Page 78 of A Kiss to Stop a Wedding
‘It involves the lady’s history. It is not really my secret to share,’ he demurred.
Rosina leaned forward in her seat. ‘Then keep your secrets, by all means, Matt, we will still do what we can to help. But heaven knows we have been through enough together for you to trust us.’
‘Rosina’s right.’ Conham pulled his chair closer. ‘If this lady means so much to you, old friend, then tell us everything. We won’t judge her, or you.’
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
‘Good morning, Flora. Your last as Miss Warenne! Tomorrow you will become Lady Whilton—are you not pleased the day has come?’
Flora smiled dutifully at her uncle’s cheerful greeting as she took her seat at the breakfast table. It was four weeks since she had last seen Matt Talacre and pleased was not how she would have described her feelings this morning. Four weeks of pretending to her aunt and uncle that she was not averse to marrying Quentin Gask.
‘I hope you haven’t forgotten we are joining Lord Whilton at the hall for dinner tonight,’ Aunt Farnleigh reminded her.
‘Of course she hasn’t forgotten,’ said Mr Farnleigh a little testily. ‘It was in His Lordship’s letter to me yesterday, informing us that he and Mrs Gask had returned. Do you not recall? I read the whole to you both.’
‘Oh, yes, of course. Silly me. The older I get the more forgetful I become.’
‘Yes, yes, well, we are both growing older, my dear,’ replied her fond spouse. ‘That is why it is so very comforting to know that our niece’s future is secure.’
Flora kept her eyes on her plate, fighting down her frustration. It was as if they had forgotten that she was being coerced into this marriage, that Quentin had put a servant into their house to spy upon her.
She glanced up, feeling a rush of affection when she saw her uncle reach across to squeeze his wife’s hand. They were powerless to change the situation. Was it any wonder they preferred to think it was all for the best? They would have been distraught if they knew how she really felt about the forthcoming marriage.
* * *
Matt opened his eyes and stared up at the unfamiliar carving on the tester. He had been travelling so much recently that for a few moments he had no idea where he was. But memory soon returned.
Aylesbury. Some fifty miles from Whilton. That should be an easy day’s journey in the Earl’s travelling carriage, but Matt was anxious to be going. The greyish light outside his window told him it was close to dawn. Conham would not thank him for waking him this early. He must give his friend another hour at least.
He put his hands behind his head and closed his eyes, recalling the look on the Earl’s face when he hadarrived at Dallamire just over three weeks ago. He remembered that night so well, the shared confidences, the love and support he had received from both the Earl and his wife. It had helped him, knowing that whatever the outcome, he was not alone now.
He dozed for another hour or so then looked at his pocket watch. Seven o’clock. He would wash and dress and if Conham wasn’t up, he would damn well wake him!
He had only fulfilled part of his plan when the Earl knocked and walked in, dressed and eager to be moving.
‘Come along, Talacre, you sluggard. Time to finish this business!’
* * *
Whilton Hall was glowing in the sunlight when the party from Birchwood House arrived. They were shown into the drawing room where Mrs Gask was waiting to greet them. Flora thought she looked smaller and more anxious than ever. She was very conscious of her duties as hostess and bustled around them endlessly.
‘The Viscount has been delayed… Will you not sit down? Oh, but perhaps, Mr Farnleigh, you would like to pour the ladies some refreshment? We do not stand upon ceremony here tonight and you will find the tray on the sideboard. Tomorrow, though, tomorrow is such a big day…’
She twittered on like an agitated sparrow until the Viscount came in, apologising for not being there to greet them.
‘The new carving for the overmantel has arrived,’ he explained, indicating the servants following him into the room.
They were carrying a large object covered with a cloth, which they proceeded to place on a stand set up in the window embrasure beside the fireplace. The Viscount was more animated than Flora had ever known him, pacing back and forth until the servants had finished, then he waved them away.
‘The arms of Warenne, impaled with those of Gask,’ he said, as the door closed behind the last of the footmen. ‘Come, come and see it for yourselves.’
Obediently, everyone rose and moved closer to the stand. The Viscount whipped away the cover with a flourish, revealing a large oak shield, intricately carved and painted.
‘There!’ he cried, ‘Is that not magnificent? It will be installed in the chimney piece tomorrow, replacing the arms carved for my father.’
He was beaming at them, waiting for a response. Flora heard her uncle clear his throat.
‘It’s very impressive,’ he said. ‘I do not ever recall seeing the Warenne coat of arms before.’ He glanced anxiously at his wife, who shook her head.
