The Viscount’s Veiled Lady. Jenni Fletcher

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СКАЧАТЬ hen?’ Lance shook his head as if he were genuinely aggrieved. ‘If you’re implying that I love my wife, then you’re absolutely right, I do, and I refuse to apologise for it.’ He extended his arm with a flourish. ‘Now please allow me to escort you inside, Miss Webster. I believe I’d much rather talk with you than with this heartless brute.’

      ‘She can’t walk.’ Arthur’s voice cut across him.

      ‘I can limp,’ Frances protested.

      ‘You shouldn’t put any weight on your ankle.’

      ‘It’s not th—’

      She’d barely started the sentence before he lifted her up again, ignoring her spluttered protests as he carried her across the courtyard and over the threshold of the castle, much to his brother’s obvious amusement.

      ‘I twisted my ankle,’ she explained, profoundly glad of the veil hiding her flaming cheeks as they entered a large, oak-panelled and high-ceilinged hallway.

      ‘Well, that explains it.’ Lance followed behind them. He held a cane and walked with a slight limp, too, she noticed. ‘I’m no stranger to injured limbs myself, Miss Webster, though I’ve never seen my brother behave so gallantly before.’

      ‘I’m just being practical.’ Arthur sounded gruff.

      ‘I still don’t need to be carried around like some damsel in distress.’ She glared at him through her veil. ‘Once is bad enough. Twice in one day is insulting. I could have managed perfectly well on my own.’

      ‘In your opinion.’

      ‘It’s best not to argue with him once he gets an idea in his head,’ Lance interceded. ‘He’s the most stubborn man you’re ever likely to meet. These days anyway.’

      ‘I’d still prefer to stand on my own two feet, injured or otherwise.’

      ‘As you wish.’ Arthur deposited her firmly, but unceremoniously, on the floor. ‘Is that better?’

       ‘Much.’

      ‘Miss Webster.’ Lance gave them both a distinctly penetrating look. ‘Might I take your accoutrement? Our staff all appear to be hiding.’

      ‘Yes, thank you.’

      She started to unfasten her cloak and then felt another pair of hands take over, gently peeling away the folds and then lifting the garment from her shoulders. She half-twisted her head and felt her blush deepen. Arthur appeared to be utterly engrossed in the task, yet equally determined not to look at her.

      ‘Apparently my brother wants to do everything this evening.’ Lance gave something resembling a smirk, placing his cane in front of him and resting his hands on top. ‘You seem to bring out his chivalrous side, Miss Webster. I applaud you.’

      She cleared her throat, unable to think of an answer to that, gesturing towards her skirts instead.

      ‘I ought to apologise for my appearance. I had a fall earlier and my dress came off somewhat the worse for wear.’

      ‘Hence the ankle, I presume?’ Lance nodded as if there was nothing more natural than arriving at dinner covered in dirty splotches. ‘How unfortunate, but I take it that’s how the two of you met? I do hope you’re going to tell me my brother came to your rescue.’

      ‘Yes, in a manner of speaking.’ She untied her bonnet and pulled it away, taking care not to disturb the veil pinned to her hair, then passed that to Arthur as well. He took it and frowned, looking as though he were on the verge of saying something else before turning on his heel abruptly, carrying her things off to an anteroom.

      ‘I heard that the house looked like a castle...’ Frances looked around at the crests and tapestries covering the walls with admiration ‘...but I never expected anything like this.’

      ‘Haven’t you visited before?’ Lance appeared unconcerned by her veil. ‘Surely we’ve invited you to our summer balls?’

      ‘Oh, yes, you’ve been very kind. My parents attend every year, but I don’t go to balls.’

      ‘Ah well, then, you’re in luck. We’re having a garden party instead this year. My wife is a stickler for tradition and insists upon our doing something, but I refuse to let her dance in her condition. I keep telling her to rest and she keeps telling me to stop worrying. We’re quite the pair.’

      He gave a strained-sounding laugh and Frances found herself wanting to offer some kind of reassurance. What was it he’d said earlier? I love my wife and I refuse to apologise for it... Apparently he was genuinely worried for her. Beneath the smile, there was a tightness about his face that spoke of some persistent anxiety.

      ‘When is the baby due?’

      ‘October, although I hope for sooner.’

      ‘You do?’ She couldn’t conceal her surprise. It wasn’t usual to hope for an early birth.

      He nodded, his gaze flickering towards the staircase. ‘My wife has a particularly small build. I worry about how she’ll manage.’

      ‘Oh, I see.’ Frances drew her brows together sympathetically. Now she thought of it, she remembered once seeing Violet Amberton from a distance and being surprised by her excessively small frame. It was no wonder that her much-larger husband was worried. ‘But you know, my sister has a tiny waist, too. Everyone was anxious when she was about to give birth, but it was all over in a couple of hours. She had a big, healthy boy and was out of bed in a week.’

      ‘Then I’ll hope for the same.’ He took her hand and pressed it warmly. ‘I appreciate the comfort, Miss Webster.’

      ‘Lydia has a son?’

      Frances cringed at the sound of Arthur’s voice behind her. She hadn’t heard his footsteps and the last thing she’d wanted was for him to overhear her talking about her nephew. Now that he had, however, there was no point in concealing the truth. ‘Yes. You didn’t know?’

      ‘No. My interest in your sister ended a long time ago. I heard of her marriage, that’s all.’

      ‘Well, his name’s George. Georgie.’

      ‘You sound fond of him.’ The words sounded faintly accusing.

      ‘I am. My sister moved back to Whitby after she was widowed and now we all live together in my parents’ house. It’s a pleasant arrangement, although sometimes I wonder if there are too many women for one little boy.’

      ‘You’re afraid of spoiling him?’

      She hesitated before answering. It was hard not to lavish attention upon a three-year-old boy who’d lost his father and whose mother was obsessed with the idea of finding a new husband, but it seemed disloyal to say so.

      ‘Perhaps, but I suppose that’s preferable to neglect.’

      ‘As long as it doesn’t become stifling. Too much attention can be as bad as too little.’

      ‘Indeed?’ The solemnity СКАЧАТЬ