A Sense of Fate (Perceptions Book 7) Read online

  Perceptions

  A Sense of Fate

  Wendy Soliman

  Perceptions Series Book Seven

  A Sense of Fate

  Edited by Perry Iles

  Cover Design by Clockwork Art

  Copyright © Wendy Soliman 2020

  This e-Book is a work of fiction. While references may be made to actual places or events, the names, characters, incidents, and locations contained are from the author’s imagination and are not a resemblance of actual living or dead persons, business, or events. Any similarities are coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any method, electronic, mechanical, recording or otherwise without the prior written permission of

  The Author – Wendy Soliman

  This book is licensed to the original purchaser only. Duplication or distribution via any means is illegal and a violation of International Copyright Law, subject to criminal prosecution and upon conviction fines and/or imprisonment. The e-Book cannot be legally loaned or given to others. No part of this e-Book can be shared or reproduced without the express permission of the author.

  Chapter One

  February 1882

  Flora Latimer stared vacantly out of the window as the train puffed slowly into Salisbury, the cold, grey weather perfectly reflecting the nature of her thoughts. Almost two years had passed since she had left the cathedral town of her birth in a defiant act of rebellion against her father and the strict childhood regime that had threatened to stifle her spirit. But even Flora at her most imaginative could not have foreseen the remarkable changes that her bid for freedom had wrought upon her life.

  Her courage had brought its own rewards. The nervous creature who had escaped Salisbury in a determined effort to avoid being married off to her father’s curate had become an independent and self-assured young woman.

  She reflected upon those changes now as she glanced down at the fashionable pale blue outfit she had chosen to wear for her sister’s wedding. With her underbodice attached to the outer jacket and a bustle caught up at the back of the dress, she looked elegant. The fitted front of her bodice lay flat, drawing attention to Flora’s slim waist. The high-crowned matching felt hat, elaborately trimmed with chenille, painted wooden beads, ribbon and a profusion of feathers sat on top of Flora’s copper curls, which had for once been tamed into obedience.

  ‘I am the epitome of the modern, independent woman,’ she said aloud, luxuriating in having the entire first-class carriage to herself—an expensive indulgence that bolstered her courage and reflected her success.

  Talking to yourself again.

  A puff of wind whistled past Flora’s ear. ‘Ah, Remus. I thought I sensed your presence,’ she said, addressing her quixotic Roman spirit guide, who could sometimes be depended upon to remember his purpose and actually guide her.

  I do have other things to do, you know. Places to be. I cannot always be around to hold your hand, just because you are anxious about facing your family. And what on earth is this huge contraption?

  ‘It’s a train, Remus. A speedier mode of transportation than the chariots you favour. The world is changing. You repeatedly tell me that you have other occupations, but I am not sure if I believe you. Besides, I am not anxious, precisely,’ Flora replied. ‘Well, I suppose I am to a degree. I just wish I didn’t have to endure the day. My sisters resent me—all of them bar Melanie at least, who has yet to fall into line with the family’s view of the prodigal daughter. Doubtless she will do so as she matures, which is a very great pity. I am rather fond of my youngest sister, but the rest of them are a mirror image of our parents, which I suppose is not to be wondered at.’

  You are not like them.

  ‘No, and I have been more or less disowned as a consequence. Now they are being charming and attentive all of a sudden.’ Flora scowled. ‘I don’t like it. They are up to something.’

  Look how much more fun you’ve had since you were disowned by that sanctimonious bunch. You have a hunky earl lusting after you and a tragic marquess too. Remus gave an otherworldly sniff. Some people don’t know when they are well off.

  ‘My circumstances are very different, it’s true. I certainly didn’t anticipate such drastic changes when I found the courage to leave home.’

  Flora had taken up a position as companion to the dowager Countess of Swindon, fighting off her family’s disapproval and ignoring her father’s outright insistence that she remain in Cathedral Close. Luke Beranger, the earl to whom Remus had just referred, was the dowager’s grandson. Flora had adored the old lady, taking her quirky moods in her stride and refusing to be bullied by her. She had rapidly become indispensable to the entire family as a consequence and had grown closer to them in the process. She had been as heartbroken as the rest of them when the dowager countess died, but astounded when she was very generously remembered in her will.

  The countess’s largesse, along with an inheritance left to Flora by her own grandmother which she’d come into when she reached her majority the previous year, now allowed her to live comfortably and independently in Lyneham. Her cottage, Fox Hollow, just happened to be owned by Archie Felsham, the Marquess of Felsham and Luke Beranger’s closest friend. Flora’s own friendship with the brooding marquess was complicated by her growing attachment to the damaged and highly intelligent aristocrat—a man who was out of her league yet invaded her senses and sometimes made her yearn for the unattainable.

  ‘I still don’t enjoy coming back to Salisbury,’ Flora said, continuing to articulate her thoughts aloud, thinking anyone who happened to overhear her would consider her a candidate for Bedlam. They were not to know that Remus’s ghostly form was perfectly visible to Flora, perched on the seat across from her, ready for a good gossip. ‘You recall what happened in the autumn…’

  Of course I do. Your father somehow manipulated the bishop into pushing his no good nephew at you.’

  ‘Yardley was a bounder, but it didn’t stop you from swooning over him.’

  Darling, haven’t you learned anything yet? The bad apples are always the most fun. Flora smiled in spite of herself. Remus was irrepressible. Nothing seemed to temper his irreverent attitude to the afterlife, other than any mention of his brother, Romulus. Besides, your wounded hero saved you from Yardley’s clutches.

  ‘Yes, he did, didn’t he?’

  It was true. Archie had been severely disabled following a fall from a lady’s bedroom window in his student days. He now lived with constant pain and could walk only with the aid of a stick. Flora’s abilities with herbs—a gift she’d inherited from her grandmother along with the second sight that so offended her father—had brought a considerable improvement to Archie’s mobility, but he would never be completely whole again. Whacking the back of Yardley’s knees with his stick in Flora’s defence when he’d tried to force himself upon her had, she knew, helped to restore Archie’s diminished masculine pride.

  ‘Well anyway, I shall be on my very best behaviour today while I watch my silly sister being married off to my father’s latest curate. Then I shall take myself back to Lyneham on the late afternoon train having done my duty.’

  Then why are you so anxious?

  It was a very good question, and one to which Flora gave due consideration before responding. ‘Hard to say. I suppose I still think my father will try to do something to interfere with my life. He doesn’t approve of my living alone, away from his controlling clutches. Besides, he is being conciliatory, which is always a worry. I only have experience of dealing with him when he’s throwing his weight around, expecting immediate obedience.’

&nb
sp; He doesn’t know you very well, in that case.

  ‘He wants something, you just mark my words.’

  Flora tapped her fingers against her knee, the soft leather of the gloves that matched her attire sinfully comfortable—as they ought to be, given their outrageous cost. But gloves were one of the many aspects of a lady’s attire that the countess had insisted should never be skimped upon. The quality of a lady’s accessories told the world a great deal about the lady herself, the countess said, and her habits in that regard appeared to have rubbed off on Flora. She had learned that being smartly and expensively attired gave one confidence and earned the respect of others.

  You still think your father used his hold over the bishop to secure promotion?

  ‘I know he did, and we both know what that hold is. I feel rather sorry for the bishop, being stuck with a subordinate who possesses the power to destroy him, but that’s my father for you. He is never happier than when he is manipulating others.’

  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 obe
yed 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?’

  ‘You have already made up your mind to attend, I suspect.’

  Flora flashed a rueful smile and spread her hands. ‘How well you know me.’

  ‘Not nearly as well as I’d like,’ he replied with a flirtatious smile. ‘Even so, I have no doubt that the occasion will shed light on your father’s latest stratagem. I look forward to hearing all about it when you get back.’

  ‘I don’t think I tell you frequently enough just how proud I am of you.’ Her father’s conciliatory tone recalled Flora’s wandering attention.

  ‘Thank you,’ she replied evenly, her suspicions on high alert.

  ‘I have underestimated you, I can quite see that now, but I hope that we can use this happy occasion today to mend bridges.’

  Flora had absolutely no idea how to respond but thankfully the carriage ride was a short one and their arrival at the dean’s residence—now her family’s home—rendered any response unnecessary. Flora hadn’t seen the house before. It was considerably larger than the home she had grown up in when her father had been the canon chancellor. He couldn’t seem to prevent himself from preening when Flora dutifully expressed her admiration.

  ‘Our family is respected,’ he said. ‘I wish you had agreed to stay for a few days,’ he added, only just refraining from sounding judgemental. ‘We don’t see nearly enough of you.’