Jenni Fletcher - The Viscount’s Veiled Lady

‘Escape?’ She tried to keep her tone casual. ‘I heard that you lost your memory when you fell off your sailing boat and were picked up by a whaling vessel.’

‘Indeed?’ His expression didn’t change. ‘That sounds exciting, but I’m afraid it’s wrong in almost every respect. I didn’t fall off anything, I didn’t lose my memory and I rather like whales.’

‘Oh.’ There were so many implications to the statement that she could only focus on the last and most obvious one. ‘You mean you’ve seen a whale?’

‘Yes, to the north of Scotland, but they’re no danger to us and I’ve too much respect for the sea than to hurt one of its most noble creatures.’

‘I’d love to see one. I found a seal colony once, further down the coast towards Robin Hood’s Bay. The whole beach was full of mothers and pups.’

‘Ah.’ He shook his head regretfully. ‘Seals I’m not so fond of.’

‘Why not? They’re adorable.’

‘They also bite through fishing nets, which need to be sewn back together by hand. It’s time-consuming, tedious and extremely pungent.’

‘How do you know?’

‘Because I was picked up by a vessel when I went overboard, only it wasn’t a whaler, just a fishing boat from Aberdeen.’

‘Oh.’ She felt a murmur of disquiet. Went overboard. He’d spoken the words plainly enough, though he’d already denied having fallen. In which case...had he jumped? But, no, her mind shied away from that idea, surely he couldn’t have.

‘They took me on as a deckhand.’

‘Meaning you worked on deck?’

‘As the title implies.’

‘But...’ she drew her brows together ‘...you’re a viscount.’

‘True, but even viscounts have hands they can work with. When they’re allowed to, that is. Believe it or not, I enjoyed the experience.’

‘Enjoyed?’ she echoed incredulously. How could he speak so calmly about it when she— they , she quickly corrected herself—had all been so worried? ‘But we all thought you were dead! Then when you came back, we thought you must have been picked up by a whaler and carried north to the Arctic. That was the only possible explanation for why you were gone for so long.’

‘Press-ganging?’ He lifted an eyebrow, but she ignored the sarcasm, spurring her horse a few steps closer to confront him.

‘If you were picked up by a fishing boat, then why didn’t you come home straight away?’

‘I just told you.’ The eyebrow lowered again, joining its companion in a heavy, black line as his expression seemed to harden. ‘I told you I didn’t want to come home. I wanted to be lost at sea for a while.’

‘So you deliberately abandoned your ship to join the crew of a fishing boat?’

‘Something like that.’

‘What about Lydia? You were engaged. Why didn’t you want to come back to her?’

‘I had a feeling she’d be all right. And she was, wasn’t she?’

Frances felt a momentary misgiving. There was a taunting edge to his voice, almost as if he knew the truth about Lydia’s other flirtations and was daring her to contradict him. But she had to. For the sake of sisterly loyalty, she had to.

‘She mourned for you.’

‘Yet it took her less than a week to engage herself to another man.’

‘Ye-es.’ She winced inwardly. There was no denying that part, though she’d hoped he hadn’t known about it. ‘But that doesn’t mean she didn’t care.’

‘Doesn’t it? Would you forget a man so quickly, Miss Webster? Presuming you truly loved him in the first place, that is?’

‘No.’ She found herself averting her gaze despite the presence of her veil between them. ‘But Lydia isn’t someone who can be on her own.’

‘So I noticed. In fact, it was just about the last thing I noticed before I left.’

‘What?’ Her eyes shot back to his face. ‘You mean you knew about John Baird?’

His lips twisted into something resembling a sneer. ‘Not Baird, no. The man I saw her with was much younger.’

‘Oh, yes, how silly of me, I meant...’

‘Don’t lie for her, Miss Webster, and don’t feel bad for me either. I’m glad to know I wasn’t the only man she was stringing along, though just out of interest, how many men was she secretly engaged to?’

Frances lifted her chin, resenting the accusation no matter how fair it was. ‘You were the only one.’

‘So she just kept a few suitors in reserve?’ He gave a cynical-sounding laugh. ‘A wise precaution as it turned out.’

‘It wasn’t like that.’

‘If you say so, though it hardly matters any more.’ He turned his horse about, digging his heels into the animal’s flanks. ‘In any case, I’d prefer that we kept this conversation between ourselves. Now come on, we don’t want to be late.’

They lapsed into silence again, though this time it felt more brooding than companionable. Frances let her horse fall behind, her mind whirling with everything Arthur had just told her. All this time, she’d assumed that what had happened to him had been an accident, but now it seemed that he hadn’t just left deliberately. He’d never wanted to come back.

Worse still, he’d known about Lydia’s betrayal. In six years, the idea had never occurred to her, but now it seemed the two things were inextricably linked. The bitterness in his voice suggested as much, though surely Lydia’s behaviour on its own wouldn’t have caused him to do anything quite so dramatic. He might simply have broken their engagement, not run away to sea. Yet he had run away, leaving his home, his responsibilities and his position as heir of Amberton Castle, so that everyone, his own family included, had assumed he’d had some kind of accident and drowned. His father had dropped dead on being told of the news. The thought made her shudder. No matter why he’d run away, the consequences had to be a terrible weight on his shoulders. No wonder Arthur wasn’t the man she remembered. No wonder he didn’t want to see Lydia again either.

After twenty minutes or so they descended into a valley, joining a bigger track that led towards a large, Gothic-looking mansion decorated with crenellations and turrets and arched, oriel windows, all festooned with cascades of trailing ivy. Frances caught her breath in amazement. Amberton Castle looked so authentically medieval that it was hard to believe it was all an illusion, a forty-year-old building designed to look like a real medieval stronghold and a royal one at that. Up close, it was just as impressive as its reputation suggested and even more hauntingly beautiful than she’d imagined. By rights it belonged to Arthur and yet he chose not to live there, a fact that only deepened the mystery around him. How could anyone choose not to live in such a fairy tale place?

At last they rode beneath a granite archway and she tugged on her veil, making sure it was firmly in place before they arrived.

‘You should take that off.’ Arthur leapt down from his horse and stalked towards her, lifting his hands up to help her dismount. ‘You don’t need it.’

‘Yes, I do.’ She slid down into his arms, vividly and uncomfortably aware of how broad his chest was in comparison to hers. Leo had never made her feel quite so puny. Then again, he’d never made her legs feel so unsteady either, though that was surely just an after-effect of the ride.

‘No, you don’t. Take it off.’

‘No!’ She stiffened at his imperative tone. He’d seemed sympathetic earlier, but clearly his mood had deteriorated during the ride. ‘I prefer to wear it.’

‘There’s no need to hide.’

‘I’m not hiding and it’s none of your business. I can wear what I want!’