Jenni Fletcher - The Viscount’s Veiled Lady

‘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 of his expression made her hackles rise. ‘And you have experience of raising boys, I suppose?’

‘None at all, although I do have experience of being one.’

‘And were you over-indulged, Lord Scorborough?’

‘I wouldn’t say so, no.’

‘Were you stifled, then?’

There was a flash of something in his eyes, something piercing and intense like pain, at the same moment as a female voice spoke from the direction of the staircase.

‘Lance?’

The man in question rushed across the hallway, his expression turning instantly from bewildered perplexity to tender concern as Frances watched in surprise. The Lance Amberton she’d heard rumours about had been wild and dangerous. This man appeared to be the world’s most devoted husband. Evidently both brothers had changed.

‘Good evening, Violet.’ Arthur sounded as formal as if he were presenting her to the Queen. ‘Might I introduce Miss Frances Webster?’

‘Miss Webster.’

The woman broke into a wide smile as she took her husband’s arm and walked towards them. At ground level, Frances could see that her memory hadn’t exaggerated. Violet Amberton was without doubt the tiniest woman she’d ever laid eyes on, with white-blonde hair and disproportionately huge eyes in an amiable-looking face.

‘I’m sorry to impose upon your evening, Mrs Amberton.’ She inclined her head, trying to convey a sense of apology through her veil. ‘I’m afraid that I sprained my ankle and Lord Scorborough here rescued me.’

‘And now he’s brought you to join us for dinner?’ The woman’s gaze flickered between them, though her expression was inquisitive rather than calculating. ‘I’m so pleased. If we join forces, we might be able to stop these two talking about mining all evening.’

‘You mean you don’t find iron smelting as fascinating as we do?’ Lance put a hand to his heart. ‘You wound me, my love.’

‘Oh, but I’d never want to do that.’ She leant her head against his shoulder playfully. ‘But now I expect dinner is ready. I do appreciate your coming to dine with us, Miss Webster. If you can start a new topic of conversation, I’ll be forever indebted to you.’

‘I’m afraid that my dress...’ Frances gestured downwards again.

‘Oh, dear.’ The tiny woman looked sympathetic. ‘What a shame. I’d offer to lend you something, but I’m afraid you might find my clothes a little on the short side. Not to mention too wide.’ She patted her bulging stomach and laughed. ‘But it truly doesn’t matter. I’m just delighted to have another woman to talk to. Please call me Violet.’

‘Then you must call me Frances.’

‘Then that’s settled. Here.’ Arthur extended his arm in a manner that was less of an invitation than a command, but Frances took it anyway, too touched by the other woman’s offer of friendship to spoil the moment.

‘Excellent.’ Lance clapped his hands together. ‘Now let’s eat. I don’t know about anyone else, but I’m famished.’

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