeing.

Matt was here, in the room, with a tall stranger at his shoulder.

As if fearing his master’s wrath, the footman had quickly retired and shut the door.

She felt a surge of elation. Matt met her eyes and they shared a look and a quick smile before his gaze moved on, sweeping over the rest of the company.

The Viscount was on his feet, glaring at the two new visitors.

‘What the devil is the meaning of this?’ he demanded.

Matt bowed with exaggerated politeness. ‘I beg your pardon—are we de trop?’

Flora tried to rise, but Quentin put a hand on her shoulder, keeping her in her seat.

‘You are interrupting a private dinner,’ he said coldly. ‘I ask you to leave, before I have you thrown out.’

‘Oh, I don’t think that would be wise, Lord Whilton,’ said the stranger. ‘Not before you have heard what we have to say. But where are my manners?’ He pulled the hat off his auburn hair and bowed. ‘The Earl of Dallamire, at your service!’

So, this was Matt’s friend and patron of Bellemonte, thought Flora, momentarily distracted from the immediate drama. Quentin’s next outburst brought her back to the present.

‘I don’t care who you are,’ he raged. ‘I gave orders that I was not to be interrupted tonight. You have no right to enter my house by force!’

‘Oh, we didn’t, we were invited,’ replied Matt, stripping off his gloves. ‘By your housekeeper.’

Flora was surprised to hear that and she glanced up at Quentin. He was looking stunned, but recovered quickly and said, coldly, ‘Very well, you had best tell me why you are here.’

‘A little matter has come to our attention that we wish to discuss with you,’ the Earl replied. ‘Concerning your military career.’

‘My what?’

‘The Light Dragoons, I believe,’ said Matt. ‘You were a captain.’

Flora blinked. She was at a loss to know where all this was leading, but she did notice how the Viscount’s manner changed. The bristling animosity had disappeared and he was at his most urbane when he responded .

‘Indeed? Very well, we can discuss this after my guests have left. I was about to send for their carriage.’

‘No, I think they should hear it.’ Matt stepped quickly between Quentin and the bell pull.

Tension crackled in the room as the two men faced each other. The Farnleighs had been silent thus far, Flora’s uncle standing behind his wife’s chair. Now he took a step forward, looking uncomfortable.

‘Yes, yes, we should be going, we would be very much in the way—’

‘No, sir, you should stay,’ Matt told him. ‘You will be interested in what we have to say. After all, tomorrow you will be related by marriage to Lord Whilton, will you not?’

‘They should go,’ snapped the Viscount. ‘Their presence is not necessary.’

Flora rose to her feet. Quentin was rattled and she was determined to know why.

‘Oh, but I should like to hear it,’ she declared.

The Viscount turned to frown at her. ‘Sit down, madam. This does not concern you.’

She ignored him and walked over to the side table, where the wines and decanters from earlier in the evening were still laid out. Strangely, she was no longer afraid of offending her fiancé.

She said, ‘Uncle, do sit down and I will bring you another glass of wine. And more ratafia, for you, Aunt? ’

‘It is very foolish of you to disobey me, my dear,’ drawled the Viscount.

His icy tone had no effect on Flora. She merely smiled at him before addressing the Earl.

‘May I pour you a glass of wine, my lord? I believe the claret is very good.’

Lord Dallamire’s nod and smile was all the encouragement she needed to continue.

‘Flora!’

Quentin’s voice cracked like a whip and she turned to face him.

‘My dear Quentin, your cousin Almeria is quite overcome.’ She paused to glance at Mrs Gask. The widow was cowering in her chair with a handkerchief pressed to her lips. ‘As your fiancée, it behoves me to step in and play hostess.’

She smiled, completely unmoved by his scowl, or the way his hands were clenching and unclenching at his sides. He no longer had any power over her. She did not know quite what the outcome of this night would be, but it would not result in their marriage and for now, that was quite enough.

Mrs Gask rose to her feet.

‘I am feeling quite unwell,’ she said, dragging her handkerchief between her nervous fingers. ‘If you will excuse me, I think I shall retire.’

‘A very good idea,’ said Flora, accompanying her to the door. ‘Go and rest, I will look after our guests. ’

Ignoring the muttered curses from her fiancé, Flora shut the door upon the hapless widow and went back to the side table to continue pouring out the wine.

The Earl thanked Flora as she handed him his glass, but Matt took his with barely a word.

He did not even look at her and for a moment she was overcome with doubt.

When he and Lord Dallamire had first entered the room Flora thought they had come to rescue her, but after that first look, Matt had given no sign, as though she was no more than a brief acquaintance.

Could she have imagined it? Perhaps she was mistaken and she was only a secondary consideration in his plans.

She refused to dwell on the idea and concentrated on playing hostess. She poured two glasses of wine, one each for herself and the Viscount, and carried his across to him, careful to keep at arm’s length in case his barely contained anger should spill over.

‘Now, I think you may begin, Mr Talacre,’ she said, sitting down on an empty chair.

* * *

Matt inclined his head, unsmiling. He was filled with admiration for Flora. She was so calm, so assured, but he dared not show it. He could not risk Whilton suspecting there was anything between them.

‘Very well.’ Lord Whilton walked over to his usual highbacked chair and sat down. ‘It seems—for now—I must acquiesce to my fiancée’s wishes. Say what you have to say, Mr Talacre, and let us be done with this charade.’

He sat back and crossed one elegantly clad leg over the other, a sneer marring his handsome features.

Matt went over to join Conham in front of the elaborate chimneypiece, where they had sight of everyone in the room.

He did not trust himself to look at Flora again.

He knew she had read the message in his eyes when he walked in and she trusted him now to rescue her.

He only hoped he would not let her down.

He said, ‘It is not a charade we have for you but a story, my lord, a true tale.’

‘An unedifying one, I am sorry to say,’ added Conham.

‘We start in the autumn of ’08, when General Sir John Moore took command of the British forces in Portugal, with thirty thousand men and the intention of marching into Spain and supporting their army in the fight against Napoleon.

I will not bore you with detail, but after an initial victory at Sahagún, the British found themselves deep into Spanish territory with little hope of support from the Spanish.

Napoleon already controlled Madrid and his army vastly outnumbered the British.

‘Moore had only one option, to escape or risk the British army being totally annihilated. Thus began one of the most hazardous episodes of the Peninsular War, the retreat to Corunna. It was a time when the army needed all its officers to maintain order and help the men through the ordeal. With increasingly bad weather and the French close behind, discipline in some of the British ranks began to break down. Spanish villages were looted and many of the soldiers became so drunk on stolen wine that they were left behind, to be killed by the weather or the French.’

‘And those who made it to Corunna found no ships waiting to carry them safely back to England,’ added Matt. ‘They had to wait and fight to secure the bay long enough for the ships to come in and evacuate them.’

He paused, recalling those the dark days, the exhausted troops, those too sick to embark being left behind. Even now the thought of it turned his stomach.

‘But this all happened nearly ten years ago,’ spluttered Farnleigh. ‘What possible bearing can it have on us?’

‘The fact that your host was a captain with the cavalry at the time,’ replied Conham. ‘It was assumed he had been killed or captured by the French after one of the many skirmishes, but the truth was that he deserted his post. Left his men to their fate and saved himself.’

‘Now there, my lord, you are mistaken,’ drawled the Viscount. ‘I lost my memory, after being attacked and left for dead. I explained it all at Horse Guards when I returned.’

‘Yes, you did.’ Lord Dallamire nodded .

Flora’s heart sank when she saw the look of triumph on Quentin’s face. He sat up straighter in his chair.

‘If that is all, gentleman, then you can take your leave,’ he said imperiously. ‘My guests have endured enough of your nonsense. Your scurrilous attempts to discredit me. Perhaps my fiancée would be good enough to ring the bell.’

There was no mistaking the menace in his tone now.

Flora’s rebellious spirit wavered and she glanced at Matt, but he was not looking at her.

Unlike her aunt and uncle. Their whole attention was upon her, knowing their future happiness depended upon what she did next.

Her blood ran cold. Had she gone too far, or would Quentin still honour their bargain if she obeyed him now?

‘I am waiting, my dear,’ purred the Viscount. ‘Or shall we have more revelations?’

‘Oh, we shall have more, Whilton,’ barked Lord Dallamire. ‘We haven’t finished your story yet.’

Quentin swore. ‘I was exonerated of all blame! It is all in the records.’ He jumped up and stalked across to the door. ‘Now get out of my house!’

‘But the records aren’t true, are they, Whilton?’ Matt’s voice cracked like a rifle shot across the room, stopping the Viscount even as he reached for the door handle. ‘They only have your word for it. Others tell a different tale. ’