Page 8 of A Kiss to Stop a Wedding
‘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.
* * *
