A Sense of Fate (Perceptions Book 7) Read online

  ‘I am here, Papa. Let us not disagree about anything on this happiest of days.’

  The door was opened by a servant she didn’t recognise and Flora walked into the house. Her mother emerged from the drawing room, looking tired and anxious, and astonished Flora by actually embracing her. Mama had never been demonstrative, and her willingness to make the effort increased Flora’s misgivings even further.

  ‘You look very smart,’ Mama said, leading the way into a spacious drawing room. Flora waited for a barbed criticism about the expense of her attire; money that could have been set aside for a more worthwhile purpose, but no such criticism was forthcoming.

  Flora smiled and said all the right things, privately thinking that the same could not be said for her mother, or her sisters either. Mama wore an obviously new gown, but the colours were dull and the style outdated. Her three sisters, all bridesmaids, were dressed in lemon, which didn’t suit their complexions. Only Melanie, the youngest at just thirteen, seemed genuinely pleased to see Flora and threw herself into her arms.

  ‘I am so glad you have come!’ she cried.

  ‘You are all grown up since I saw you last,’ Flora replied, hugging her favourite sister.

  Their reunion was interrupted by the appearance of the bride. It was all Flora could do to prevent herself from laughing aloud. The frothy confection of tulle and lace was far too elaborate to suit Pamela’s small stature, and made her appear dumpy. Something far less elaborate would have better served, but this was Pamela’s special day and she clearly thought the gown enhanced her appearance. Flora wasn’t about to spoil her moment in the spotlight. God alone knew, Pamela’s marriage to Mr Janson didn’t hold much appeal. Pamela would be going from one form of religious suppression in this joyless household to being the wife of an equally ambitious man in another.

  There again, Flora mused, Pamela had always been devout. Perhaps marriage to a man of God held appeal.

  Flora travelled with her mother and sisters to the west door of the cathedral in the same carriage, their father and Pamela following behind.

  ‘Have you invited many guests?’ Flora asked, to make conversation.

  ‘It is to be a modest affair—but naturally, given your father’s importance, there will be a number of senior clergy present,’ Mama replied, sounding distracted. ‘Don’t fidget, Melanie, you will crease your gown.’

  ‘Who chose lemon?’ Flora asked.

  ‘Don’t you think the colour suits the girls?’ Mama asked. ‘Your father wouldn’t countenance a brighter shade. This may be a joyous occasion, but it wouldn’t do to get too carried away and forget its religious significance.’

  ‘Heaven forbid.’ Flora bit her lip and adjured herself to behave.

  ‘Here we are.’

  Mama fussed over the girls’ attire as they alighted from the carriage. Flora wandered into the familiar cathedral and waited until her mother joined her. Together they walked to the front of the side chapel and took their places in the front pew on the left. A surprisingly—or perhaps not that surprisingly—small number of guests had taken their seats, a number of clerical collars amongst them. Her father’s minions had obeyed his call to arms, Flora supposed.

  Flora hadn’t formed any lasting friendships during her younger years here in Salisbury. None of the people she took a liking to were deemed suitable. Papa had a position to uphold and ambitions to fulfil. He had no time for connections to families unable to further the ambitions in question.

  It seemed that her sisters had also been denied the freedom of choice, and had no friends of their own age. Flora felt a momentary pang of combined guilt and sorrow, aware that Melanie’s lively personality would be ruthlessly suppressed unless she followed Flora’s example and found the strength to stand up for herself.

  The ceremony passed in a blur. Flora made the appropriate responses in the right places without conscious thought. And then it was over with and the Reverend Janson left the church with his euphoric wife on his arm. Janson had appeared bored with the entire proceedings. Not, Flora thought as she trailed behind the party and emerged into the cold drizzle of a February day, a terribly auspicious start.

  Pamela knew what she had taken on, and Flora wished her joy.

  Upon returning to the family home, Flora noticed Mr Bolton’s presence. He had been her father’s curate at one time, and the man Flora had left home to avoid being forced into matrimony with. Her father clearly had firm ideas about his curates marrying into his family, and had at least achieved that desire with Pamela. Flora had no intention of marrying anybody, least of all any of her father’s subordinates, but she and Mr Bolton had subsequently got to know one another a good deal better after he’d been appointed as the bishop’s commissionaire.

  ‘Good afternoon, Miss Latimer.’ Mr Bolton smiled at her. ‘I hoped I would have the pleasure of seeing you here today.’

  ‘Mr Bolton. How could I not come to celebrate my sister’s special day?’

  ‘Does it not have overtures of there but for the grace of God…’

  Flora grinned at his irreverence. ‘I hope you now agree that you and I would not have suited.’

  ‘Ah, there we must agree to differ.’ He handed her a glass of champagne and took one for himself. ‘To your very good health.’

  ‘And yours.’ Flora raised her glass in a salute.

  ‘I will admit that your father encouraged my ambitions, but you were assured of my attention long before that.’

  ‘Be careful. You will make me blush.’

  Mr Bolton laughed. ‘I know my limitations, Miss Latimer, and I assure you that you did the right thing in getting away from all of this.’

  ‘As a man of the cloth, I don’t think that you are supposed to say such things. I am sure it must be sacrilegious. Anyway, Papa is assured of his curate’s loyalty now,’ she added, nodding towards Janson.

  ‘He is no longer his curate. When your father became dean, Janson became his gatekeeper, for want of a better word. More like a glorified secretary.’

  ‘Ah, I see. But you did better in joining the bishop. He is certainly a very different character to my father. How are you enjoying your role as his…enforcer? Is that the right term?’

  ‘A harsh description, but true, I suppose.’ He smiled at Flora, reminding her that he had blossomed since being released from her father’s authority and had become agreeably irreverent. ‘But at least we no longer put heretics to the rack.’

  ‘That is a great relief, I do assure you.’ Flora paused. ‘You had a disagreement with my father before you parted company, I think. I hope I was not the cause of that disagreement, although I suppose you finished up in a better position, so perhaps I was of help to you in the longer term.’

  ‘Your father and I disagreed over diocesan issues. You know how we clerics like to squabble amongst ourselves.’ He looked away from her and Flora sensed he was lying. Good manners prevented her from pressing the issue.

  ‘I hear there was some unpleasantness with his grace’s nephew last autumn,’ Mr Bolton said after a brief reflective pause.

  ‘You are aware of that?’ Flora couldn’t hide her surprise. ‘I shouldn’t have thought the bishop would have wanted to make such an issue public knowledge.’

  ‘It’s certainly not something I would talk to anyone about—other than you, given that you were directly involved.’

  ‘The bishop is assured of my discretion.’

  ‘He is well aware of that fact, and not ungrateful.’

  ‘Come along, Flora, Mr Bolton must excuse you. There are people here who wish to make your acquaintance.’ Flora rolled her eyes at Mr Bolton when her mother took her arm and gave her no option but to follow her into a long dining room, which had been laid with tables on three sides. Her mother led her to the front of the room, where the bride and groom were about to take their places.

  ‘I hope you will be polite to Papa’s guest of honour,’ her mother said, an edge to her voice.

  ‘That rather depe
nds upon whether or not this is another clumsy attempt on his part to marry me off to a man of his choosing,’ Flora responded, matching her mother’s impatient tone.

  ‘Your father wants what is best for you.’

  ‘My father wants only what is best for himself.’

  ‘Flora, really…’

  ‘Ah, Flora.’ Her father smiled at her. ‘Allow me to present Mr Elroy Conrad, a distinguished guest. Conrad, my eldest daughter, Flora.’

  ‘Ah, the delightful Miss Latimer, about whom I have heard so much—and all of it a vast understatement, I can quite see that now.’

  ‘You have the advantage of me, sir,’ Flora replied, taking the measure of the handsome and clearly loquacious stranger, her suspicions on high alert when Remus put in an appearance, shaking his translucent head. ‘I have never heard your name mentioned before. Clearly, I am the one at fault since this is a family wedding and you are a guest, so it follows that you must be known to either my sister or her husband.’

  ‘Alas no, I cannot claim that pleasure, but it is a situation that I hope to rectify.’

  ‘I am sure my mother and sisters will be pleased to receive you, sir,’ Flora replied, confused by his presence. He was not a man of the cloth, nor it seemed a friend of the family, but he was obviously important to her father. ‘I no longer live in Salisbury.’

  ‘I believe we have an acquaintance in common, Miss Latimer.’

  ‘We do?’ Flora arched a brow. ‘Forgive me, but you have the advantage of me once again.’

  ‘Lord Felsham and I were once on friendly terms.’

  ‘Indeed?’ Flora affected disinterest. ‘I have not heard him mention your name.’

  ‘We knew one another at university in Oxford. We all thought Felsham was dead.’

  ‘I am happy to assure you that is not the case.’ She allowed herself the suggestion of a smile. Her parents wanted Flora to take a liking to this gentleman, but had yet to learn that coercion was the surest way to invoke her dislike. ‘The marquess is very much alive.’

  ‘His friend, Luke Beranger, is on the verge of matrimony, I understand.’

  ‘He is indeed, and those of us privileged to call him a friend are delighted with his choice. Miss Baxter is beyond compare and will make an exemplary countess.’

  Flora was able to speak of her former employer’s grandson and his forthcoming nuptials with only the smallest pang of regret. They had once been close but he couldn’t accept her powers of second sight and deplored any mention of the supernatural—the inexplicable—despite the fact that she had used her abilities to save him from unsuitable marriages on two separate occasions. Similar considerations had driven a wedge between her own grandmother and her father, and had been responsible in part for her father taking holy orders.

  Flora had struck out for freedom, partly so that she could use her inherited talent for the greater good. She could not—would not—consider tying herself to a disbeliever, no matter how attracted to one another they happened to be.

  ‘Come along, my dear,’ Mama said, tugging at her father’s arm. ‘We are ready to sit down and everyone is waiting for you.’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘I hope we will be able to converse later, Miss Latimer,’ Mr Conrad said.

  ‘Unfortunately that will be unlikely, sir. I shall be leaving directly after the wedding breakfast.’

  Flora took her place at the end of the top table, worried about her father’s latest machinations, uncomfortably aware that she could in all probability anticipate a visit from Mr Conrad in the not too distant future. She resolved to discuss him with Archie as soon as an opportunity arose.

  ‘I wish I could come with you.’ Melanie jumped up and down on her toes as she caught Flora alone moments before she departed to catch her train. ‘But I don’t suppose I shall be allowed to.’

  ‘I fail to see why you shouldn’t pay me a prolonged visit,’ Flora said, although she could think of a dozen reasons why her father would refuse to allow it. Even so, parental disapproval wouldn’t prevent Flora from attempting to make the arrangements. She and Melanie were more alike than Flora had previously realised, and she would do what she could to encourage her sister to break free from Cathedral Close and spread her wings. ‘I will write to you and we will plot our strategy.’

  ‘Oh yes, please!’ She hugged Flora in excitement. ‘It will be dull once you leave.’

  ‘Well, Pamela will be gone as well, so you will have…’

  ‘I will have to endure slightly less criticism,’ Melanie said, nodding glumly.

  ‘Be yourself, my love. Although I probably shouldn’t encourage you. I know how severe Papa’s punishments can be.’

  ‘I shall be on my best behaviour and try very hard not to speak out of turn. Then they will have to reward me with a visit to you.’

  Flora tugged at one of her sister’s curls and took her leave of her family, mulling over the events of the day on the train journey back to Swindon.

  Chapter Two

  ‘I wish you joy, my friend.’ Archie Felsham raised his glass to Luke Beranger, relaxing in the familiar surroundings of the library at Beranger Court on the final day of his visit. ‘It’s the end of an era and our priorities have changed. I suppose we’ve all had to grow up and assume our responsibilities.’

  ‘Are you planning to follow suit?’

  ‘I am not thinking along those lines.’ Archie offered up a self-deprecating shrug. ‘Who’d have this old decrepit?’

  Luke laughed. ‘Just about any female in the country, I imagine. They’d be happy to put up with your bad temper and reclusive proclivities in return for becoming a marchioness.’

  ‘Ha!’ All but one, Archie thought but did not say, aware of Flora’s aura looming large between them. Equally aware that if he’d followed his instincts when first meeting the alluring minx, it would have driven a permanent wedge between himself and Luke. Archie hadn’t been prepared to risk their friendship for a second time, not even for Flora’s sake. ‘Anyway, regardless of my own matrimonial ambitions or lack thereof, I shall be happy to stand as your best man. Thank you for the honour.’

  ‘Who else would I ask? Despite your death your position as my best friend was never usurped.’ Luke shrugged. ‘Perhaps I sensed you were still alive, lurking across the Channel and pretending to be someone else.’

  ‘Acquiring psychic powers, are we?’ Archie raised a provocative brow.

  ‘Spring is a good time to have a wedding, so Violet says,’ Luke remarked in an obvious change of subject.

  The supernatural was another sensitive area that caused both men’s thoughts to dwell upon Flora. Archie had confidence in her perceptions, but Luke refused to acknowledge them. Luke’s stubbornness in that regard had prevented him, Archie suspected, from proposing to Flora. Archie had known the first time he saw them together that his friend’s feelings were engaged, but Luke’s closed mind would almost certainly have dissuaded Flora from accepting him, even if he had declared himself.

  ‘And all of Swindon will turn out to see their earl finally tie the knot,’ Archie predicted, taking a healthy swig of his single malt.

  ‘Or to throw rotten fruit at us. I have my share of resentful neighbours.’ Luke leaned back in his chair and raised his arms above his head. His large mongrel dog, Romulus, who’d been rescued as a puppy and nursed back to health by Flora, stirred from his slumbers in front of the library fire and briefly flapped his tail. ‘I wish Grandmama could have hung on to see the day. She would have approved of Violet, I am absolutely sure of it.’

  ‘Your approval is all that signifies. After all, it’s you who will have to face her every day for the rest of your life.’

  Luke laughed. ‘Well, looking at her is certainly no hardship.’

  ‘No,’ Archie agreed. ‘She’s a rare beauty.’

  ‘I’m a fortunate man.’

  And one, Archie thought, who sounded as though he was trying to convince himself of the fact. Violet was suitable in all respect
s.

  But she was not Flora.

  Archie was unable to gauge how distressed Flora felt when Luke’s engagement had been announced. She professed to be delighted and showed no outward signs of jealousy. Quite the reverse. Violet Baxter had sought Flora’s friendship, which she had happily offered to her rival for Luke’s affections.

  Flora had, Archie reasoned, made her feelings—or lack of them—for Luke apparent when she declined to remain at Beranger Court after the countess’s death and made alternative living arrangements. She didn’t discover Archie’s hand in those arrangements until after she had committed herself to Fox Hollow, but she made her annoyance plain when she discovered that Archie was her landlord and that she had unintentionally accepted a tenancy at a discounted rent. He’d been terrified that pride would prevent her from taking up residence in his cottage when she learned of his machinations. But to his relief she had eventually recovered from what she described as his intolerable interference in her affairs and had gradually come to depend upon him as a neighbour and friend.

  Her friendship, for now at least, was enough for Archie. Flora needed time to enjoy her hard won independence from a family that had been reluctant to let her go and still appeared determined to draw her back into its sanctimonious clutches. Archie was equally determined to ensure that they didn’t succeed, and now that she lived so close at hand he was in an ideal position to act as her protector without her being any the wiser. No one called at Fox Hollow without Archie being aware of their identity and the nature of their business.

  He suppressed a chuckle, thinking how furious she would be if she discovered that he had appointed himself as her guardian. She would hotly declare that she was perfectly capable of taking care of herself. Archie shook his head, thinking how unworldly she still was in many respects. She had absolutely no idea just what an enticing proposition she projected, or that she would be noticed by those keen to take advantage of her situation. She was known to be unmarried but lived very comfortably and was generous with her time and attention for those less fortunate than herself.