Blake leaned into the kiss gratefully. "I will. I'll see you soon."
Blake stayed with his patient, watching over her diligently, though he had to admit his mind was only half on the job. He had come as close as he ever dared to showing Arabella how he really felt about her.
Now he was at a turning point. He couldn't go on pretending any longer. But nor could he be sure if he was doing the right thing by wanting her to marry him.
He rehearsed every single one of his old arguments over and over again for not marrying her. They no longer seemed so important. Not when he was so sure he loved her.
At noon he had a maid rouse Arabella to tell her it was time to head back to Millcote. She had hardly slept for thinking about Blake and her love for him. No sooner had the coach begun moving than she could feel a complete exhaustion settle over her.
"Tired?"
"Mmm, the emotions of it all. And the lack of sleep."
"I understand. We have the ball tonight as well. Why don't you rest?"
"We need to talk, you said," she pointed out in a barely audible whisper.
Blake was of the opinion that they had done far too much talking, but he could see dark circles under her eyes. "Nothing that can't wait another few hours, my dear."
She nodded, and closed her eyes. She felt him sit next to her and take her hand carefully. "Blake-"
"Rest now. We have our whole lives to talk, Arabella," he whispered.
She grasped his hand like a drowning woman, and slept.
They arrived back at Millcote a little after three. Blake was just escorting Arabella into the drawing room where the Jerome family had assembled, when he heard a commotion behind him, and saw Philip Marshall running in, mud-spattered and half-frozen.
"I say, have you heard the news?" he burst out.
"Yes, of course, we've just come from Brimley. Sarah Davenport is doing well. It's a fine healthy boy. She and Alexander couldn't be more pleased."
There were general exclamations of delight over the information.
Philip shook his head vehemently, and had to shout above the others to be heard.
"No, no, you don't understand! The news just came through. I rode all the way here from Bath to warn everyone."
"Warn us? Warn us about what?" Blake asked.
"It's the worst news possible, I'm afraid. It just came from London, via Paris, from Elba. Napoleon's escaped. He's marching up from the south, gathering a new army. It's war."
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
The room was so silent, one could have heard a pin drop.
War.
"Again? So soon?" Arabella asked in disbelief, looking in horror at Blake and then Philip Marshall, who had brought the dreadful news.
The outcry in the Jerome drawing room became general, as every man in the room who had served in the Army wondered if it meant they would have to leave immediately, or even if they were still obligated to serve, since the terms of their discharges had all been different.
But for most of them, their patriotism still burned brightly. Martin Jerome and his brother Samuel instantly declared their intention of going to their regimental headquarters in the north. Their aunt prevailed upon them to keep a cool head.
"The ball is tonight. Blake and Arabella have so been looking forward to it, and who knows when we will all be together again. Please, do stay."
"Your aunt is right," said Mr. Jerome. "No sense in going off half-cocked. Not to mention the fact, Martin, that you're really in no condition to sign up again…"
Blake and Arabella stared at each other as if across a chasm. He had been regular army, a doctor…. Hell and damnation. This changed everything. Another war. How could he ask her to wait for him? How could he leave her without-
"I'm so sorry, you two," Philip said under his breath. "None of us ever imagined-"
Thomas Eltham stepped forward. "I did. They should have put Napoleon on trial for crimes against humanity and done away with him once and for all. My poor sister Elizabeth and her friends…. They were only just demobilized last summer, and now- Please excuse me if I dash off a note to her, and to Horse Guards."
Charlotte was white with fear. "Thomas, surely you're not thinking of-"
"My dear, I know what's at stake. I love you more than anything in my life. But surely you can see that we need to finish Napoleon once and for all. We scotched the snake, but didn't kill it. That was our mistake. The wolf is loose amongst the lambs. We have to fight for freedom. All of Europe will be counting upon us once more to do the right thing."
"But you and the Rakehells weren't even regular Army. You and Clifford were invalided out, and Jonathan sold his commission!"
"If they're going to go, then I need to as well," Clifford said quietly.
Adam and Oliver saw their chance to look heroic. "And we will enlist, of course. We were too young, and at Oxford for the last Coalition, but-"
Mr. Jerome shook his head. "Now, now, let's all keep our wits about us. The news might not even be true. It could just be a rumour. I say we try to put this talk of the war behind us for one more night until we're sure, and try to have a good time at the ball."
Blake nodded. "I agree. The Jeromes have been kind enough to go to all this trouble. We need to settle ourselves down and wait until Horse Guards contacts us to give us our orders."
Everyone subsided back into their seats to talk in groups except for Thomas and his wife, who went upstairs to the room they had been given for the night.
Arabella's gaze followed the white-faced couple as they left the room.
She caught Philip's eye. "And you, Mr. Marshall. Will you enlist?" Arabella asked quietly.
He shook his head. "I have a different destiny. Many men will die in the fields of Belgium, but my fate lies here."
"Belgium?" she asked in confusion.
He shook his head as if to clear it. "Sorry, I need to ask Blake if I can borrow some evening togs for the ball."
He went up to speak to her ward, and the two men went off together.
Arabella joined Ellen and Georgina Jerome, who were talking excitedly in a corner.
"Isn't it too thrilling! All the men back in uniform. More adventures and larks," Georgina giggled.
Arabella shook her head. "You've met Michael Avenel and Alexander Davenport. You've heard the Duke's tale of how he was nearly killed in battle. Do you really think it's all adventure and larks?" she asked angrily.
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean-" Georgina said.
"And what of your own cousin Martin? Was he not injured in battle?"
They looked at each other, and Ellen shook her head soberly. "No. It wasn't the war that did that to him."
"Oh, I'm sorry." Arabella wondered why on earth everyone was acting so strangely. She decided that the news of Napoleon's escape from Elba had put everyone off balance.
"I'm going up to my room to lie down for a while, and then dress for the ball. Please have one of the servants call me if you need any help with the preparations."
"No, you're the guest of honour," Ellen said, shaking her honey-blonde ringlets. "And you've been up all night with Sarah, haven't you. Go and rest. We'll see you later."
But the last thing Arabella could do was rest. She kept trembling at the thought that Blake was going to be taken from her. She knew he was not going to be involved directly in any fighting if he could help it. Yet she had heard tales of the lines being overrun, the injured taken prisoner and killed, their doctors with them also slaughtered, or at the very least taken prisoner. Then there was disease, and accidents, attacks on British troop ships....
"Stop this! Stop this!" she told herself firmly.
Blake might not even have to go. But knowing him, there would have to be a dashed good reason for him to stay. One that the authorities would accept. Having a new ward might not be one of them.
Would he not resent her for making him stay behind, when even the Rakehells, all married men, were willing to go back even though they had been honourably
discharged? She could not be selfish. But she loved him so. It was hard for her to even think straight, let alone get dressed.
Dress Arabella did, for she was determined to put a brave face on things. She knew couples got married in haste all the time when there was a war on. She did not want Blake to ever think that she was confessing her feelings to him because she was afraid of losing him. The fact was she had loved him from the moment they had met.
The white and gold gown suited her lithe and curvaceous figure, draping elegantly over her bosom and cascading down in a sheer fall past her hips to the floor. The undergown was cut only to just above the ankle, with the sheer overgown falling to the floor to offer tantalising peeps of her lower legs and feet. The small split sleeves were fashioned together with gold braid, and bared her shoulders alluringly. She gathered her glossy black curls on top of her head with a simple gold ribband, allowing the rest of it to sweep down her back almost to her waist.
She pinched her cheeks and bit her lips to pink them up. In a fit of daring, she took out a kohl eye pencil Betsey had suggested she buy in Bath, and lightly outlined her eyes, making them look enormous. She checked the v-neckline of the gown to make sure she was appropriately covered. With a small smile she tightened the fastenings to enhance her bosom even further.
When she descended the stairs at seven for supper, she was aware of every eye in the room upon her.
"Arabella, my dear, you look lovely," Mr. Jerome said fondly.
"Magnificent," Philip Marshall praised, taking her hand as he was closest to her. But with a hasty kiss upon it, he gave her to Blake and stepped back.
"I have never seen any woman more lovely in my life," Blake said sotto voce, naked admiration in his eyes.
"Thank you. You look rather splendid yourself." She stared at him. A gold waistcoat and cravat…. Once again their colours complimented each other, though this time it had to be purely by accident, for she had never told him what she intended to wear.
They began the ball with the first waltz. Though he knew it was bad form, Blake kept hold of her for the quadrille, only relinquishing her when Thomas came to claim his dance.
He said without preamble, "Charlotte is upset with me for even thinking of going to war. I can understand how she feels. I expect you too are upset. But Blake is a doctor. You have nothing serious to worry about. He is good at his job, and they keep the field hospitals out of trouble."
"Where there's war, there's always trouble," she sighed.
Thomas stumbled in his figure.
She looked up at him in alarm. "What is it?"
"Pray excuse me," he said, taking her hand and leading her from the set. "I have to speak with this gentleman."
There was a tall blond young man about Arabella's age standing on the stairs looking into the ballroom and he waved at Thomas excitedly, though he never smiled.
Arabella blinked and stared. Surely it wasn't-
The two men embraced warmly.
"Miss Arabella Neville, may I present Major Geoffrey Parks."
"Parky?" she said in surprise.
"Belle! You and Thomas know each other?" he said, giving her a big hug.
"You did Peter's miniature for me for Christmas, didn't you?"
"Oh, it was nothing," the handsome young man replied modestly. "How are you?"
"Very well."
"How is my sister, and everyone else?" Thomas asked sharply, his impatience for news of Elizabeth in Ireland getting the better of him.
"Just fine, I promise."
"Tell me first-hand all that has happened in their home since the invasion in December."
Arabella stared. "I can see you have much to discuss, so I shall not intrude any longer."
"No intrusion, Belle. But Thomas and I have business I fear you would find it dull." He bowed and kissed her hand. "I will speak with you tomorrow."
"You've heard the news?" Parks asked as he led Thomas away down the hall.
Warm hands gripped her shoulders intimately. She started when she realised that it was Adam.
Blake was across the room looking at her grimly, obviously wondering who on earth the tall, handsome soldier had been who had hugged and kissed her.
Adam and Oliver had decided the news of Napoleon's escape from Elba could be turned to their advantage. A declared intention to enlist from both of them and some importuning might be sufficient to get a firm undertaking from her to marry one or the other one of them before they supposedly shipped out.
"Would you do me the honour of standing up with me for the next dance?"
"Certainly."
She got through the waltz with perfect composure, but when he led her out into the hall instead of back to her friends waving at her, she knew something significant was about to happen in her life. That she had reached a turning point she could no longer avoid.
Adam's words surprised her, for they were in French. His accent was actually much better than she might have expected for someone she had assumed to have had only an indifferent academic career. "L'absence est a l'amour ce qu'et au feu le vent. Il etient le petit, il allume le grand."
She stared, translating the words to herself with growing surprise. "Absence is to love what wind is to fire. It extinguishes the small, it enkindles the great."
"I will be leaving to enlist tomorrow, my darling Arabella, unless you give me some sign that you would like me to stay longer. That I can win your love for my own."
"You mustn't be hasty-"
"I can remain silent no longer," Adam declared. "My love for you is too vast. I long to marry you with every fibre of my being. But enough words. Let me show you how ardently I love you."
Before Arabella could utter another word of denial, his lips were upon hers, urging her for both a silent answer and an audible one to his proposal.
Blake came out of the ballroom in hot pursuit, and stood in the hall in an agony of indecision. He knew what had happened. The young cub had proposed. The news of the war had made everyone nervous, uncertain of the morrow. And he had beat him to it. He had been set to propose to Arabella himself, and the Devil with the consequences. Now….
The kiss seemed to go on forever, the image searing itself into his brain. Blake sighed and shook his head. He ought to break up the kiss, if only because he was her guardian. But part of him declared that it might be the last time they got to see each other… Also, he knew he had no right. He told himself he was a fraud, secretly wanting her all to himself.
He thought with sick dread of the prospect of Adam coming to him to ask permission to wed Arabella, and him having to look into their bright smiling faces. It would be more than he could bear, he was sure of it.
Clutching his now-heaving stomach, Blake fled before they saw him, taking refuge in the dark solitude of the empty library. There he took some deep cleansing breaths, telling himself it would be all right. He would have to endure a life without her. He had to let her go for the sake of her own happiness. He would probably be going off to the war himself soon… But he had never felt so cold or alone in his life.
Arabella stood waiting for something, anything other than a mild distaste to flood through her. She had tried and tried. As had Adam.
But he left her completely cold, untouched. Why, oh why was it that the only time she had ever felt alive in a man's arms had been with Blake of all people? The one man she was not supposed even to consider marrying. The man who was determined to do his duty and marry her off well, if only so he could go back to his bachelor lifestyle without her underfoot?
The man who was so cold he didn't need love, didn't want it, would rather confine himself to cold water baths and the tame fulfilling of needs upon his past-her-prime widow Leonore Ross, who was as icy and calculating as a lizard.
She tried once more, slanting her head and opening her mouth, putting her hands on his shoulders. But it was like a mathematical exercise, an intellectual quest, just as when she had kissed Philip Marshall. The surge of passion was absent.
&nb
sp; One fact was all too apparent to her, however, even as she tried once more: she didn't love Adam. There was no wildfire sweetness, no singing of her blood. Adam might as well have been a marble statue for all the life and spark she felt within either of them at the contact.
Finally Arabella could tolerate it no longer. "Please, no, that is more than enough. I must go before someone sees us."
Adam nodded and did not try to detain her. He would have to play things respectably for a little while longer, until she was his. He would have all her money, and be home free. A least she was young and pretty enough. Innocent, of course, but it would be fun breaking her in.
The Rakehell Regency Romance Collection Volume 2 Page 86
