Page 7 of A Kiss to Stop a Wedding

I t was the Farnleighs’ custom, if the weather was fine, to walk to the Sunday morning service at the parish church in Whilton. Flora was therefore surprised when her uncle announced that this particular Sunday they would be using the carriage.

‘I have business that will not wait and it will save time if we leave the church directly after the service,’ he explained over breakfast.

Flora was not convinced by his airy manner, nor by her aunt’s fulsome agreement.

‘You are afraid Mr Talacre will be there,’ she said, bluntly. ‘You want to bundle me into the carriage before he can strike up a conversation.’

‘No, no!’ exclaimed her uncle, looking most uncomfortable. ‘Good heavens, Flora, we would not—that is…’

‘My dear sir, I am not in the least in danger of falling in love with Mr Talacre.’

‘He is a very charming gentleman,’ said Aunt Farnleigh, nervously pleating and un-pleating her napkin. ‘It would be quite understandable, with Lord Whilton being away, if you were to find yourself…drawn to him.’

Flora reached across to place her hand over her aunt’s restless fingers.

‘You need have no fear of that, Aunt. I am aware of Mr Talacre’s charms and there is no possibility of my succumbing to them. He is pleasant company, but he poses no threat, I assure you.’

Her uncle harrumphed. ‘Well, well. I am very glad to hear that, Flora. However, the carriage is ordered and I think it best that we use it. With His Lordship away we feel responsible for keeping you safe.’

She felt a familiar impatience—irritation at being so hedged about, but at the same time knowing that they were acting like this because they loved her.

She said, ‘My dear sir, this is Whilton. I am quite capable of keeping myself safe here.’

‘Pray now, my dear, do not get on your high ropes,’ her aunt begged her. ‘We are only thinking of what is best for you. If Lord Whilton should hear that you have been dallying with Mr Talacre, he will not be pleased.’

‘Dallying?’ Flora laughed. ‘What nonsense is this? Why, I have only—’

She stopped. She had been about to say she had only met the man once, and under their roof, but the memory of that first encounter returned and her conscience would not allow her to lie. She stifled her ignoble feelings and smiled.

‘Dear Aunt and Uncle, you are always so thoughtful, so considerate. I am a monster to fly up into the boughs when you are only thinking of me. Of course we shall take the carriage and I shall be careful not to…to dally with anyone after the service. There, will that do?’

Uncle Farnleigh looked relieved. ‘I knew you would understand, my love. Whilton is such a small place and you know how people love to gossip, and drag up old scandals—’

‘Not that there is any danger of that!’ his wife interrupted him quickly.

‘No. No, of course not, my dear.’

‘However,’ Flora went on, ignoring this interchange, ‘Mr Talacre says he has business to discuss with my fiancé and Quentin might be grateful if I could find out just what that business was. It is even possible I could help.’

This made Uncle Farnleigh laugh heartily.

‘Whatever the matter may be, I am sure Lord Whilton would not want you to worry your pretty little head about it, my dear!’

She did not reply, but a flicker of rebellion inside Flora had been fanned into a flame by the remark.

* * *

By the time she climbed into the carriage after her aunt, she had decided that if she should see Matt Talacre at church, she would give him her friendliest smile instead of the cool, distant acknowledgement she had originally intended.

* * *

In the event, her plans came to nothing.

There was no sign of the gentleman at the church.

Flora thought that Sir Roger Condicote might mention Mr Talacre when her uncle spoke to him after the service, but he did not, and as they made their way home in the carriage Mrs Farnleigh expressed the hope that perhaps the gentleman had already left Whilton.

‘Depend upon it that that is the case,’ replied her husband, brightening.

‘What would a young fellow do, kicking his heels in Whilton for weeks at a time, waiting for the Viscount to return? I would lay you odds he is gone back to Gloucestershire and will make a proper arrangement to see His Lordship. That would be the sensible thing to do.’

‘It would,’ said Aunt Farnleigh slowly, ‘and yet I think it might be best if we do not attend this month’s assembly ball at the Red Lion tomorrow night.’

‘What, and miss one of the highlights of Whilton’s entertainment?’ cried Flora, ‘I think not, ma’am. You know how much we both enjoy the dancing.’

‘Yes, but Mr Talacre might be there.’

‘And what if he is? What possible harm can he do me on the dance floor?’

‘A great deal,’ replied her aunt, looking anxious. ‘ We do not know why he wishes to see the Viscount. His Lordship may not be pleased to discover you have been fraternising with the man.’

‘I have no intention of fraternising,’ she protested. ‘Although if he should ask me to dance, I can hardly say no…’

‘Oh, heavens, pray do not even think of it,’ exclaimed Mrs Farnleigh, fanning herself rapidly.

Flora laughed. ‘Pray do not distress yourself, ma’am, I am only teasing you. We do not know for sure if the gentleman has left Whilton, but I am very loath to give up the monthly assembly ball just in case he should be present. Besides, all our friends will be there.’

‘I confess I do enjoy meeting up with everyone at these events,’ admitted Aunt Farnleigh, with a sigh. ‘It is not merely the dancing. It is also the only opportunity I have to speak to some of them from one month’s end to the next.’

The assembly balls were always lively affairs and were an opportunity for all those in and around Whilton—and who could afford a ticket—to dress up in their finery and enjoy an evening of music and dancing.

The assembly rooms also boasted a card room, which was an added incentive for Mr Farnleigh to escort his wife and niece to the ball, and it did not take long for Flora to persuade him they should go.

‘There, Aunt,’ she said, having won her case. ‘We shall go to the assembly. After all, why should we deny ourselves the pleasure of an evening’s entertainment? Heaven knows we ladies have few enough of them in Whilton!’

* * *

It was a warm May evening and the first-floor windows of the Red Lion had been thrown open, allowing the sounds from the assembly rooms to spill out.

‘The dancing has already commenced,’ remarked Mrs Farnleigh as she stepped down from the carriage. ‘Come along, Flora, let us hurry upstairs. You, too, Mr Farnleigh. You know you promised to dance a set with me before you disappear to the card room!’

Ten minutes later they were making their way into the ballroom and Mr Farnleigh was ready to escort his lady on to the dance floor. However, before doing so, he ensured Flora had a suitable partner for the country dance.

Flora was quite happy to stand up with Mr Eddlestone, an old family friend.

He was a widower with no thoughts of marrying again, but he had a love of company and dancing and was a regular partner for Flora and the other ladies at the monthly balls.

They skipped and tripped through the two dances and afterwards he invited Mrs Farnleigh to stand up with him for the next two.

When the lady hesitated, Flora laughed and touched her arm.

‘Yes, yes, Aunt, go and enjoy yourself. Jenny Albright and her mother are sitting at the side of the room and I shall join them.’

She watched her aunt walk off with her elderly escort before sitting down beside Jenny.

They had been good friends for years and were both accustomed to sitting out some of the dances, since there were never enough gentlemen to partner all the ladies.

They were enjoying a lively chat when Mr Makerfield came up.

‘Miss Warenne, here is a gentleman most anxious to stand up with you.’

Even before Flora raised her eyes, something told her who was standing beside the Master of Ceremonies.

She had liked Matt Talacre in his riding clothes, but now he looked even better, and as he bowed to her she tried not to appear too openly admiring.

The snow-white linen of his shirt and neckcloth contrasted with a black tailcoat that clung to his lean frame without a crease and his unruly curls, brushed back into a semblance of order, shone black as a crow’s wing.

‘I hope you will take pity on a poor traveller and stand up with me for the next two dances, ma’am.’

Flora had fully intended to refuse and introduce him to her friend.

Really, she had. Jenny would be delighted to dance with him.

But when Matt raised his head and she saw the teasing challenge in his eyes, her resolution wavered.

Then he smiled and it melted completely.

Without a word, she rose and took his outstretched hand .

‘There now,’ exclaimed the Master of Ceremonies, beaming at them.

‘Plenty of time for the next set, Miss Flora. Off you go now. I vow, Mr Talacre, you could not have a better partner for the Scotch reel! And as for you, Miss Jenny, well now, if Mrs Albright will spare you, there is a young gentleman over here in need of a partner…’

‘The man is indefatigable,’ remarked Matt, escorting Flora to the dancefloor, ‘He is determined everyone will dance.’

‘That is his role,’ said Flora. She glanced up at her partner. ‘Are you telling me you did not ask him to present you to me?’

He laughed. ‘I wouldn’t dare, since he as good as told you so. Are you flattered or angry with me?’

She shook her head at him.

‘Pray do not try to cajole me, Mr Talacre. I am immune to your charms.’

‘That is no answer.’ He looked down at her. ‘Well, ma’am?’

His brown eyes were smiling in a way that sent a delicious shiver running through her. It also set alarm bells ringing in her head and she looked away quickly.

‘Neither,’ she told him. ‘I am content to be dancing.’

‘Does the Viscount not dance?’

‘Of course. But he is not here.’