Page 2 of A Sense of Fate
Well, my dear, whatever he wants from you, you don’t have to oblige him. There is nothing about your conduct that would not withstand scrutiny.Remus rolled his translucent eyes in a gesture of resigned disapproval.Take it from one who knows.
‘Sorry if I refuse to feed your voyeuristic curiosity.’ Flora straightened her attire as the train pulled into Salisbury to the accompaniment of a choking billow of smoke and a loud squeal of brakes. ‘Getting the bishop to dance to his tune was one thing, but my father’s appointment as dean was not just the bishop’s decision to make. Papa is not popular with his ecclesiastical colleagues, so one wonders how he manipulated the rest of them. It hardly seems…well, Christian.’
We feed them to the lions for a reason, you know.
‘I suppose the clergy do not always practise what they preach. Anyway, don’t let me keep you.’ Flora gathered up her possessions. ‘I am sure you have more pressing matters to attend to.’
Not on your life. This is intriguing. Besides, you will probably need me to keep you out of trouble.
‘You are without doubt the most inquisitive spirit guide in the entire universe,’ Flora replied, shaking a finger at the apparition wearing a scarlet toga and mischievous smile, unwilling to admit how much she appreciated his otherworldly presence. She had absolutely no logical reason to fear the consequences of this fleeting visit to her family, but she had learned to trust her instincts, and they were on full alert today. Her family must want something, or some part of her. Remus’s presence reinforced that perception. He didn’t ordinarily appear for no reason, although his warnings sometimes came too late to be of much use. His tagging along gave her comfort but also increased her worry. ‘It’s just a wedding. Pamela is the first of the five of us to marry, and it’s a joyous occasion,’ she insisted, attempting to convince herself rather than Remus.
Perhaps the idea of matrimony will grow on you.
‘Hardly. Anyway, someone is supposed to be here to meet me,’ Flora said, stepping down from the carriage when the guard opened the door for her and tipped his hat. She shielded her eyes with her hand and scanned the crowd. ‘Oh lud, it’s Papa himself.’ Flora felt a moment’s indecision when her father raised his hand in greeting, but it was too late to run away. Besides, she reminded herself, she was no longer afraid of him.
‘Flora, my dear.’ Her father’s smile appeared strained. It very likely was, since smiling didn’t come naturally to him. He glanced at the first class compartment she had just vacated but refrained from remarking upon the extravagance. She reached out with her mind to Remus, unable to afford the luxury of communicating verbally since they were no longer alone, asking him why her father was exercising restraint. Remus materialised, floating above her father’s head, and gave a shrug. Flora narrowed her eyes at him, thinking not for the first time that his idea of help left much to be desired. ‘How very smart you look.’
‘I am surprised to see you here, Papa,’ she said. ‘I should have thought you’d have more pressing matters to occupy your time. Presumably you will be conducting the ceremony.’
‘Actually, no.’ Her father took Flora’s elbow, cut a path through the throng of arriving passengers and conducted her to his waiting conveyance. ‘The bishop is officiating.’
‘The bishop?’ Flora flexed a brow, thinking it cruel and petty-minded of her father to exert his hold over his grace by insisting upon his compliance. ‘I am sure Pamela is conscious of the honour.’
‘I hold an influential position here in Salisbury.’ Her father straightened his spine and adopted a superior expression—the one she was more accustomed to. ‘Naturally the bishop wishes to mark the occasion when the first of my daughters enters into the precious institution of holy matrimony.’
Flora nodded, wondering if her father realised quite how pompous he sounded. If the veiled jibe about her own unmarried state was supposed to invoke guilt, then he had wasted his breath. ‘His officiating will leave you free to walk your daughter down the aisle.’
‘Quite so.’ The carriage moved off at walking pace. ‘I am glad you are here, Flora.’
‘I wouldn’t miss my sister’s wedding for any consideration,’ Flora replied, crossing her fingers in her lap to negate the lie, thinking the countess would be pleased with her for feeling no guilt about the deception.
This occasion was actually one she would gladly have avoided, had she been able to come up with a serviceable excuse. She had little in common with her family these days, and there was constant friction whenever they were in the same room. Now that she was here, her father was making himself agreeable—but not, she instinctively knew, because he was filled with pleasure at the thought of marrying one of his daughters off.
Her mother, ordinarily quick to criticise Flora, had written very conciliatory letters, begging Flora’s attendance today so that they could be, as she put it, united as a family. She didn’t ordinarily write to Flora at all, her silence making her disapproval of Flora’s lifestyle plainly apparent, and Flora’s curiosity and suspicions about both her parents’ changed attitudes assured her attendance. Whatever it was that they wanted from her, she would prefer to know rather than play a fruitless guessing game.
She recalled discussing the situation with Archie, much as she had fallen into the habit of talking to him about all her problems. He had pointed out in his usual pragmatic style that her father had clearly not given up on bringing Flora back into the family fold.
‘Coercion didn’t work,’ he said, ‘so be prepared for a different tack.’
‘They will try to invoke my guilt, because I now live so comfortably?’
Flora recalled being distracted when Archie leaned back in his chair and thoughtfully rubbed the side of his forefinger against his lips as he considered his response. His rugged features, rendered more attractive by the decade’s worth of pain that had been etched into them, sometimes caught her unawares and she found herself pondering upon possibilities that were actually highly improbable and usually inappropriate.
Whenever Flora’s thoughts turned in that direction, she was surprised by the delicious temptation that overcame her good sense. The countess had warned her that Archie—a self-confessed scoundrel in her eyes—had Flora in his sights. He was a known rake and a man who was not to be trusted, yet Flora trusted him implicitly.
Sometimes, alone in her bed at night and gripped with intense longings that she didn’t fully understand, she wished that he would be a little less gentlemanly. She suspected that if he did try to lead her astray, he wouldn’t have to put much effort into it. Flora’s curiosity was piqued, and a more experienced tutor in the art of seduction than Archie Felsham was hard to imagine.
‘We know that your father has some sort of guilty secret; a secret that he thinks you know something about,’ Archie had reminded her.
‘But I don’t!’ she cried.
‘Then let us apply our minds to the problem and see if we can reach any conclusions. What matters the most to your father?’
‘Being obeyed and respected,’ Flora replied, without having to think about it. ‘His position in the church and his strict religious observance. I cannot think of a more devout man, even if his actions are often at variance to his faith. He does not have a forgiving bone in his body, and would not take a fallen woman and her illegitimate child into his household as a servant, or indeed in any capacity whatsoever, as I have done.’
‘Which just goes to show which of you has more compassion.’ Archie’s eyes had softened as he rested his gaze upon her face. ‘And which of you is worth knowing.’
Flora blushed. ‘Even so, this wretched wedding. What ought I to do?’
