Dinner finally over, the four moved to the drawing room, the gentlemen agreeing that there was no point in sitting away from the ladies when they had already spent the whole day together. Arabella played for them, losing herself for a while in a piece by Beethoven. His Sonata quasi una fantasia, op. 27, no. 2 was moody and quiet, working up to great lashings of emotion, a stormy finale that echoed her turbulent soul. She looked up once in the middle to find Oakmont's gloomy glance on her, and lost her way for a moment, but then found the thread again, and worked through to the finale.
There was silence when she finished, until Drake dryly commented, "I don't think I have ever heard you play like that, cousin. I must say, you have a riveting style."
Arabella searched for the sarcasm on his face, but was surprised by an expression that looked suspiciously like sympathy. She wanted to cry.
After, the nurse brought the new baby down to be fawned over. Arabella was genuinely fond of little Sarah, but soon she found the stifling atmosphere and cloying cooing too much, and she slipped away for a moment's fresh air out the French doors onto the newly created terrace. The soft breeze of late summer drifted, carrying the scent of night-blooming stocks and late roses up from the garden. True had not been up to much this summer, before or since the birth of her baby, but it had been clear that the sad state of the neglected gardens around her new home was bothering her a great deal, so Arabella took it upon herself to weed and plant and sort according to True's detailed plans. The resulting glory gave her a satisfaction Arabella had never experienced. It felt good to work toward something, toward a goal, and achieve it.
But this night she was not thinking of the lovely gardens, but of the man in the room behind her. It had been a shock to find out Marcus Westhaven was the fifth Earl of Oakmont, but more of a shock when she realized that this was the pitiful inheritance he had spoken of so disparagingly. Drake's stinging comment that morning True had read the piece in the paper, that the poor fellow had kept it a secret so as not to be overrun by fortune hunters, Likely had some merit. But she thought they had become friends. Would he not have confessed the truth to a friend?
Ah, but she had fairly revealed her plan to marry a rich man to him. Was that what had kept him from confessing the true state of things? Regardless, it hurt that all the time he was kissing her and caressing her and making her love him, he had the ability to marry her and solve all her problems if he had so desired. Or if that was not quite fair, then it hurt even more that he did all that with no serious intention toward her. While she thought him poor, she had believed that he could possibly love her; he had not spoken, she believed, because he knew there was no future for them, both poor as they were. But all the while if he had truly loved her, truly wanted her, he could have just said the word.
So he did not love her; she hugged that pain to herself. She had accepted that, had dealt with it But he had kissed her and tempted her to indiscretion, all the while with his secret knowledge wielded like a shield. He could hurt her, but she could not hurt him.
She heard the terrace door behind her and she knew it would be him. She took a deep breath and turned to face him in the spilled light from the drawing room. Still so very handsome, she thought, gazing at him. He had not trimmed his hair upon ascending to his new lofty title, nor had he donned more fashionable clothing. His coat still fit too loose for a real gentleman, and still revealed the power and almost arrogant healthiness of the man more than a tight-fitting, fashionable jacket would. There was ever a suggestion of wildness about Marcus.
She spoke first "So how do you like your new life, Marcus?"
His brows pulled down and he stared at her, circling her like a hunter would circle game. "I am not overfond of it It is like a snare, though, I find. The more I struggle the tighter the bonds become."
Arabella turned, keeping him in her sight "How so? Does not wealth give freedom?"
"No, it does not. I have people depending on me now for their livelihood. Men with children, families, servants, dairymen, milkmaids, groundskeepers, farriers, schoolteachers—even a vicar or two! I was freer when I was poor."
She smiled at the despair in his voice. "You will become accustomed to it after a while."
"That is what I am most afraid of."
There was silence. A servant inside drew the curtains, shutting out the light from the drawing room, but the moon was rising and it cast a milky glow over the terrace, gilding the new-laid flagstones. The heavy floral perfume drifted around them, and Arabella stood staring up at the moon, finding that gazing at Marcus was too dangerous to her heart
Marcus cleared his throat "You know, I told no one about my inheritance for a reason. I have always despised toad-eaters and fortune hunters. If I loved someone, I wanted to know they loved me back, not just craved my wealth. How can I ever trust any woman who says she loves me now? How will I know it is not just for my money?"
Arabella turned back toward him with an incredulous look. "What you really mean," she said, "is that you do not believe any woman could love you for you. "
"That is not true," he said. "I was engaged once, I will remind you, even though I was poor. And she was a better woman than you, Arabella Swinley!"
"Why a better woman than me?"
"Because she agreed to marry me even though I was poor," he said, his voice clearly indicating that he thought she must understand him.
She did. Chin up, she said, "You never gave me the chance, did you? You never asked me, never even let me know that you cared for me other than as a flirt. You kissed me, but never asked me to marry you, poor or otherwise."
"Because you made it quite clear you would only marry a rich man. What would you have said if I had asked you to marry me?"
"Yes," she said immediately. And in that moment she knew it was the truth. If he had told her he loved her and asked her to marry him and go away, she would have. It would have cost her greatly to leave behind her obligation to her mother, but the temptation to be with Marcus Westhaven, to love him as his wife, would have been too great and the happiness offered too vast. But he would never believe that now. Never.
"Oh, really," he said, his voice dry. "Why do I have trouble believing that? Oh, yes, it may be because I have heard that you jilted that poor devil, Sweetan, who wanted to marry you, just because he did not have enough money."
"I did not love Daniel!" Her voice trembled and was so low she hoped that perhaps Marcus had not heard her. It was true. She had never loved Sweetan. She had only now discovered what love felt like, and it consisted mostly of pain, it seemed.
There was silence in the summer night air for a moment. Marcus approached, but did not touch her. "Do . . . did you love me? Tell me the truth and I will believe you."
"I d—d—" Arabella fell silent and turned away. No matter what, it was too late now. She owed Pelimore her allegiance as his future wife. Her heart breaking, she said, softly, "I am engaged. I will be married this day next week. Go away, Marcus. No matter what you think of me, I am not a jilt. I have made an agreement with Lord Pelimore, and I will uphold my end of the bargain. I will be a married woman the next time we meet."
Nineteen
Marcus stayed out in the soft evening air for a few minutes more, unable to master his expression enough to return to his host's company. Had any of what she said been true? Would she have married him? Had she fallen in love with him?
He did not trust her, and that was sad. And yet she had been honest with him always, had she not? Much more so than he had been with her. He had lied to her from the very first day of meeting, and perhaps that was what was behind his own mistrust of her. Could it be his own lies he was seeing? After all, did he really think that her marriage with Lord Pelimore had ever been touted as a love match by either of them? No, the baron was not being misled.
Maybe what she said was true; it was his own feelings about wealth that tainted his view and made him mistrustful. Never had she said she would pretend affection in order to entice a man to ma
rriage. And the way she had kissed him at times surely showed a preference, even an affection—
But it was too late. He had vacillated, torn between the desire to tell her the truth about his inheritance, and his caution and mistrust. Because he had not trusted her, he had let her slip away.
He re-entered to find that Arabella had made some excuse and fled upstairs. He sat for a while with Lord and Lady Drake, but soon left Thorne House to make his solitary way back to Andover.
Arabella was pale and quiet, but composed the next morning at the breakfast table. True longed to ask her questions—so many questions—but it was so clearly none of her business, she could not find a way to justify prying. When they were young Arabella had told her everything, but inevitably time had changed their relationship. And this last Season had seen the most change in Arabella ever. Once she had been a thoughtless flirt, but True had seen none of that in her this summer.
In fact, though she was clearly unhappy, she was indulging in none of the tantrums, none of the childish behavior she had been prone to in the past. Arabella Swinley had grown up, and though True knew she must be happy for that—after all, her new maturity could only be of aid to her in the coming years—she admitted to herself that a little more of Arabella's old openness would have been welcome, even if it came at the cost of a tantrum or two. There was a chilliness to her cousin's demeanor now, as if she were freezing her heart to avoid feeling the pain of a futile love.
Drake had ridden out early on some estate business, so it was just Arabella and True at the table. True signalled to the footman for coffee for them both. He was pouring True's when Lady Swinley, haggard and dirty from travel, burst into the breakfast room with a footman trailing behind her, bleating about announcing her.
"Never mind that, man, stay out of my way."
"Mother, what is it?" Arabella cried, leaping up from her chair and helping her mother to sit before she collapsed. She knelt beside the woman.
Lady Swinley waved a newspaper around in the air. "It's...it's-h! It is horrible!"
War, famine, pestilence: all of those calamities stormed through Arabella's mind. She grabbed the newspaper and glanced over the first couple of pages. But the main stories were about the corn laws, the Luddites, and another demonstration by the poor, a rehashing of the political news that always took precedence in that particular paper.
Arabella smoothed back her mother's hair, normally so neat, but now escaping its tidy bun. "What is it? What is wrong, Mother?"
True busied herself with ordering a restorative for her elder cousin, and shooing away the curious staff. Annie, Lady Swinley's maid, followed in and was questioned by Arabella.
"What has upset my mother so, Annie? What has happened? Was it—was it the moneylenders again?"
"Oh, no. Miss Swinley," Annie said, collapsing in a chair, unbidden, an unusual thing for the girl to do. "The moneylenders are satisfied now, and all of Lady Swinley's gambling debts bin paid off, too. 'Tis something else entirely; it is—"
"Shut your mouth, girl," Lady Swinley ordered, sitting up straighter in the breakfast room chair, her face red with anger.
"Gambling debts? What—?"
But Arabella was not fated to have that query answered at that moment. Lady Swinley raised her hand and pointed at the newspaper. "Page eight," she said, wearily.
Together, True and Arabella spread the paper out on the breakfast table and read page eight over until they came to the gossip column. There was the usual tittle-tattle about who was seen where and with whom, but near the bottom they finally came to the piece Lady Swinley was in such a taking over.
"It is said, " the column read. ''That the elderly Lord P., who was so recently betrothed to the scandal-plagued Miss S., is being sued for breach of promise by Lady J., his 'particular friend' of some years standing. She has a witness, it is rumored, who will positively state that the gentleman in question promised that if and when Lord P. ever married, it would be to her. Lady J. As a result of this suit, shall Lord P.'s name soon be amended to Lord Pay-her-more!
Arabella shook her head in dismay. It was the work of seconds to identify herself, her betrothed, and his paramour in the story. "This is not pretty, Mama, and I certainly do not like my name being bandied about so. 'The scandal-plagued Miss S.,' indeed! But other than that, I do not see how this is to hurt us. Lord Pelimore certainly has enough money to pay Lady Jacobs to drop the suit."
Lady Swinley was on her feet, pacing and wringing her hands, though, and would not be cheered. "Oh, you do not understand! This is terrible. Terrible! What a scandal!"
Arabella shrugged. After what she had endured when the whole story of the episode at the Farmington estate came out, she was not acutely distressed over a little breach-of-promise suit. She had stayed in London long enough after her betrothal was announced to feel the full affect of the shunning she was subjected to. Suddenly doors that had always been open to the Honorable Miss Swinley were slammed shut. She was persona non grata in London society, and would be for some time to come.
This bit of news would just titillate the gossip-mongers even more. But Pelimore would set it out of court; men always did if they had the money.
Free of any worry about her status in the city and among people who had turned their backs on her, her mind came back to something Annie had said. The girl had crept away, so Arabella turned to her mother. "Mama, what did Annie mean about your gambling debts?"
Lady Swinley looked guilty, but her chin went up in a gesture Arabella recognized in herself, and she stood stiffly. "The girl is an idiot! I play cards, but I really seldom gamble, and rarely—well, infrequently lose any amount at all."
"Has my dear, devoted husband-to-be settled any gambling debts? Was that a part of your . . . your agreement with him?" Arabella felt a dreaded calm overtake her, instead of the outrage she should be feeling. She saw True's worried glance, but had no time to reassure her that she would be fine.
Lady Swinley's gaze slid away and she stared at a candle sconce on the wall. "My dear, you know he agreed to set all of our debts. I ... I don't really remember them all! Life is so costly, and especially you, with three fruitless Seasons—"
"Mother, do not try to evade the question. Did you have gambling debts, and has Lord Pelimore paid them as a part of your agreement with him that I should marry him?"
Her beady eyes holding a sly light, the baroness said, "Well, no dear, Pelimore has paid no gambling debts for me at all."
Arabella knew there was more but could not think what it would be, until she saw where her wording had allowed her mother an out. "But he is going to, is that not so?"
Trapped, Lady Swinley nodded. "I ... I feel faint. True, dear, may I have a room?"
Lady Swinley kept to her room for the remainder of the day, and all of the next. Arabella really did not want to see her mother anyway. She was terribly afraid that if she did see the woman, she would be unable to contain the ire that was building in her heart. She thought back to Eveleen's assertion that men treated women as chattel. How would that ever change when women were wont to do the same? Her mother had sold her for a shabby handful of gold; there was no other way to look at it.
True watched her younger cousin and worried. The revelations of the past couple of days had started her thinking, and she was deeply troubled.
"Wy," she said to her husband, 'I think we have all misread Arabella, even I."
"How so, my love?" Drake curled one fine lock of her hair around his finger and kissed it. He whispered something in her ear, and she blushed a rosy color.
"Stop! I am trying to be serious."
They were sitting on a patch of lawn in the garden on a blanket, True curled up in her husband's arms. Arabella was working not far from them, ferociously weeding an until-now ignored corner of the garden. True had told her time and again that they had gardeners for the hard work. She was supposed to do the ladylike chores of planning and pruning, and no more. But she seemed to find an outlet in physical labor, s
o True let her go at it, knowing that this was how Arabella's restless nature found relief. And if she had callused hands at the end of it, a little peace was well worth it.
"I am always serious, my love," Drake said, kissing his wife's ear
"I was saying I think we have all misread Arabella. I think she only agreed to marry Pelimore because her mother was having financial problems. I never knew her before to be so avid about money, and from what I heard in the breakfast room, I think Lady Swinley forced Arabella into marrying because they were in financial trouble. I should have thought of it earlier from something she said last autumn, but I was— well, I was distracted at that time."
Both were silent. The previous autumn Drake had been very sick and the doctors had despaired of his life, but True had miraculously pulled him through with the force of her love and a little herbal concoction.
"Say you are right. What has that to do with anything now? She has agreed to marry the old codger, and seems quite content to follow through."
True looked at her husband incredulously. "Content? She has been miserable! She is eating her heart out over that cad, Oakmont! I do not know what happened between them; she will not speak of it. Not even to me. But since he was here there has been even more sadness in her eyes."
Arabella, too far away from them to hear their whispered conversation, sat back on her heels and passed one hand over her brow, leaving a long smudge of dirt there. Drake remembered how prim and proper she had seemed to him the previous autumn during her stay at his parents' home. She was more concerned about her dress and gloves than about anything else. Maybe there was something wrong, but whatever it was, he had every confidence that she would survive. Arabella Swinley was much tougher than his wife thought. Even if her marriage to Lord Pelimore turned out to be the worst thing that ever happened to her, she would live through it.
Belle of the ball Page 20
