by Regina Darcy
“I—forgive me, Your Grace,” Arabella replied, curtsying.
“I am just doing as the Duke requires of me.”
A frustrated look came over the older woman’s face.
“That boy worries about me incessantly,” she replied, heavily. “If it will give you peace, I intend to sit over by the French doors and enjoy the latest en-dits from town.” She raised one delicate eyebrow. “Perhaps in an hour or so, I might require some refreshment. Then we will both ensure the Duke is kept happy.”
Arabella gave a tight smile, still anxious.
“Of course, Your Grace.” She curtsied again, only to see an empty space in front of her as she rose. The Dowager Duchess had gone.
Not quite sure what to do, Arabella began to wander around the edge of the ballroom. The Duke had asked her to stay close to the Dowager Duchess, whilst the lady herself had asked her to leave her alone for a time. Arabella did not wish to make the Duke angry, nor did she want to frustrate the Dowager Duchess. It was something of a difficult situation.
Glancing up, Arabella realised she had somehow managed to wander away from the ballroom. The music was faint, and there was no one—not even a servant—in the near vicinity. Turning back, Arabella wondered whether she had come from the right or left, berating herself for not keeping track of where she was walking.
Just as she was about to walk down the right-hand corridor—completely on a whim—Arabella noticed a small conservatory down the hallway. It was hidden in the shadows of the dim candlelight, but the door was open just a fraction. Having an urgent need for someone to point her in the right direction out of the maze of corridors, she made her way to the door and knocked twice.
The door swung open, and Arabella tentatively walked inside, thinking she would come face to face with someone. Instead, she stood astounded at the vision she was met with.
She had walked straight into a studio. Based on the easels, brushes, and the distinct smell of turpentine, there was no doubt this was a painter’s studio. Beautiful landscapes lay about here, there, and every which way.
There was no one else in the room, so Arabella had no clue as to whom had painted such masterpieces. The artist was obviously no novice. The colour composition and vivid display of nature brought a liveliness to the landscapes that only a master painter could have captured.
In the corner of the room was a huge easel with a painting that was half covered. Her curiosity getting the better of her, Arabella walked towards it to find herself ensconced in a small alcove.
As her hand lifted the cover, her breath caught at the sight of a portrait of a woman. The woman depicted upon it was breath-taking in her beauty and serenity, exuding strength and vitality. Whoever had painted the portrait had infused it with such intimacy that it almost felt wrong to gaze on it.
Glancing to her right and left, Arabella spotted other small portraits and sketches, all of the same woman. Who was she? And why was she so important to the painter?
“Now, what have we here?” stated a smooth voice out of the blue.
SIX
Startled, Arabella yelped, turning to face the gentleman behind her. In the dim light, she struggled to make out his features but could tell that he was displeased with her presence.
“My lord,” she uttered breathlessly. “I must beg your forgiveness!”
The man grumbled, lighting a candle on the shelf next to him—and then his features came to life. Arabella’s breath hitched as she recognised him as the man she had met at the inn.
Despite the glass of champagne in his hand, he did not look intoxicated. However, whether he was a gentleman or not was yet to be proven. Given how he had behaved towards her at the posting inn, Arabella suspected the latter. She swallowed hard. How did she always find herself in such awkward situations?
“Please excuse my intrusion. I will make haste and depart,” she muttered and tried to walk past him. But the gentleman in question did not move out of the way.
“Not so fast,” he replied instead as he took a step forward, forcing her to step back.
“We have not been properly introduced yet, nor have you explained what you are doing here,” he continued, with no trace of a smile on his face.
Arabella swallowed again, glancing at his stony expression.
“Lord Daven, at your service,” he declared and bowed with a flourish.
Well aware she had been totally lacking in manners, Arabella curtsied and replied, “Miss Arabella Cartwright.” She dared not lift her gaze. Instinct told her this man was much more dangerous than he looked.
Her instincts proved to be correct. Before she could make her escape, he lifted her chin so that she was gazing into his eyes. Arabella lost her breath, completely trapped. No gentleman would dare lay a finger on her, were she back at home. His behaviour was entirely scandalous.
Then again, she had not exactly behaved with propriety, maybe he had mistaken her behaviour for something else. She gulped, her mouth completely dry.
“Ah, yes,” Lord Daven murmured. “You are the new governess my brother hired.” His smile turned into a sneer as he let go of her chin. “I see you have decided to ensure your undergarments stay out of sight this evening,” he finished dryly as he stood back to allow her to pass him.
Suddenly she remembered the intimate situation at the inn, and she could feel her face infuse with heat. Practically running past him, she made her way towards the door, only to be stopped by his harsh voice.
“Pray tell, Miss Cartwright, what exactly were you doing in my private quarters?”
Slowly turning to face him, Arabella dropped her gaze.
“I…I meant no disrespect, my lord. I was lost and looking for some assistance. Your door was ajar, and I thought someone might be in here to give me directions. However, once I saw some of your pieces, I could not help but admire the craftsmanship.”
His bark of laughter made her jump.
“Is that so? And what would a woman of your station know of the arts?”
At his condescending tone, Arabella’s face darkened. She straightened her back and push forward her shin, pride colouring her features.
“I do not pretend to be anything of an expert, but I am still able to distinguish Thomas Gainsborough from J.M.W. Turner,” she huffed, turning to leave.
“I do beg your pardon.”
The simple sentence brought her to a halt. It was filled with such emotion that Arabella swung around and faced Lord Daven. He now had his back to her, painstakingly repositioning and covering the canvas of the gentlewoman.
“My manners have not been what they should be lately,” he continued, apparently having lost every trace of the scoffing and disparaging man he had been only a moment before.
“I thank you,” Arabella replied, primly, trying to keep her poise as he turned to face her. Despite her dislike of the gentleman, his deep green eyes still mesmerised her. How she hated that her foolish heart began to quicken as he drew closer.
“You are aware of what you have taken on,” he began, scrutinising her again. “Likely once the new duchess takes over the household, you will be the first person she will dispose of.”
“And why would that be?” Arabella replied, haughtily.
Lord Daven laughed, his green eyes darkening even further as he glanced over her form. Heat rushed into her cheeks.
“Your youth and beauty could prove too much of a distraction to my brother.” He cocked his head, studying her further. “It is certainly proving a distraction to me.” His voice dropped a little, a slow smile spreading across his face.
“Now, I am not in the habit of propositioning young maidens, but then again, there is a singular lack of my sort of entertainment in Bath.”
“Proposition my lord?” Arabella wrinkled her forehead in confusion, trying not to be affected by his compliments, however complimentary.
Lord Daven smiled.
“I am suggesting that I can make you very happy and provide for you in a fitting manner. You w
ill be cared for when you are dismissed, for I will be there to provide for you. After all, a diamond of the first waters such as yourself should not languish in a corner.”
As Arabella tried to understand what he was saying, finding it difficult to comprehend his meaning, Lord Daven’s arms went around her. She opened her mouth to object, to tell him that she was certainly not a diamond of the first water, nor even a lady of distinguished title, but, before she could utter a word, his lips came down on hers.
For a moment, she was paralysed into immobility by sheer surprise. Then, to her horror, she realised she was being kissed. Her mind screamed at her to struggle, to push away from the man, but slowly, it began to quiet as her body hummed with strange new emotions.
Warmth travelled through her as Arabella slowly relaxed. A sensation of satisfaction and wonderful rapture came over her. Never had she felt the like.
As she parted her lips to sigh, something even more shocking happened. Lord Daven tasted her mouth as if that had been the invitation he was waiting for.
That was the moment that drew her out of his bewitchment. Her sensibilities reminded her that she was in a stranger’s arms, being kissed most scandalously! Cold reality washed over her, and she pressed her hands against Lord Daven’s chest. When his arms slacked, she fought herself free with a strength she hadn’t known she possessed.
What had she been thinking? Arabella pulled her hand back and slapped his face, breathing hard. The sound of the slap echoed in the room.
Breathless, they stood looking at each other, Arabella hot with shame and anger, whilst Lord Daven simply rubbed at the red mark on the side of his face.
“I suppose I deserved that,” he said ruefully. “However, do not mistake me for a gentleman. Your eyes were begging for it.”
He reached out and caressed the lock of her hair that had fallen from her coiffure.
“I can positively smell the innocence on you.” He let the lock go, just as Arabella stepped back.
“Now you run from me?” He laughed, harshly. “Do not forget your place here, my dear. You are merely the governess. Should you strike me again, I promise you this, your penance will be most personal in nature.” With those final words, he turned his back to her.
Confused and hurt, Arabella spun and ran. Somehow her feet found their way back to the ballroom and, to her luck, to the Dowager Duchess, who looked up at her with a smile.
“Right on time, I see. Ratafia, please, my dear.”
Arabella nodded numbly, walking towards the back of the ballroom. Her eyes clouded with tears, and, finding a quiet, dark alcove, she let the tears slowly slide down her face. She was completely and utterly confused, ashamed and humiliated.
It had been a mistake to come here.
SEVEN
Peter walked to his workbench and withdrew a hidden whisky bottle. He had never felt more of a cad. His conscience told him that he should not have misused Miss Cartwright so.
However, he had been shocked to see the very same woman from the posting inn standing in his private sanctuary. He had been fascinated by her from the very first moment he had laid eyes on her, to find the same woman in his study had been both an astonishing and welcome sight.
His eyes closed for a moment, remembering how she had been so interested in his work, evidently admiring it. She hadn’t been aware of it, but her eyes had roved over him like a nomad in a desert looking for water. Everything about her called to him on the most basic level.
He cared nothing for her, of course, but her sparkling eyes and soft curves drew him to her. There was no doubt in his mind that he would struggle to stay away from her. Then again, perhaps he would manage to be a gentleman, and keep both his eyes and hands away from her beauty.
Opening his eyes, Peter swallowed a swig of whisky. Who was he trying to fool? He wanted to taste the governess in the most desperate of ways. Everything else was a poor attempt to excuse his behaviour. The liquor burned its way down his throat, reminding him of the heat he’d felt when he’d touched her.
Then he looked at the covered canvas, and the heat in his blood cooled. His confusion over Eleanor, though long departed, as well as his ongoing frustration and anger over his brother brought enough difficulty into his life. The last thing he needed was to add to it by seducing the governess.
He took another sip of whisky. Pursuing the governess would be a welcome distraction.
He clenched his fingers around his glass. His mind and heart fought within him, trying to get him to do the right thing for once in his scandalous life.
Shaking his head, Peter threw back the rest of his whisky and poured another. Were the truth known, Peter would have to confess he had grown sick of the loose women he’d found at the inns.
Of course, he liked their attentions but had not paid for a night with one of them in quite some time. He had told himself it was because he was not sure of what disease they might have, but he was slowly beginning to admit that perhaps it was more than that. It was because the women reminded him of Eleanor and it was too much of a torment.
Each time he’d taken a painted girl in his arms, she’d smiled and whispered words of love, and he’d heard Eleanor’s voice. At first, it had been a comfort, but as the time passed, it became a cruelty.
After all, they were doing exactly what Eleanor had done, pretending to love him for a time. Their words and voices had merged into one until he’d begun to hate what he was doing. He’d stopped going to them soon afterwards. Of course, he still enjoyed their attentions, but he had not taken one to bed in over a year.
Despite all this, Peter still had an almost desperate urge to paint Eleanor’s likeness. Over and over he did it, remembering her in various poses and situations. He swayed between anger and desire; sadness and anger, but still, he painted her.
Little wonder Miss Cartwright had been so astonished to see the same lady’s likeness adorning the walls. He had never allowed anyone inside, not even Ainsley.
Ainsley would likely explode to find Peter doing such a thing, especially when he was now set on marrying someone new. It seemed his brother did not wish for a single reminder of his deceased wife, to the point that Peter now felt barely able to mention her name in his presence. It was decidedly odd.
Sighing heavily, Peter threw back the cover of his easel and looked down at his portrait of Eleanor. Her death still felt fresh underneath the layers of alcohol and anger he’d hidden his broken heart under. Maybe the governess would prove to be a distraction after all, someone that would finally help him to get over Eleanor’s betrayal.
***
One week later, Arabella was still not quite ready to meet Lord Daven again. He had, to her relief, stayed completely out of her way. She, in turn, had thrown herself into her work, enjoying the company of the oldest two children. The youngest child, Catherine, still stayed with the nurse, which Arabella was grateful for. She had very little experience with babies.
Elizabeth, on the other hand, was an inquisitive four-year-old, who was more than ready to begin her lessons. David, her brother, was still quite young but Arabella thought him good company for Elizabeth. Together, they attempted to learn their letters and numbers, and, to her surprise, both children seemed quite interested in learning.
Arabella had already decided that each afternoon should be spent outside as much as possible. The children in her care had a great deal of energy, and Arabella thought that they would learn as much from the outdoors as they would sitting at a desk with their slate.
For herself, she enjoyed being outside, even when it was cloudy. The fresh air filling her lungs gave her complete and utter delight, reminding her of all the times she had spent outdoors with her father.
She hoped to soon approach the gardener and ask for a small patch of land to grow some plants with the children. Thinking back, Arabella recalled how her father always encouraged her to get her hands into the ground from a very young age. The smell of earth always made her smile.
“Miss Cart
wright?”
Brought back to the present, Arabella smiled down at Elizabeth who was looking up at her with a wide smile.
“Yes?” she asked. “What is it?”
“Might we go to the lake today?”
Arabella shook her head at once. “No, we may not, Lady Elizabeth. I cannot take the both of you alone. What would happen if one of you were to have an accident and fall in?”
“Oh, but I won’t!” Elizabeth exclaimed, her eyes pleading. “I am so very big, and it is only David you will need to watch.”
Arabella shook her head, hearing Elizabeth’s disappointed sigh. “I cannot, as much as I would enjoy going myself. It would be much too dangerous.”
“Then may I suggest that I come with you?”
Startled, Arabella jumped, turning to see Lord Daven close behind her. Her heart stopped for a moment, before thumping twice as fast as before. Evidently, his boots had made no sound on the soft grass, and she had not heard him approach.
“What is it you are asking, dear niece?” he asked, directing his attentions towards Elizabeth. “The lake, is it?” At Elizabeth’s excited nod, he turned to face Arabella, who looked away at once. She could not bear to meet his eyes, aware that her cheeks were already flaming.
“What say you, Miss Cartwright?” he asked, jovially. “If there are two of us, then I think we should be able to manage the two children?”
Arabella did not know what to say. On the one hand, she did not wish to spend even the smallest amount of time in Lord Daven’s presence; however, he was the children’s uncle, and her station was far below his.
“Very well,” she murmured, turning her attentions to David and calling him back to her.
The group meandered slowly towards the lake, with Elizabeth taking Arabella’s hand and talking excitedly about what she had seen the last time she had gone near. Something to do with damselflies, or the like. Arabella barely listened to her charge’s excited chatter, being wholly focused on ignoring Lord Daven.
