Page 2 of A Kiss to Stop a Wedding
‘I shall not go alone, Aunt,’ Flora promised her.
‘And be back before sunset,’ added her uncle, not looking up from his newspaper.
‘I shall make sure of it, sir.’
Flora dropped a light kiss on his head as she passed and ran off to collect her pelisse and bonnet.
* * *
Ten minutes later she was walking briskly down the drive. When she reached the gates, she crossed the road and proceeded into Whilton wood. She had every intention of being home again before dark, but as for not going out alone, she had brought Scamp, her uncle’s old spaniel, with her. That was surely sufficient protection in these woods, where she had never seen anyone save the woodland creatures and occasionally one of the groundskeepers.
The wooded valley was her favourite walk and this her favourite time of year, with the bluebells in full bloom and even now, so late in the day, the wild garlic was adding its pungent scent to the air. She had not gone far before she realised that the recent rains had saturated the ground, and when Scamp came bounding back with his liver and white flanks a uniformmuddy brown, she realised it was too wet to continue walking down into the valley.
Calling the little dog to heel, she made her way upwards until she came to the narrow lane through the woods that led directly to Whilton Hall. Since the grounds there were rather neglected, they would serve her purpose just as well. At this time of the day, with the Viscount away, the gardens would be deserted.
Flora had no idea why she should be so restless. It had been coming upon her gradually all spring and, despite her work with numerous charities and helping Aunt Farnleigh with the running of Birchwood House, she felt she was drifting aimlessly into another summer.
At six-and-twenty, she had few close friends in Whilton. The young ladies making their come-out were little more than schoolgirls, while most of those of her own age were married. Their worlds, and conversation, revolved around home and children and, try as she might, Flora could not enter wholly into their concerns.
She bent and picked up a stick, throwing it as far as she could for Scamp to retrieve.
‘The fact is, I ambored!’ she announced to the air, watching the spaniel coming back towards her with his prize, ‘Oh, there are promises of great things, once I am married, but nothing is happeningnow.’
She needed an occupation, something to tax her.She had reached the edge of the woods and could see the gardens of Whilton Hall ahead of her. The roofs and upper floors of the house were visible beyond the overgrown hedges and everything was bathed in the warm evening sunlight.
‘Well, there is no reason why I shouldn’t imagine how I might reorganise the gardens,’ she said aloud, quickening her pace. ‘Scamp, come!’
Before her, on the bend in the track, was a hornbeam hedge with a gate into the formal gardens. She stepped through the gate into the overgrown shrubbery, thinking, not for the first time, that Whilton Hall deserved better care. The Viscount employed only one elderly gardener plus a few assistants who kept the paths free merely by hacking back the bushes, heedless of the way they grew higher in an attempt to reach the sunlight. This resulted in the shrubbery walk being in almost constant shadow and not at all the place to linger. Scamp, clearly not sharing her opinion, went off into the undergrowth to explore new scents while Flora walked on to the Italian garden.
This, too, showed some signs of neglect, but at least here the groundskeepers maintained the lawns and kept everything trimmed to a more manageable height, allowing sunlight to reach the flowerbeds. Flora made her way around the paths, thinking of the improvements she would like to make. The small pool around the fountain should be restocked with goldfish andthe colonnade leading to the next part of the gardens would look far better if it was covered by climbing plants.
What should they be? she mused as she reached the end of the colonnade and stepped through the arched opening in the hedge. Honeysuckle, perhaps, or jasmine. Or—
‘Oh!’
Flora came to a halt, her pleasant daydreams shattered as she found herself face to face with a stranger.
CHAPTER TWO
‘What the devil?’
‘Who are you?’
They both spoke at the same time, but the stranger recovered his wits first. He took a pace back, much to Flora’s relief.
‘I thought the family were from home,’ he said.
‘They are.’
He frowned. ‘You do not look like a servant.’
‘I am not. I am walking my dog.’
The stranger’s brows rose and he glanced around before fixing her with an enquiring—and slightly disbelieving—eye. She felt a flush rising, but at that very moment there was a bark and Scamp ran up, his tongue lolling.
If Flora hoped for some show of protection from her canine companion, she was disappointed. The spaniel trotted happily up to the stranger, who bent and scratched at the liver-coloured head.
‘Well now, who is this?’
