Healing The Broken Marchioness (Laced Up Ladies Book 2)
Page 29
“You will.”
Never taking his eyes off her, Harrison kissed Anna’s hand again before he stepped away. Arabella cleared her throat and headed towards the door, opening it as Harrison came into the room. The man took his time getting his things together, putting his hat on as he stepped out onto the threshold. He touched his forelock towards Arabella before walking away, whistling and twirling his cane.
God, even his whistling sounded like David.
Arabella shut the door hurriedly and went back to the morning room. Anna was at the window watching Harrison leave. She turned as Arabella came in, the sunrays lighting up her blonde hair. It was like she had a halo. But, she was frowning instead of smiling.
“Why are you so harsh towards Lord Harrison, Arabella?” she asked.
“He was committing an impropriety where people could catch you, Mrs. Day. What was I supposed to say?”
Anna raised her eyebrows. “I’m a twice-widowed woman. Considering the scandals I went through with those two men, I don’t think another one is going to do me any harm. And Lord Harrison is a widower himself.”
“Even so, I don’t want to walk in and see something like that,” Arabella said sharply. “That’s something that should be kept in the bedchamber.”
Anna watched her curiously. Arabella hated being under scrutiny. Anna Day was a shrewd woman, much smarter than anyone gave her credit for.
“I understand what you might have seen would have been a bit of a shock to you, Arabella.” Anna’s voice was careful, as if she was trying to work something out. “But it’s not just that. You’ve been prickly with him since he first arrived.”
Arabella said nothing. She wasn’t about to explain herself. Anna had questioned her about it before and Arabella had managed to brush it off, but she knew she couldn’t do it forever. Anna would find out, and she would tell Harrison about Katherine. Even so, Arabella would fight it as long as she could.
“Did Lord Harrison hurt you when your father worked for him?” Anna asked suddenly.
“I beg your pardon?”
“Did he hurt you? If he did, you must tell me…”
Arabella was shaking her head already. “No, of course not. Lord Harrison is a good gentleman, always has been. The most respectful of the gentry I’ve ever come across, apart from Lord Derby.”
“I’m glad about that.” Anna frowned. “But if that’s not it, why are you so...I don’t know how to describe it, but it’s certainly not respectful.”
Arabella swallowed. She hated being under such scrutiny. Her mother had just done this to her; she didn’t need her employer doing it as well.
“I have some memories of Ireland that I don’t want to recall. Through no fault of his own, Lord Harrison makes me remember.” She gritted her teeth. “Forgive me for being impolite, Mrs. Day, but I don’t wish to discuss it.”
The two women stared at each other. Anna’s expression said she wasn’t going to let this go, that she wanted to ask more, but she was pulling back. Arabella was grateful for that. Some women didn’t know when to let go, like her mother. Anna was sharper than that. Although, Arabella knew that this would only be a brief reprieve.
“I’ll let it go,” Anna said quietly. “For now. But you must talk to me soon, Arabella. Things are progressing in my relationship with Lord Harrison, and if I’m going to pursue any further, I must know if he’s been improper or unkind to anyone. I don’t want to be involved with a third man who is going to treat me badly or kill me.”
“Lord Harrison is the kindest man you could come across.” Arabella could say that honestly. “I haven’t got a bad word to say about him. He’s never been improper with me or anyone else.”
“Really?”
“Who else would put up with my ‘spritely attitude’?”
Anna’s mouth twitched. Her shoulders slumped. Arabella hadn’t realized her mistress had been nervous. She had seen her months before when Lady Sarah had married Harrison’s son; Anna was smitten with the Viscount. And it was mutual. This match looked perfect, and Arabella knew from Anna’s past that she deserved some happiness. You couldn’t get anyone better than Ian Harrison.
Arabella just wished he wasn’t related to David.
“I think I’ll go and sit outside in the garden for a while,” Anna said quietly, heading towards the door. “Make me some tea, will you?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Arabella followed her mistress out, heading towards the kitchen. Jeffrey was standing in the doorway, watching her with narrowed eyes. How much had he heard? Arabella didn’t want to think about it. She didn’t have to answer to him.
“You need to be careful,” Jeffrey murmured as Arabella stepped past him into the kitchen.
“What are you talking about?”
“Mrs. Day isn’t stupid, Arabella. She’s going to figure out why you’re so short with Lord Harrison.” Jeffrey paused, straightening up from the doorframe. “And who was really improper with you.”
Arabella flushed. She glared at her brother. “I’m not having this discussion,” she said in a clipped voice.
“And the Viscount will figure it out himself.” Jeffrey went on, “You don’t have to be smart to know why you’re so standoffish with him when you’re in the same room.”
“I said I’m not having this discussion, Jeffrey,” Arabella snapped. “I’ve just had it with Mother. I don’t want you doing it as well.”
“If you didn’t want that, you shouldn’t have let David Harrison take advantage of you.”
Arabella growled, slamming the tea tray onto the kitchen table. “He never took advantage of me. It was a willing act.”
“If that’s the case, why do you act like you regret Katherine’s birth?”
Arabella flinched. She bared her teeth at her brother. “I think you’ve got some silver to polish. Get on with your work and leave me be.”
Jeffrey stared at her for a moment longer, then left the kitchen, buttoning up his jacket. Arabella slumped against the table, burying her face in her hands. Jeffrey was more shrewd than he made himself out of me, but he was wrong. Mostly. Arabella didn’t regret having Katherine; she was a joy and Arabella would do it again. She just regretted how she had been made.
If only things had been different. But Arabella wasn’t gentry and David wasn’t a regular working man. It would never have worked.
And a child was surely going to make that fact more glaringly obvious.
* * *
David knew tea kept him awake, and was expecting not to go to sleep anytime soon. He was more than likely going to end up sleeping on the way to the ferry at Cardiff. But shortly after finishing his second cup of tea, talking to Peter about mindless things and listening to his brother’s elaborate escapades on the sea, David felt like he could fall asleep on the couch. His eyes started to close and his head felt like he was full of cotton wool.
Excusing himself, David started to make his way up to his bedchamber. He needed to get to bed and lie down before he fell down. Somehow, he managed to get his shoes off, his trousers and waistcoat, crawling into bed in his stockings and shirt. His fingers were fumbling to try and get the buttons undone, so David had given up.
Sleep often came very slowly for David, but as soon as his head lay on the pillow and his eyes closed, David didn’t remember anything else. He slept so deeply he barely moved in the night, whereas he would normally be tossing and turning, kicking the sheets away. Whatever was going on with him tonight, it was certainly enough to knock him out.
The next thing David was aware of was someone shaking his shoulder, making his head spin. David growled and swiped at whatever was shaking him.
“Go away. Leave me alone.”
“My apologies, Mr. Harrison, but I can’t.”
David cracked an eye open and saw the fair-haired, round-faced young man he used as a valet leaning over him. That was an even worse sight than David expected. He groaned and turned away.
“I said go away, Arnold.”
A visitor at this time? David lifted his head and tried to look at the clock, but his vision was blurry. He couldn’t read the time.
“What time is it?”
“Just after nine.”
He was supposed to have left for the ferry at seven. David wouldn’t get the ferry he wanted now. He would go tomorrow, he decided, and drew his sheets over his head.
“Tell him to come back at a more appropriate time,” he said under the bedding. “It’s too early.”
“But it’s Mr. Mitchell, the parish constable,” Arnold hissed. “He wants to speak to you right now, and he won’t go away until you’re spoken to.”
The parish constable? David had had a few run-ins with Paul Mitchell, a minor baron who had taken it upon himself to work for the local judge. He was a lackey, basically, and he would often come along with a drunk Peter to make sure he got him. He was very nosy, and David had no time for him. The man seemed to think everything was something he needed to hear, even if it was completely irrelevant.
He was the male version of the gossiping women at the many balls and galas David had managed to avoid over the years. Part of the reason was because of people like Paul Mitchell.
The man was persistent. He wouldn’t leave until David had spoken to him, so sighing heavily, he pushed the sheets away and slowly sat up.
“All right, fine. I’ll get up.”
It was very difficult to do so, though. David’s head felt so heavy he could barely get it off the pillow. His skull felt like it was in a vice-like grip. He sat gingerly on the edge of the bed and closed his eyes, waiting for the room to stop spinning. Arnold shook his head with a disapproving look.
“You really shouldn’t drink with your brother, Mr. Harrison. He can handle it. You can’t.”
“What are you talking about? I didn’t drink anything stronger than tea.”
“Are you sure about that? You look like you’re suffering from a hangover.”
David swallowed hard, trying not to throw up. He wouldn’t put it past Peter to put some alcohol into his tea so it would knock him out. If he did, it was a hefty dose. David felt like he was making his way through a thick fog.
“Well, I must be coming down with something.” He stood slowly, closing his eyes as the room tilted. “Let’s get me dressed.”
Arnold said nothing more, rushing around to help David wash himself and get dressed. They didn’t bother to get David shaved, David flinching when he saw his razor laid out beside the washbasin before waving it away. He was feeling sick, and the last thing he wanted near his throat when he was struggling was a sharp blade.
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Ella Edon is an American author of steamy historical Regency romance books. She started pursuing her childhood passion of putting stories to paper after experiencing two of the most life changing experiences of her life.
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