After brushing a speck of lint from his lapel, Anthony scanned the collective for any sign of a rogue cuirassier, because he could not help himself, and adjusted the empty sleeve pinned to his coat. The crowd shuffled in various directions, but the sea of elegantly dressed ladies and gentlemen parted to reveal his fiancée, sitting atop an Arabian mare, and he swayed as his ears rang when he glimpsed the horse. Biting back fast-rising bile, he forced a smile and followed in his parents’ wake.
Hot and cold at once, Anthony focused on the simple task of breathing and fought for balance as he strolled. But the cold, steel grip of fear imprisoned him in the past, amid the cannon fire, the clash of metal against metal, and the ghoulish cacophony of the dying. By the time he reached Arabella, it was all he could do to acknowledge her presence with a mere nod.
“Lord Rockingham, it is delightful to see you.” If she noticed anything odd about his demeanor, she said naught, and he was grateful. “But you do not ride?”
“No, I do not.” Panic rolled in his belly, and his pulse pounded. Assailed by another surprise attack of violent memories, which he was powerless to evade, he daubed his temple with a handkerchief. When her mount shifted in Anthony’s direction, he flinched. “Careful, Lady Arabella. I have no wish to be trampled.”
“But you are in no such danger.” As she slid from the sidesaddle, she giggled and settled her palm in the crook of his elbow. “Papa, will you return Astraea to the footman, because I should walk with Lord Rockingham?”
“Of course, my dear.” Lord Ainsworth seized the reins.
“You named your horse for a Greek goddess?” Anthony asked, as he desperately sought a distraction, else he might swoon and embarrass himself.
“The star maiden and goddess of justice, to be exact.” Arabella met his gaze and studied him for a minute, which seemed an eternity. He wondered what she thought of him, not that it mattered, as she drew him into the rotation, while their respective mothers lingered in the rear. “And why not, because it suits my girl, given she is a gentle soul.” In that instant, she flexed her fingers. “Will you tell me of the horse you lost?”
Dagger to the heart, with savage precision.
“How did you know?” Her otherwise pedestrian query flung him, headlong, back into hell, and he halted. When he teetered perilously, she steadied him, and he leaned toward her for support before righting himself. “I never mentioned him.”
“You didn’t have to utter a word, because your reaction to Astraea spoke volumes, and you paled, Lord Rockingham.” Focusing on the lace that framed her heart-shaped face and delicate features, which quite arrested him, he found sanctuary in her smile and her discretion, even as her disturbing ability to guess his unrest unnerved him. “I suppose he was rather spectacular, because I cannot imagine you settling for anything less.”
“Oh, he was majestic.” Opening the door to his memory, Anthony sifted through the jagged shards of a bygone era and his naïve self, hale, whole, and unmarred by artillery. As if by magic, the hedgerows, throng, and sidewalk yielded to a cherished vision, and he could have wept at the sight. “At just over seventeen hands, with a coat as black as a crow’s feather, Hesperus stood tall on the battlefield as a most impressive animal. Friesland born, from his deep heart-girth to his robust haunches, with cannon bones like the trunks of a mighty oak, he was short coupled from his croup to his withers, and he never failed to answer the call of duty.”
“I wish I had known him.” As a graceful sylph, she stretched her neck when she stared at him. “I gather Hesperus was even-tempered, too.”
“Ah, he was a proud beast, but he snored like a grown man when he slept, and he favored red apples, which he consumed in a single bite.” Without thought, he tugged her closer to his side, because she presented a lifeline of sorts. “He lived for the fight, and in the heat of war, we were one entity charging the field. When I moved he responded. With a subtle tense of my thighs, or a gentle flick of my wrist, Hesperus shifted in unison with me, and never were two creatures so perfectly matched. Yet, inasmuch as he confronted peril with fearless tenacity, he trembled at the sight of a stable mouse.”
“What a character,” she said in a soft voice. “You must miss him, terribly.”
“Such that I cannot convey the depths of my despair at his loss.” For a second, he closed his eyes. Tears beckoned as he relived the savage blast that ripped Hesperus from Anthony. But he gained a measure of strength when she squeezed his arm, in reassurance, because she spoke to him without actually speaking to him. “But the ultimate cruelty and unfairness is that in a moment of incomparable violence for which I have no direct recollection, life as I knew it ended. I know not where or how to reclaim and organize the remnants of what remains, or if it is even possible to recover.”
“I cannot begin to comprehend your pain, because I cannot fathom a world without my beloved Astraea, although I know she cannot live forever. But had I known her presence would provoke such painful memories, I should have left her in the stable.” Lady Arabella paused to sit on a bench, as if nothing he shared shocked her, when almost everyone, save his fellow veterans, avoided him. She welcomed him, and he liked her, but he would never tell her, because nothing could come of a union with him. “Yet, you cannot allow your memories of war to ruin this lovely day.” She lifted her chin and smiled, and he thought her rather appealing. “The sky is clear, and the sun shines, my lord, yet you see none of the natural splendor. You must retrench or risk diminishing all that you gave in service to the Crown. And I wager John would not want you to forever mourn his death. Whatever your wounds, you are still here, and you must go on, if only to honor your brother’s sacrifice, my lord.”
“You make it sound so simple.” To his amazement, the tension twisting his insides into gnarled knots, at last, abated in her company. It was not the first time she pierced the somber veil of misery that encircled his wretched existence. Just as she did during their previous meeting, when he intentionally baited her, she relieved the anxiety imprisoning him in its grip, and he longed to know more about her. What power did the lovely lady possess over him? “You were right.”
“About what?” Elegant in her carriage, something he failed to note in their prior encounter, because he scarcely looked at her, she rested her hands in her lap. She extended an offer of friendship, and only a fool would deny her, given her classical features and lilting voice.
For a while, he studied her blue eyes and her thick lashes, which he could contemplate for hours if she let him. And how had he missed the swanlike curve of her neck during their earlier exchange? In that instant, he faced her, committing his full attention, and saw her as if for the first time.
He noticed the pulse that beat at her throat and the way she focused on him, turning her entire body in his direction, as though he were the most important thing in her world. Blessed with a wealth of brown hair, which he would splay across his pillow if given the chance, and with an ample bosom, she displayed the sort of fire any man would kill to claim in his bed. But it was her full lips that held him enrapt until she cleared her throat, and he started.
“You are a good listener.” To his dismay and gratitude, because he wanted to get better, Arabella worked on him, easing frazzled nerves and silencing the rage that ran unchecked beneath his flesh. Without his consent or cooperation, she soothed his uncontrollable inner beast, and he was not sure he appreciated her peculiar ability, yet he could not tear himself away from her, despite his best efforts, and he vowed to learn more about her. With a sigh, Anthony glanced over his shoulder and discovered their mothers dawdling at a discreet distance. Sitting, he prodded her in play. “So, what would you suggest I do, all-knowing Lady Arabella, given I am unable to dig myself out of the pit of anguish I’ve created?”
“My, but you lay a lot on a lady for our first public appearance. Shall I solve the world’s problems while I’m at it?” The stoicism of her expression gave him pause, until she surrendered to mirth, and he exhaled his relief. “You ar
e shameless, my lord, and you are baiting me, again, which I refuse to take. Has this charming tack worked for you in the past, or am I the lone beneficiary of your half-hearted insults? By the by, I am certain you can do better, but I am not all-knowing.”
For Anthony, what began as a snicker soon grew into a full-blown belly laugh, and it felt so good as he contemplated the absurdity of his query. Still, she bested him, and he savored it. How long had it been since he enjoyed a carefree moment of levity? He could not remember. But perched alongside what was for all intents and purposes a stranger, he felt as if he had reclaimed a small part of himself thought long lost. Thanks to his very much unwanted, pretty little fiancée.
“Lady Arabella, were I not engaged to marry you, I could like you.” Exhaling, he noted they had garnered the attention of several nosey nobles, and he stood. “Help me devise a plan of escape from the demands of my father and the rank, and I shall be forever in your debt.” Not to mention the mental hell that imprisoned him. “And if your offer still stands, I would accept your friendship, even if I am not to be your husband, which I hope you know has naught to do with you. Were I not carrying the wounds of battle, I just might marry you.”
“Upon my word, my fiancé is quite sentimental.” Adjusting her gloves, she stretched her legs and rose from the bench. “And while I consider myself of above-average intelligence, I have yet to identify a means of avoiding the parson’s noose, given I am defined as chattel, by law, and must abide my father’s commands without prejudice. Have you pondered the fact that you might have to wed me?”
“No, and I have no wish to, because an arranged union would not bode well for either of us.” The suggestion elicited a wicked shudder of revulsion, because he would never saddle the spirited young woman with the hollow shell of a man he had become. And the truth was, he lacked more than an arm. He lacked a will to live. As Anthony offered his escort, his mind raced, and he sought a polite rejoinder to make his point clear. “I am beginning to think it would have been much better to have met an honorable death on the battlefield.”
“Must you insult me, in truth, when I have been the soul of charity?” she snapped. Without missing a step, she regained her composure and nodded to Lady Jersey, and he admired Arabella’s confidence and poise, as she deflected unwanted scrutiny with a simple, standard acknowledgement. “Not that I desire a husband, be it you or anyone else,” she hissed. “If I may inquire, what is wrong with me?”
“Would that the problem were so simple.” Given her expression of hurt, he realized he chewed boot leather. Inasmuch as he didn’t desire a union, Arabella was blameless, and he would not cause her pain. “My apologies, Lady Arabella. As I have tried to explain, you are not the issue. Rather, I believe you deserve a man worthy of you, and that could never be me.”
“You are forgiven, and I would have you know I disagree with your personal assessment, despite our brief acquaintance, given I am an excellent judge of character. However, that is of little consequence, which brings us back to your original question.” A velvety brown tendril slipped from beneath her bonnet and caught the sunlight, revealing amber shades that harkened a comparison to his brandy, and he longed to stroke her hair. “If you truly wish to learn to live again, I recommend you not rush into any social commitments. Do not force your hand. Instead, I encourage you to take your time.”
“But time is a resource in limited supply, in light of our betrothal, and my father intends to announce our nuptials at my family’s gala, within a fortnight.” No amount of arguments dissuaded his sire from the original plan of action, which appeared to have been carved in stone since the Dark Ages, and Anthony could find no way out of the contract, even after his solicitor reviewed the documents. “Yet I do appreciate your advice. Tell me, how do you remain so calm in the face of such discomposing developments, because I cannot reconcile myself to what my father deems my natural fate?”
“Oh, that is quite easy, given I have known, all my life, that I was bound to the future Duke of Swanborough.” Arabella shrugged. “The only surprise is that you now occupy that position of prominence, in place of John, and you share my aversion to marriage.”
“Did you know him well?” Since he was a child, Anthony always looked up to his older brother, and it struck him as grossly unfair that she settled for the lesser Lord Rockingham. “He was popular in the social circles.” And incredibly successful with the widows, but Anthony neglected to mention that.
“In truth, John was a stranger to me.” As they neared the spot where they entered the rotation, Arabella waved to her father. “While he sent the occasional gift, he never visited me. Indeed, I have spent more time in your estimable company than his.”
“My father seems quite pleased with our match and makes no secret he prefers a ceremony before the end of the Season.” Anthony noticed a familiar gentleman had joined the sires. “We must make a concerted effort to postpone and delay the nuptials, until we can figure out how to break the engagement.”
“I concur. Thus, you may rely on me.” They approached the group, and Arabella’s expression brightened, as she played the part of the smitten fiancée to perfection. “Your Grace, it is a beautiful day, is it not?”
“Lady Arabella, it is a wondrous occasion, because Lord Ainsworth and I have secured the services of Mr. Hartwell to procure a special license, that you may wed with all due haste. Instead of announcing an engagement, in a fortnight we shall mark your union with a fête to end all fêtes, in place of our usual ball.” Father peered at Anthony and winked. “What say you, my boy? Is that not stupendous news?”
In that instant, Anthony stumbled and fainted.
*
Amid a slew of whispers and finger-pointing gawkers, Arabella supported Anthony’s head as he reclined in his family’s carriage, where her father and His Grace conveyed her fiancé. With her handkerchief, she fanned her prospective groom’s face, when he mumbled, and his eyelids fluttered.
“Shh, Lord Rockingham.” She patted his cheek, as she admired his handsome features, so boyish in repose, in sharp contrast to the angry Waterloo veteran. “You are safe.”
“What happened?” With an inexpressibly sweet countenance of confusion, which transformed into sobering comprehension, he gazed at her, and she smiled. “Please, tell me I didn’t swoon in front of the ton.”
“Well, I could do so, but I would be lying, and I detest duplicity.” Shadows danced in his stare, given polite society could be anything but polite, and she seized upon an excuse that might salvage his pride, despite her inklings regarding his spell. “Perhaps you were too quick to dismiss your aching belly, because I suspect something you consumed for breakfast did not agree with you, and we should summon a doctor.”
“What’s that?” He blinked, and she knew the precise moment recognition dawned, because he shifted and dipped his chin. Shielded by their position, and beyond sight of unwanted spectators, Anthony twined his fingers in hers and squeezed her hand. Warmth spread from his grip to hers, and gooseflesh covered her from top to toe, which she would mull, later. “An excellent notion, Lady Arabella.”
“Are you ill, Anthony?” His Grace folded his arms. “Why the devil did you not say something before now, given we could have stayed home and spared ourselves a public spectacle?”
“Because I didn’t wish to disappoint you, Father.” Invested with unmasked shame, he averted his stare, and she struggled with the unquenchable urge to comfort Anthony. Indeed, she yearned to protect him, because he needed a champion just then. “But I see now that I was wrong.”
“You are too modest and beyond chivalrous, Lord Rockingham.” In turn, with a clear understanding of the minor sacrifice required to spare her fiancé, she grasped his fingers. To the duke, Arabella said, “Your Grace, I all but begged Lord Rockingham to attend the Promenade, in the note I sent to express my gratitude for the beautiful flowers he gifted me. The blame is mine.” Of course, she sent no note, because his accompanying card contained no salutation. “And it
is a testament to Your Grace’s influence, and Lord Rockingham’s benevolence, that he did not refuse my pedestrian request. Thus, I owe Lord Rockingham and Your Grace an apology, but I only thought of the unparalleled pleasure of his company.”
“Oh?” The duke blinked and glanced at her father. In unison, they smiled. “You are getting on well, so soon?”
“You might be surprised, because we are two like-minded individuals of singular purpose, Your Grace.” In that she didn’t lie. With reluctance, she retreated to the sidewalk. Praying Anthony cooperated, she adjusted the chinstrap of her poke bonnet. “And I hope Lord Rockingham improves enough to keep our appointment, because he promised to accompany me to Gunter’s for ices, and I am uncontrollably excited.”
“Worry not, Lady Arabella.” Anthony arched a brow and compressed his lips. “I will accommodate you.”
“That is most welcome news.” The duke waved to his footmen. “Let us return home, and summon the physician.”
“Come along, Arabella.” Mama clapped twice, a habit Arabella always found annoying. “We should depart, as well. Since you sent your horse to the stable, you can ride with me.”
“Yes, Mother.” Gritting her teeth, she clamped shut her mouth and mustered the poise expected of her, yet her mind was anything but composed or quiet. After she climbed into the carriage, she settled into the squabs and rested her gloved hands in her lap. With a lurch, the equipage turned into the lane, and she noted her father’s intense perusal. “What is it, Papa? What troubles you?”
“Nothing, my dear.” Despite his answer, she sensed something was wrong, especially when he furrowed his brow. “So, Lord Rockingham has been kind to you?”
“Of course, he has.” With an unconvincing laugh, she attempted to deflect the odd question, because she knew not what to make of it. “Why does His Grace insist we marry now? I thought most society weddings occurred near the end of the Season. In fact, we have no time to post the banns, which no doubt will arouse suspicion that I am in a delicate condition. What is the urgency?”
The Accidental Duke (The Mad Matchmaking Men of Waterloo Book 1) Page 3
