‘So...’ Lance pushed a wooden-and-mother-of-pearl inlaid box towards him, opening the lid to reveal a row of thick, brown cigars. ‘Are you going to tell me what’s going on or do I have to guess?’
‘There’s nothing to tell.’ Arthur selected the nearest cigar and lit it with a candle. ‘But you can guess if you like. That ought to be entertaining.’
‘All right.’ Lance leaned back in his chair, inhaling thoughtfully before blowing a cloud of smoke into the air above his head. ‘In that case, I can only assume that you’ve decided to get revenge on the nefarious Lydia Webster by developing a tendresse for her younger sister. I imagine this is just one of a series of private liaisons.’
‘Not very private since I’ve brought her here.’
‘Ah, but naturally you’ve brought her here for my inspection and approval.’
‘Your approval?’
‘Knowing me to be an excellent judge of the female character, yes. I further presume that you’re eloping in secret, which explains why she hides her face even while eating.’
‘There’s no tendresse.’ Arthur snorted. ‘This is the first time I’ve seen her in six years.’
‘Then you ought to be more careful. Riding around the county with young, unmarried women is more my old style than yours.’
‘It’s nothing like that. She really did sprain her ankle.’
‘Ah. Pity.’
‘Pity?’ Arthur almost spluttered on his cigar. ‘She’s Lydia’s sister!’
‘And we’re twins, but that doesn’t make us the same person. I like her.’
‘As I recall, there aren’t many women in the world you don’t like.’
‘Past tense and no offence taken, since you’re obviously sensitive on the subject. I’m a happily married man these days, as you very well know.’
‘Yes, I do and I apologise.’ Arthur grimaced and then frowned at the table. It had been a low blow, reminding Lance of his misspent past, especially when he was now so utterly devoted to Violet. Why was he being so sensitive?
‘Anyway,’ Lance went on, ‘there were a few women I didn’t like. I don’t recall ever saying anything positive about Lydia Webster, for example.’
‘True. You called her a cold-hearted fortune hunter.’
‘There you go then, but, married or not, I can still appreciate a woman of intelligence. I’ve no idea what your Miss Webster and Violet were talking about, but I don’t remember Lydia ever taking such a keen interest in poetry.’
‘Novels. They were discussing the works of Jane Austen.’
‘Didn’t she write poetry?’
‘No, and it’s not my Miss Webster.’
‘Noticed that eventually, did you?’ Lance chuckled. ‘Does she look like Lydia?’
‘Uncannily, except that Frances has a scar on one cheek. She had some kind of accident a few years ago.’
‘And that’s why she covers her face?’ Lance sobered instantly. ‘Then I’m sorry for joking.’
‘You weren’t to know. She hasn’t told me what happened.’
‘But you’ve seen it?’
‘Yes.’ Arthur blew a cloud of smoke out to hide his expression. Lance’s gaze seemed altogether too perceptive all of a sudden.
‘Maybe she doesn’t like to talk about it.’
‘She doesn’t, but there’s still no need for her to cover up like that. It’s only a scar.’
‘But it’s her choice whether or not to show it. If she feels more comfortable wearing a veil, then it’s none of our business.’ Lance shrugged. ‘Besides, I’d have thought you’d be glad she covers her face if she looks so much like Lydia.’
Arthur puffed out another smoke ring thoughtfully. That was true. He ought to feel glad. Surely the last thing he’d want was to look at an almost mirror-image of Lydia all evening, yet he actually wanted to see Frances’s face again. Why? It wasn’t as if he felt any residual attachment to his former fiancée, that much he was certain of, but the fact that Frances felt the need to cover her scar bothered him. Was she embarrassed or had she been made to feel so unattractive? He didn’t want her to feel that way...
‘In any case,’ Lance continued, ‘you still haven’t explained what you’re doing with her. Don’t tell me you found her limping around the Moors all on her own?’
‘No, she came to the farm.’
‘Your farm? Why?’
‘I’ll give you two guesses.’
‘Lydia sent her?’ Lance let out a low whistle. ‘You have to give the woman credit for nerve. She’s still fishing for a title, then?’
‘So it would seem.’
‘Well, it’s taken her long enough. She’s been widowed for almost a year. To be honest, I expected her to try something before.’
‘She has. She’s written twice asking me to meet her.’ Arthur raised his cigar to his lips and then pulled it away again. ‘How do you know how long she’s been widowed? I didn’t think you were so interested in Whitby society.’
‘I pay attention to some things, especially things that might involve my family. I make it my business to know when my brother’s being hunted.’
‘Well, she’s not going to catch me.’
‘Don’t be so sure. Women like that know how to get what they want and they don’t give up easily. Only why on earth did she send her sister to you?’
‘No idea. She must have thought a personal appeal would be more effective.’
‘But she didn’t visit you herself?’
‘No. Too worried about her reputation apparently.’
‘Thank goodness for that. So what message are you going to send back?’
‘I said that I’ve already given my answer.’
‘Mmmm...’ Lance sounded pensive ‘...just stay on your guard. I wouldn’t put anything past Lydia Web—what’s her married name again?’
‘Baird.’
‘Lydia Baird. She’s just the type to try to catch you in a compromising situation. Be careful she doesn’t turn up on your doorstep.’
‘One look at the farm and she’d probably change her mind.’
‘It might be too late by then.’
‘Which would be her problem, not mine. I won’t be tricked into doing the honourable thing.’
‘Won’t you? We both know you’re not as bad-tempered as you make out.’
‘I’m incredibly bad-tempered and I refuse to be trapped into anything I don’t want. I’ve lived enough of my life that way.’
‘Glad to hear