Page 45 of A Kiss to Stop a Wedding
‘Why? If we are to be married, we must be able to speak freely to one another.’
‘But it is not wise to antagonise him. He has done you a great honour in offering for you.’
Flora hesitated. ‘I would rather he showed me greater affection, Aunt.’
‘That is not the way of these great men, my love. Be assured, after you are wed you will find him a most thoughtful husband, intent upon making you happy. Why, in the two years since your engagement, we have never seen anything to concern us.’
‘But how often have we seen him in those two years?’ she argued. ‘The number of times he has come to Whilton cannot add up to more than a few months.’ She bit her lip. ‘I wonder sometimes if I am doing the right thing in marrying him.’
That brought a cry of protest from her aunt. ‘Oh, my love, pray do not be saying such a thing! Whatever are you thinking?’
‘Better that I should voice my doubts now, than when it is too late,’ replied Flora, playing with the ring on her finger.
‘My dear Flora, calm yourself.’ Her uncle smiled at her in a kindly fashion. ‘This is nothing more than wedding nerves! The Viscount will make you an excellent husband. He is kind, considerate, and you like each other well enough. Stronger feelings will follow, once you are living together, and you will have plenty to occupy your time, which is what you want, is it not, my love? You know he has several houses besides Whilton Hall, for you to look after.’
‘And there will be your visits to London,’ added her aunt, ‘Summers spent in Brighton, perhaps. Oh, heavens! You will be the envy of every other young lady in the county!’
Seeing the Farnleighs’ happy faces, Flora realised they would not understand why she was anxious about this marriage. She barely understood it herself, except that today, after talking with the Viscount, she had been aware of a mild feeling of disappointment. He was attentive, his tone caressing, but her insides did not flip over when he smiled at her, nor did her pulse jump at his every touch.
Oh, do be sensible, Flora, she scolded herself. You are fretting over silly, girlish fancies. Just like whatever was the problem with the scullery maid. It is nothing of consequence.
* **
Sir Roger and Lady Condicote’s midsummer ball at Condicote Manor had become the highlight of the summer for their friends and neighbours. This year was of especial interest, because Lord Whilton had returned from London expressly to attend the ball and dance with his fiancée, Miss Flora Warenne, just one month before their marriage in the little parish church at Whilton.
Flora knew all eyes would be on her tonight. She had dressed for the occasion in a new gown of iridescent blue silk that shimmered as she moved, changing from deepest midnight and azure to the palest ice blue. It was low at the neck and high at the waist with tiny puff sleeves and was the first of many gowns the local seamstress was making for her, in readiness for her wedding.
Looking at herself in the mirror before they left Birchwood, Flora wondered aloud if, perhaps, the shot silk was a little too extravagant for a country dance, but her aunt was quick to reassure her.
‘By no means, my love. Lady Condicote has decreed you and Lord Whilton must open the ball.’
Flora shuddered. ‘I wish she had not. I am unused to being the centre of attention.’
‘I know, my love, but on this occasion, it can do no harm. It is only a country ball, you know. It is not as if it is London where people might remember—’
Mrs Farnleigh broke off so suddenly that Flora looked at her in concern.
‘Remember what, ma’am?’
‘Oh—your…your parents, of course.’
Her aunt was looking so flustered that Flora was puzzled.
‘But that would be a good thing, wouldn’t it?’ she said. ‘In fact, I should like to meet someone who knew my mother, it would be interesting to talk to them.’
‘Well, well, and perhaps you shall, one day,’ said her aunt, taking her arm. ‘But enough of this silly talk. Let us go downstairs, my love. The carriage will be at the door and you know how your uncle hates to keep the horses waiting.’
* * *
Lady Condicote and her husband were waiting to greet their guests as they arrived. A few words were exchanged, compliments received and returned, and then the Birchwood party was free to move on towards the ballroom.
Lord Whilton was waiting for Flora at the door and, as he came towards her, she felt her spirits lift a little to see the admiration in his eyes.
He took her hand and kissed it. ‘My dear, you look beautiful tonight.’ He leaned closer. ‘Only wait until we are married. I shall give you the family sapphires to wear and you will look truly magnificent!’
‘Oh?’ She touched the string of pearls around herneck. ‘Are my mother’s jewels not grand enough, then? I understand they were a present to her, from Papa, on the occasion of their marriage.’
‘They are perfectly acceptable for a country dance,’ he assured her, ‘but as my wife you must wear only the finest jewels.’
