by Burke, Darcy
Arabella feared if he didn’t leave soon, she was going to humiliate herself by dissolving into a puddle of tears. No, she wasn’t going to do that. She was strong. She’d weathered Miles leaving and the nightmare of the past several months of uncertainty. She would survive this too.
“Thank you, Your Grace,” she said with a serenity she didn’t feel. “We are indebted to you.”
“Indeed we are,” Papa said with grave solemnity. “If there is anything I can ever do for you… Though how I could ever help a duke…” He laughed somewhat awkwardly.
Graham stood, and everyone else followed suit. Papa came toward him and shook his hand with more vigor than Arabella would have thought he had. “I can’t thank you enough.”
“There’s no need,” Graham said. “I am happy to have brought about a positive outcome for you.” He let go of Papa’s hand, then turned to Mama and inclined his head. “Mrs. Stoke.”
“Your Grace,” she murmured, curtseying.
Then Graham turned to Arabella. “It has been my pleasure to make your acquaintance, Miss Stoke. I wish you every happiness in the future—wherever it takes you.” His gaze held hers, and she feared her heart was going to split in two. Then he turned and left.
Her heart didn’t break in half. Instead, it fractured into dozens and hundreds and thousands of tiny pieces that couldn’t ever mend themselves back together again.
She fought to take a deep breath while her parents began to dance around the room. They laughed and hugged, and Arabella slipped quietly into the garden.
Outside, she barely noted the gray sky or the cool breeze. Tears stung her eyes, but she blinked them away. Pain tore through her, and she wondered if she’d ever find joy again.
I wish you every happiness…
But there was only one she wanted.
Without thinking, she went through the gate into Phoebe’s garden. She walked toward the garden room, the door to which stood slightly ajar. Phoebe and Jane sat at the table, and the former jumped up to welcome Arabella inside.
“Come in, Arabella! You can celebrate with us.”
“Yes, do,” Jane said, grinning.
Arabella had hoped they would take her mind off the devastation that had just occurred, and now she felt quite fortunate that she’d stumbled onto a celebration. “Perfect, I’m in the mood for good news. What are we celebrating?”
“Jane’s matchmaking skills,” Phoebe said, looking toward Jane. “I do think you may need to take this up as an occupation.”
“I might. I must admit, I feel rather accomplished.” She preened for a moment, then they all laughed.
Oh, this was precisely what Arabella needed.
“Pour Arabella some ratafia,” Jane said.
Phoebe complied, then handed Arabella the glass. “Shall we drink a toast to the couple Jane has matched in matrimony?”
“Yes, who are we celebrating?” Arabella asked eagerly, hoping it was someone she knew.
Jane lifted her glass. “To Lady Clifton and the Duke of Halstead.”
“Huzzah!” Phoebe said.
Arabella nearly dropped her glass. She managed to set it on the table, but did so a bit too hard, and ratafia splashed over her hand.
Phoebe and Jane sipped their drinks while Arabella could only stare.
“What’s the matter?” Phoebe asked Arabella. “I thought you liked ratafia.”
“When did they become betrothed?” Arabella managed to get the question out even as the world around her seemed to be turning gray.
“Today,” Jane said. “Or they will, anyway. Lady Clifton will be on her way to Brixton Park shortly.” Jane frowned at her glass, then looked over at Phoebe. “I’m not sure I deserve credit for this match. If not for His Grace’s situation—”
“Nonsense,” Phoebe said. “If not for you, Lady Clifton wouldn’t have met him at all, and it’s not as if she’s proposing just because he’s broke. They clearly suit, and she doesn’t give a fig about his finances.”
Arabella’s breath snagged in her lungs. “How do you know he’s broke?”
“It’s all over town,” Phoebe said. “He put Brixton Park up for sale the other day. That was the deciding factor for Constance—Lady Clifton—I think. She saw how important it was to him when we went for the picnic.”
Jane nodded, her brow creasing with sympathy. “Oh yes, it’s just awful to think he would have had to part with it.”
“But not now.” Phoebe smiled brightly. “Now he has Lady Clifton’s fortune to save the day.”
Arabella hadn’t thought her day could get any worse. She’d presumed Graham had recovered the duke’s investment in addition to theirs. However, now she had to wonder, especially since both of their secrets had been exposed. It was too much of a coincidence.
“You’re certain he’s destitute?” Arabella asked, trying to make sense of everything.
Phoebe looked at her in question. “Why do you doubt it?”
“I just…” Arabella tried to summon a reason that wouldn’t require her to explain the truth. The truth. What was that? She thought she’d known, but sitting here listening to them talk about Graham and Lady Clifton as if theirs was a divine match made her question everything. “You said they ‘clearly suit’?” she asked Phoebe.
“That’s what Lady Clifton said. She found him quite engaging—so genuine and unassuming. Absolutely unlike almost every other gentleman in Society, especially of a lofty rank.”
Jane nodded. “That’s true. If I wasn’t a committed spinster, he might have turned my head.”
The world had turned completely upside down. Arabella’s family was no longer destitute. She no longer had to marry, and indeed had her parents’ support to become a full member of the Spitfire Society. Graham was still insolvent, and he was selling the thing he loved most: Brixton Park. But Lady Clifton was about to swoop in and save the day.
The pieces of Arabella’s heart further splintered. She should be the one to save him. But she couldn’t. She had nothing to give him, save her love.
She thought of Miles. Her parents had refused his suit, he’d begged Arabella to run away with him, and she’d tearfully let him go.
She wasn’t going to make the same mistake twice. She hadn’t fought for Miles, but she was going to fight for Graham. It might be a losing battle, but at least she wouldn’t regret doing nothing.
Picking up the glass of ratafia, Arabella took a long drink. Then she looked at Phoebe and Jane with determination. “I’m sure Lady Clifton is lovely, and if Graham wants to marry her, I will not interfere. However, I am in love with him, and if I don’t tell him, I will always wonder what might have been.”
Their jaws dropped in precise unison.
Phoebe was the first to find her voice. “You said you didn’t suit.”
“I lied.”
Jane gave her hand an empathetic pat. “You didn’t have to.”
“I did. My family was destitute. Graham was destitute. We were trying to help each other not be destitute. Then…things…happened.”
“That’s twice you’ve called him Graham,” Jane noted.
“I, ah, know him quite well.” She tried to keep the heat from rising up her neck and flooding her cheeks and was fairly certain she’d failed miserably.
“Apparently,” Phoebe murmured. She gave Arabella a pained look. “We had no idea how you felt about him. Does he feel the same?”
“I don’t know. But we had…something.” Arabella stood. “I have to find out.”
Jane stood too. “Of course you do. How can we help?”
Phoebe rose. “Yes, let us help. If we can.”
“I need to get to Brixton Park.” She felt a wave of despair as she said the name—how could she compete with Lady Clifton when the countess could save his beloved heritage? Her shoulders drooped in defeat. “It’s pointless. If he chooses me, he’ll lose Brixton Park. I don’t want him to have to make that choice.” And yet he’d already made a choice by returning her father’s inves
tment when he could have kept it to perhaps save Brixton Park.
“So you’ll let him marry Lady Clifton without him knowing you love him?” Jane frowned deeply, her brow pinching. “What if he loves you in return?”
Phoebe blew out a breath. “Wouldn’t he have told her that?”
Arabella shook her head. “I’m afraid not. He thinks I want to remain unwed and be a spitfire more than anything.” Her father’s speech in front of him earlier had certainly supported that belief—she couldn’t blame Graham for thinking it. That was what she’d wanted.
“That isn’t what you want?” Phoebe asked softly.
“No. I want to marry him. If he’ll have me.”
“Then go tell him. You’ll determine what to do about Brixton Park—together.”
Yes, together. Assuming he wanted her too.
She could assume nothing beyond the fact that she was running out of time. “Phoebe, may I borrow one of your vehicles.”
“Of course. Take the curricle. It’s fastest.” Phoebe clenched her jaw. “Damn, I knew I should have bought a phaeton.”
“I wouldn’t know how to drive it,” Arabella said, smiling. “But a curricle I can manage.” Even if driving alone to Brixton Park would probably ruin her reputation—she had nothing to lose. “I need to write a note to my parents to tell them where I’ve gone—will you deliver it?”
“Certainly,” Phoebe said.
Jane started toward the door. “I’ll fetch writing utensils.”
Phoebe gave Arabella an encouraging smile. “Have faith. Everything will all work out as it should.”
People kept saying that, but so far, Arabella wasn’t convinced.
Chapter 15
Graham took his time tending Uther when he returned to Brixton Park. The ride back had been melancholy as he contemplated the future. The loss of Brixton Park was painful, but it was nothing compared to losing Arabella.
How could he lose someone he’d never had?
An angry voice in his head asked, And whose fault was that?
Uther whinnied softly, as if he too could hear the voice berating Graham. “I deserve it,” he told the horse. “I should have told her how I feel, even if it meant she chose the Spitfire Society. Now I’ll never know.”
Unless he went and told her now. He’d just left! And after listening to her parents support her wish to choose her own future, he’d felt certain he was doing the right thing. If she’d wanted that future to include him, she would have said so.
Just like you told her how you feel?
Oh, he was an ass. An ass who was going to lose his family’s legacy and the only romantic love he’d ever known.
He’d already unsaddled his horse and completely groomed him, but what did it matter? “Come on, Uther, we have to go back.”
The horse tossed his head in response—and in, Graham felt certain, agreement.
Dyster, the head groom, appeared in the doorway of the stable. “Your Grace, a coach has arrived. I’ve sent Lowell to assist.”
Graham frowned. He didn’t have time for interruption. “What sort of coach?”
“I’m not certain.”
Exhaling, Graham rubbed Uther’s neck. “Give me a moment,” he whispered. Then to Dyster, he said, “Please resaddle Uther in a few minutes—he needs a short respite.” This delay forced Graham to do that, which was probably best for Uther. “I have to return to town. I’ll be back shortly.”
Graham strode toward the drive, where Lowell was helping the coachman tend to the vehicle. The crest on the door designated the owner—Lady Clifton. What the devil was she doing here?
He peered into the coach, but it was empty.
“She’s gone inside,” Lowell said.
With a nod, Graham turned and went toward the door. A footman greeted him. “Where’s Hedge?” Graham asked.
“He’s showing Lady Clifton to the drawing room.”
Graham quickly made his way to the drawing room, passing the butler just outside.
“There you are, Your Grace. I took the liberty of taking Lady Clifton to the drawing room. I understood you were just in the stables.”
“I was. I came when I heard she arrived. Thank you, Hedge.”
“I’ll be right back with refreshment.”
Graham blinked. “Why?”
“Because it’s a five-mile journey from town, and it’s polite?” Hedge turned a faint pink. “I do beg your pardon, sir, but you have asked me to be as honest and helpful as possible as you adjust to your new role.”
“Yes, of course it’s polite. You’re quite right. I’m just… Never mind.” Graham swallowed his impatience. He could spare Lady Clifton a short interview.
“Might I also suggest you would benefit from a visit with Boone?” He dipped his gaze over Graham, who looked down and noted his dust-laden clothing.
“Yes, I suppose I would.” Graham suppressed a frown. He didn’t have time for such nonsense, particularly when he was just going to ride right back to town. Still, he dashed upstairs, suffered Boone’s ministrations for as long as he could manage, then hurried to the drawing room.
Lady Clifton stood near the windows, turning as he entered, likely hearing the sound of his boots upon the floor.
“Good afternoon, Lady Clifton.” Graham bowed. “To what do I owe this distinct pleasure?”
She smiled prettily and dipped a brief curtsey. “I hope you won’t think me too forward for visiting.”
“Not at all.” Graham moved farther into the room.
She pivoted halfway back toward the windows. “I was just looking at your maze. I had such a lovely time at our picnic. Didn’t you?”
The sensation of Arabella pressed against him, her taste and scent enveloping him in heat and rapture, washed over him. “Yes, it was lovely.”
To think that may have been the last time he’d kiss her… His impatience turned to desperation. He couldn’t lose her.
Lady Clifton came toward him, a pair of lines marring her perfect brow beneath the brim of her hat. “I heard you put Brixton Park up for sale.”
The world seemed to stop for just a moment. She was here…about Brixton Park? “You want to buy it?”
Surprise flickered in her gaze, and the lines in her forehead eased. “I suppose I could.”
Hedge arrived with a tray of refreshments, placing it on a small round table near the window with a pair of chairs. It was for playing chess or other games, but was the closest surface, and Graham supposed it would do.
There was lemonade, cakes, and a small plate of butter biscuits—the recipe Arabella’s mother had given him. Graham’s heart clenched as he eyed the confection. Forever in his mind, they would remind him of Arabella.
Lady Clifton removed her hat and gloves and handed them to Hedge with a smile. “Thank you.”
Hedge inclined his head, then looked to Graham in question. Graham longed to ask the butler how long “polite” would take but didn’t. He gave a slight nod in response and murmured, “Thank you, Hedge.”
Lady Clifton took one of the chairs at the table, and Graham sat opposite her. He then poured lemonade into the two glasses. She reached for a butter biscuit, and Graham stared out the window. He tried to set thoughts of Arabella aside and focus on the point of Lady Clifton’s visit.
He returned his attention to her. “You came to offer to buy Brixton Park?”
“I didn’t, actually. And truly, there’s no need, unless you really want to sell it. I had the impression you were quite attached to the property. But then I heard you were…ah, that you…”
“That I’m insolvent?” he supplied, realizing what had prompted her to come here.
Pink rushed up her cheeks. “Yes. I do apologize for having to discuss such an indelicate topic; however, it is wise for us to do so.”
“It is?” Graham picked up his lemonade and took a long drink. The perfect blend of tart and sweet greeted his tongue, and he was again reminded of Arabella. Would everything bring her to his mind?
<
br /> Yes, idiot, because you’re in love with her.
“It is,” Lady Clifton said, dragging him back to the conversation he was fast losing interest in. Which was bad—she was here to save him from financial ruin. “I think it wise for husbands and wives to speak frankly about all things, including financial matters.”
Graham had been about to reach for a cake, but his hand arrested halfway, hovering above the table. “I beg your pardon?”
The blush returned to her face, but more intensely this time. “I didn’t come to offer to buy Brixton Park, though I could. I came to propose marriage so that you may keep it. By aligning ourselves, you can keep the estate.”
Dear God, this was not what he expected and yet it was precisely what he needed, what he’d hoped for. It was not, however, what he wanted. The floor seemed to yawn and gape beneath him. He clutched the side of the table to keep from falling through it. Graham fought for logic, for the brain he’d relied upon for twenty-eight years and which had served him well. “And what do you get from the bargain?”
“A happy marriage, I hope. And yes, I’ll become a duchess, which is an improvement over countess, of course, but that isn’t important to me. I do think we can be happy, and what’s more, I think you would be an excellent role model for my son, which he desperately needs. You clearly served the Earl of St. Ives with great success.” She flashed him a small smile. “I’ve done some research since learning about your financial situation.”
She was bloody investigating him. He couldn’t help but feel impressed. “As you should.”
“It seems you inherited this disaster.”
“I did.” Nevertheless, he hated that he wasn’t able to right things. But there simply weren’t enough resources to work with—not between the mortgage, the other debts, and the relatives with their vampiric annuities.
She leaned over the table, her blue eyes glimmering in the sunlight spilling through the windows. “Then let me help you fix it. With my money, you can keep Brixton Park.”
