Page 4 of A Kiss to Stop a Wedding

F lora was surprised to see they had reached the point where she had joined the lane to Whilton Hall. She was even more surprised when she heard the words that came, unchecked, out of her mouth.

‘It is as quick for me to continue this way,’ she explained, shocked at her brazen behaviour, ‘I shall walk with you back to the road. That is, if you do not object,’

‘Not at all,’ he replied. ‘Let us walk on.’

Flora accompanied him, feeling more than a little dazed.

She had only encouraged the man to talk about his gardens as a way to avoid any awkwardness, but she had soon become intrigued by his plans for Bellemonte.

His anecdotes of the restoration and his early errors were relayed with a dry humour that made her laugh, but she had fully intended to bid him a polite farewell when they reached the gate.

Instead, she had elected to walk on with him. He must think her very forward!

‘Then you are wise to take this route,’ he said, as if reading her mind. ‘The sun will be setting soon and you will wish to be home before dark.’

‘Yes.’

‘And where is home?’

It was an innocent enough question, but he would not be asking it if she had not shown herself foolishly eager for his company. Flora knew she must show more restraint.

‘Birchwood House. I live there with my aunt and uncle. Mr and Mrs Farnleigh.’

‘And your parents?’

‘My mother and father are both dead.’

‘Oh, I am sorry.’

She thought him sincere and went on, ‘It was sixteen years ago, a carriage accident. They were on their way to France, during the Treaty of Amiens, when their carriage overturned.’

‘You were not with them?’

‘No, they had left me with Mr and Mrs Farnleigh. Thankfully, my aunt and uncle were happy to offer me a permanent home after the accident. I am very fortunate; they treat me like their own daughter.’

‘Warenne,’ he said slowly. ‘Is that a French name?’

‘No. At least, not for centuries. My father was English and my mother Irish.’ She glanced at him. ‘Did the war give you a dislike of the French?’

‘Only those who tried to kill me. Or the one who stole my life’s savings. Only that happened to be a woman.’

‘A woman!’

‘Yes.’ He shrugged. ‘I should have known better. It was in the Peninsula, the widow of a French captain. I found her defending herself from our Spanish allies and I took her under my protection. Damned fool that I was.’

He fell silent, abstracted, as if he had forgotten her.

‘Will you tell me what happened?’ Flora blushed. ‘I beg your pardon, that was very forward of me.’

He hesitated and she went on, ‘I am no ingenue, sir. At six-and-twenty I think I have learned something of what goes on in the world.’

‘I was about your age when I met her, but it didn’t make me any wiser.

She was very grateful, or so I thought. I asked her to marry me, she agreed and the next town we came to I bought her a ring.

Then I gave her my purse to buy herself some new clothes and a few luxuries for our lodgings. That was the last I saw of her.’

‘She ran away?’ Flora’s anger made her fingers curl into claws.

‘Aye, but that wasn’t the worst of it. She found her way back to a French regiment and passed on everything she knew about my regiment, our troop numbers, position and the route we were taking.

They took us by surprise a few days later.

Two dozen good men killed because I was fool enough to trust a treacherous woman. ’

‘I am so very sorry. Not only for the loss of those men, but for your pain. You cared for her.’

He shrugged. ‘Good thing, really. It reminded me that I am not the marrying sort.’

‘Not even for love?’

He laughed. ‘Definitely not for love!’

‘And you never saw her again?’

‘I did, just once. Years later, when I was in Paris with the Army of Occupation. She was by then married to a French diplomat in the court of the restored Bourbon King.’ He grinned. ‘She had done very well for herself and, naturally, I had to congratulate her!’

‘Naturally.’

She answered in the same light manner, but despite his laughter, she knew instinctively that this woman had hurt him badly.

They walked on together, the birds singing in the trees and Scamp running back and forth easing away the tension and restoring the companionable silence between them.

When they were approaching the end of the lane, Flora spotted a large black and white horse, tethered to a tree, just out of sight of the road.

‘That must be your mare,’ she remarked.

‘Yes. Magpie. I am very pleased to see she is still here. ’

‘No one in Whilton is likely to steal her, Mr Talacre, particularly since she is such a…distinctive creature.’

‘Aye.’ He rubbed the mare’s bony nose. ‘Ugly beast, but she suits me very well.’

Flora looked at Magpie, taking in her flowing mane and huge feathered feet.

‘I don’t think she is ugly at all.’ She laughed as the horse gently butted his master. ‘And she is clearly devoted to you!’

‘And so she should be, I rescued her from a cruel master. She has a good life now.’

He grinned at Flora, who found herself smiling back. She was shocked at how easily they had slipped into an easy camaraderie.

She said primly, ‘Goodbye, sir, and thank you for your escort.’

‘Will you not let me accompany you to Birchwood House?’

‘No, thank you. It is but a step from here and Whilton lies in the other direction.’

‘Very well, but let us say au revoir, not goodbye. I may well see you in Whilton.’

Flora shook her head. ‘The Viscount is not expected to return to the Hall for another two weeks at least. You will hardly be wanting to kick your heels here for all that time.’

‘Oh, I don’t know,’ he murmured, his dark eyes glinting. ‘I could be persuaded to stay. ’

Her cheeks on fire, Flora quickly turned and walked away. Matt Talacre was an unconscionable rogue, trying to flirt with her when he knew she was betrothed!

Whatever his business with Quentin, she hoped it was settled quickly, so she would not be obliged to see the man again.

* * *

Matt smiled as he watched Flora Warenne hurry off, then he scrambled up into the saddle and rode back to the Whilton Arms. It had been an amusing encounter, but teasing Lord Whilton’s fiancée was probably not the best way to enlist her help.

With hindsight, he should have asked her more about the Viscount, what sort of man he was.

Instead, he had been far too busy enjoying the company of a pretty woman.

‘That’s your problem, man,’ he berated himself aloud. ‘For the past few years it has been all work and no play. You have been giving far too much time and attention to Bellemonte.’

Well, perhaps he could mix business with a little holiday. He had planned to be away from Gloucestershire for a full week, so he would remain here and enjoy the local society. They might be able to give him some insight into the owner of Whilton Hall.

He had no wish to enter into a protracted legal battle to regain the statue. That could seriously dent Bellemonte’s finances. He hoped the matter might be settled amicably, if he approached Lord Whilton in the right way.

* * *

Flora made no mention of her meeting with Mr Matt Talacre to her aunt and uncle.

They were always so careful of her reputation that they would have been shocked to learn she had encountered a strange man in the Viscount’s garden.

And they would have been aghast if they knew she had walked back with him through the woods, with only Scamp for a chaperon.

She had lived in Whilton since she was a girl and had never seen the need for an escort, even though her aunt and uncle insisted it was necessary.

She took her maid or a footman whenever she walked in the town, knowing word was sure to reach Birchwood House if she did not, but she often slipped away to enjoy a solitary walk within the grounds of Whilton Hall, where she never met anyone, save the odd servant or gardener.

* * *

Flora did not to join her aunt on a visit to Whilton the next morning, just in case Mr Talacre had not yet left the town, but for the rest of the day she could not settle to anything.

She remembered his final words and the look that had brought a blush to her cheeks: she would not put it past the rogue to come to the house before setting off for Gloucester.

However, the day passed uneventfully, and it wasn’t until Flora went to bed that she realised how disappointed she was he had not called.

* * *

Matt’s casual enquiries in the taproom that first evening turned up little of interest, but fortune favoured him the next day when he ventured out into the town and met Sir Roger Condicote, an old acquaintance.

They had met when Matt was in Paris, as aide-de-camp to the Earl of Dallamire, and their meeting again resulted in an invitation to join Sir Roger for a day’s fishing on Friday.

* * *

Matt’s cautious enquiries of the gentlemen in the fishing party elicited the information that Lord Whilton considered himself far superior to his neighbours.

‘Breeding is everything to the fellow,’ said one. ‘He is obsessed with his ancestry.’

‘Aye.’ another said, laughing. ‘Would you believe it? He paid the owner of the other inn on the High Street to change its name from the Golden Lion to the Red Lion. And all because his family originally come from Gascony. That cost him a pretty penny!’

‘And now he’s anxious to improve his bloodline with a good marriage,’ remarked the first.

‘Oh?’

Sir Roger, fishing beside Matt, nodded at an elderly gentleman further along the bank, who was currently reeling in a fair-sized trout.

‘See Farnleigh over there? Whilton is betrothed to his niece. Flora Warenne only has a small dowry, but she can trace her ancestors back to the Conqueror. The Gasks were nothing until one of the Stuart kings created the first Viscount Whilton.’

‘An admirable match on both sides then,’ said Matt.

‘The Farnleighs are delighted.’ Sir Roger replied ‘Flora Warenne is a lovely young woman, Talacre, but she is past her first blush, as they say. I think they despaired of her ever marrying.’

‘Then local bachelors must be blind,’ exclaimed Matt, unable to help himself.

‘Oh, ’tis not for want of interest,’ said the portly man. ‘She’s had several admirers over the years, but it never came to anything. Then Lord Whilton offered for her and she accepted.’

‘Perhaps she had set her heart on a title,’ Matt suggested.

‘I am not so sure about that,’ replied the portly man. ‘She turned him down first time, but her aunt and uncle persuaded her to accept him.’

Matt frowned and was so lost in thought that he did not react quickly enough to the tug on his line and the fish escaped before he could set the hook.

‘And will Whilton make her a good husband?’ he asked, casting his line again.

‘As good as any other great man.’ Sir Roger lowered his voice.

‘I wouldn’t think Farnleigh knows of it, but I heard the Viscount has installed his mistress as housekeeper at Whilton Hall.

If it’s true, it’s a damned shabby thing to do, with his fiancée living so close.

’ He glanced up. ‘But enough now. Here comes Farnleigh and it’s not a subject he would want us discussing. ’

The gentlemen turned their attention to the fishing and nothing more was said, but when they were all packing up for the day, Matt was surprised to receive an invitation from Mr Farnleigh to come to Birchwood House for dinner. Matt demurred, but Farnleigh brushed aside his reservations.

‘Pho, man, I know Sir Roger and his lady have an engagement, so you can’t dine with them.

And if you’ve nothing planned other than to eat alone at the Whilton Arms tonight then you must come.

My wife loves nothing better than to entertain.

She is forever complaining that I do not bring enough friends back to dine with us.

And then there’s Flora, my niece. She will be glad to have someone younger to converse with. ’

Matt suspected that Flora would be anything but pleased to see him and was about to refuse, but some demon of mischief got there first.

‘I’d be delighted, sir, if you are sure Mrs Farnleigh will not object?’

‘Not at all, man. Nothing she likes more than to show off her housekeeping skills! We dine at seven on fishing days, Mr Talacre, so you have plenty of time to get back to your rooms and change first.’