by Regina Darcy
And yet, he had not despised her for it. Instead, he had pleaded for an opportunity to share with her what exactly had happened, and she had refused it. Lifting her head, Arabella’s eyes fell on the painting he had delivered to her door, seeing it with new eyes. He had painted her in place of Eleanor. That held more significance than she had ever imagined.
“Oh, Peter,” she murmured, sadly. “I am so sorry.”
Just as she said those words, there came a sudden knock on her door, making her jump with surprise.
“Arabella?”
Scrambling to her feet, Arabella wiped frantically at her eyes, before running her hand over her hair. “Lord Daven?” she asked, in a slightly shaky voice.
“Might you open the door, Miss Cartwright?” he asked.
“I wish to speak to you.”
Hoping she did not look quite as despondent as she felt, Arabella opened the door, stepped out, and closed it tightly behind her. Lord Daven took a step back as she came out, although she could not quite bring herself to meet his eyes for fear of what she might see there.
“Miss Cartwright,” he murmured, reaching for her hand. “Whatever is the matter? You did exceptionally well.”
The lump in her throat simply would not go away.
“I am truly sorry, my lord.”
“Sorry?”
The surprise in his voice made her gaze into his eyes. He looked quite astonished at her apology.
“Why yes, of course, I must apologise,” she responded hurriedly. “I believed that you shared an inappropriate love for the Duke’s wife and never gave you the opportunity to explain. How wrong I was!”
“You were not entirely wrong,” Lord Daven murmured, pressing her hand against the crook of his elbow. “Might you do me the honour of walking with me?”
Nodding, Arabella fell into step with him.
“You see, Miss Cartwright, I was in love with the Duke’s wife,” he explained, as they made their way along the hallway. “But she was, at one time, to be my wife.”
Her heart tore for him.
“But then, at the high of my affections, I caught her in the arms of my brother. The end of the story is that she became his wife and bore him three beautiful children before she died.”
Arabella did not know what to say, both sorry for him and angry about what she had heard.
“For a long time, I was somewhere between love and hate, sadness, and agony.”
“That is why you painted her portrait over and over again,” Arabella said, softly. “You could not wrest her from your heart.”
Shaking his head, Lord Daven stopped and looked into her eyes. “I see now that it was not love that had me painting her continually, but rather a way to cling to my pain. It was the only thing that kept me going for a long time, despite the tenuous peace between myself and my brother.”
Filled with admiration for him, over his long-term peace with the man who had stolen his love from him, Arabella pressed his arm. “How you made peace when wronged so grievously, I shall never know.”
“I had no choice,” Lord Daven replied heavily. “My mother was already distraught with all that had gone on. I could not bear to see her hurt further by distancing myself from my brother. In the end, I did what I could for her sake, although I will confess that I numbed my emotions in other, less respectable ways.”
“I will not ask,” Arabella replied, fervently. “I cannot imagine what you must have gone through.” Her heart swelled with sympathy over what he had endured, and, as they began to walk slowly together, she felt the pressure to apologise all over again. “Lord Daven, I—”
“Please call me Peter,” he interrupted, his face taking on a pleading look. “I have longed to hear my name on your lips.”
Blushing most becomingly, Arabella nodded.
“Peter, I must tell you how sorry I am for my behaviour. I gave you no opportunity to explain what you meant when you mentioned the Duke’s wife by name, assuming—entirely incorrectly—that you had loved her after they had wed. I did not give you the trust you deserve.”
He shook his head. “You are the only woman to trust me in a long time,” he said, quietly. “I have never given anyone the opportunity to believe that I am anything but a scoundrel, and, until I met you, I revelled in that behaviour. You have brought something out in me that forced me to change my ways and become someone you can trust and respect.”
“Then I hope you accept my apology,” Arabella replied, hopefully. “What you said of me to your mother, I—”
“You heard?” he asked, stopping and swinging around to face her. “Oh, my dear Arabella! You listened?”
Her face burned crimson. “I wanted to hear what came of Lady Bentley,” she said, looking away in embarrassment. “I should not have stayed to hear more.”
“But you did,” he murmured, lifting her chin with one gentle finger so that she was forced to look into his eyes.
“Oh, Arabella. Do you truly not know how deep my feelings go?”
Arabella found she could not respond, caught up in the spell he’d woven around her.
“Come with me,” he whispered, dropping his finger and taking her hand.
They walked in silence for some minutes, until, finally, Arabella realised where they were going. Lord Daven pushed open the door to his private study but held her outside of the doorway for a moment. “Now you will see the depths of my feelings for you, my darling.”
Stunned at his words, Arabella tentatively followed him inside, only to stop dead. There, in front of her, was one large canvas, surrounded by smaller ones. He had attempted to capture her again on the smaller canvases and was now putting them all together on the larger canvas. She did not know what to say, her speech robbed for a moment.
“You see, Arabella,” Peter whispered, slipping an arm around her waist. “My heart is no longer full of Eleanor and what she and my brother did. Instead, my heart is full of you.” He turned to face her, smiling at the astonishment in her expression.
“Peter,” she breathed, barely able to take her eyes from the paintings. “I cannot believe you did this!”
“I love you, Arabella,” he replied. “And that love has healed my pain and restored my heart. I have never loved anyone as I love you, not even Eleanor.”
Arabella stared at him, her heart slamming into her chest. Lord Daven, the man who had kissed her the first night she had been at the Abbey, right here in this very room, was now standing before her declaring his love. How quickly things had changed!
“I must confess that I love you too, Peter,” she replied, as a tear slipped down her cheek. “I believe it has grown from the first moment we met.”
He wiped the tear from her cheek, smiling at her softly. “Then you will be my wife?” he asked, hope and love shining in his eyes.
“I would be honoured,” she whispered, her heart full to overflowing. A sudden thought had her gasp with anxiety. “But what of your brother? Or your mother? Surely they will not accept a man of your station in life marrying a mere governess?”
To her surprise, Peter threw his head back and laughed. “You need not worry on that account, my love. My brother will be delighted, I assure you, and my mother has already noticed a change in me. She even commented as much, and I took great pleasure in telling her that it has been you who has brought about such a change.” His arms tightened as he pulled her against him. “Believe me, Arabella. My mother will be thrilled to call you a daughter-in-law.”
Relief filled her, breaking down her last barrier. “Then I must tell you that I cannot wait to be your wife,” she sighed, tipping her head up to look at him. “I love you most dearly, Peter.”
Taking her invitation, Peter dropped his lips to hers and kissed Arabella gently. His kiss was filled with promises about their future, their hearts beginning to beat as one. Arabella had found herself a husband, but even more than that, she had found someone to love, who loved her in return. It was more than she had ever hoped for.
The
End
BONUS CHAPTER 1:
A FORGETFUL GOVERNESS FOR THE DUKE
ONE
1815, Philadelphia
American Colonies
“Whatever are you talking about, Papa?” Miss Amelia Carrington asked, crossly.
Her father, Lord Armitage scowled. “Perhaps if you listened, Amelia, you might realise what it is I am saying. In short, you are to be wed. It is all arranged.”
Amelia stared at her father, wondering what on earth had possessed him to arrange such a thing without so much as consulting her.
She frowned in consternation. “Dearest Papa, I have no wish to marry.”
“And yet you will,” Lord Armitage replied, cheerfully. “After all, you cannot stay here!”
“Why not?” Amelia asked, as horror slowly began to fill her chest. “I like it here, with you.”
The lie fell smoothly from her lips, but her father was not easily fooled. After all, he was the one to whom she had spent years complaining over how little there was to do where they lived. She had told him on more than one occasion that she was quite bored, and now, it seemed, those words were coming back to haunt her.
Her father guffawed, letting her know at once that he didn’t believe her.
“It’s true!” she exclaimed, in a desperate attempt to convince him of his error. “Furthermore, I cannot bear to be parted from you, Papa.”
Lord Armitage’s face softened then, and he gestured her to a chair. “Sit down, my dear, and let me explain exactly what is happening.”
Amelia did as he asked, as a sense of foreboding enveloped her. It did not look as though she were about to escape whatever it was her father had planned. Her father was using the tone of voice he only reserved for the utmost serious conversations.
“A very dear friend of mine has a nephew who is in need of a wife,” her father explained, sitting down opposite her. “I owe this gentleman a great debt of honour. My very life actually.”
“Your life?” Amelia repeated, her eyes widening like saucers.
“Indeed,” her father replied. “When I first came to the colonies, he travelled on the same ship as me. The sea was rough, and, without warning, a wave crashed onto the boat and dragged me over the side.” He shook his head, as a distant expression came over his face. “Lord Gerald Harvey was the one who dived in to save me, risking his own life. It is a debt I have never been able to repay. Until now.” Looking up at her, he quirked an eyebrow. “Of course, giving my daughter’s hand in marriage to a Duke isn’t much of a repayment, given how much you’ll be receiving in return, but when I was asked, I simply could not refuse.”
Feeling light-headed by the turn of events, Amelia asked her father for a drink and quickly gulped down the cool water he gave her. Putting the glass down on the side table, she swallowed once more and tried to level on him her most severe look. “Do you mean to tell me that you have promised my hand in marriage to an Englishman I have never even met?”
Unfortunately for Amelia, her father was not quelled by her unyielding gaze. “Precisely!” he grinned, as though she should be more than delighted. “The Duke of Lenister, no less!”
“The Duke of Lenister!” Amelia screeched. “Papa, you cannot be serious!” Even here in the colonies, the Duke’s reputation was well known. Rumours and whispers about his various dalliances, as well as his penchant for gambling, had made their way from England all the way across the sea and into Amelia’s ears. She could not believe that her father would give her hand to such a self-indulgent man!
Her father waved away her concerns. “That reputation you speak of is simply false. People expect a Duke to behave in a certain way when he is yet unmarried, and that is simply all there is to it. It is rumour, and nothing more. You must not believe a word of it, Amelia. Lord Harvey would not have asked for your hand unless he were quite sure of his nephew’s good reputation.”
Amelia began to feel nauseous. “Has it occurred to you Papa, that he might wish for me to marry the Duke precisely so that his reputation is restored? Or so they might have access to my inheritance?”
“Of course that is not the case!” her father exclaimed. “He is a Duke! Even if he were a rogue, the ton would not care, given his title. There would be no reason to attempt to restore his reputation through marriage. You are quite wrong in this regard, Amelia. And when it comes to wealth, the Duke is wealthy enough, without your inheritance.”
Tears clung to her lashes as Amelia began to realise that her father was quite serious. There would be no escape from this.
“Then I am to leave for England?” she stammered in a choked voice.
“First thing tomorrow,” Lord Armitage replied.
“What?”
“Yes, I know it is very sudden. But I know you better than you know yourself my darling Amelia. Any more notice, and you will have concocted a plan to drive me to my wits end over this decision.”
Lord Armitage walked over and placed a kiss on top of his daughter’s shinny curls.
“I expect you will need to go and pack, my dear. The Duke will be expecting you! All the arrangements have been made. You will be quite safe darling, I promise.”
Bursting into sobs, Amelia buried her face in her hands as her entire body shook. The shock of what her father had decreed threw her into turmoil, as she rebelled against the unfairness of it all.
She wished she had the freedom to do as she pleased, to marry whom she pleased, but it was not to be. Her father had decided for her, and she was not able to refuse. The thought of having to board ship and to leave the place she called home was terrifying. Anxiety washed over her. She didn’t want to leave. As much as she found this place dull and slow, she would prefer staying in Philadelphia to living in England, a place she had only heard about from her father.
Amelia ached for her mother, who, had she still been living, would no doubt have told her father exactly what a ridiculous arrangement this was. She would have stood by Amelia’s side and refused to allow her to leave. If only she had not died so suddenly of a frightful fever, all those years ago, perhaps her Papa would not be sending her away. Her Mama had believed in love matches, like the one between her and Papa. In short, she would have saved Amelia from this dreadful unknown fate.
“There, there,” her father murmured, getting up to pat her shoulder awkwardly. “I know it is quite difficult to imagine, Amelia, but you will be more than happy with the Duke. Yes, you might require some time to adjust, but life with him will be vastly more exciting than anything you could have here!”
“I don’t want to marry a stranger, Papa,” Amelia begged through her sobs. “Please, won’t you change your mind?” She looked up at him, tears shining in her eyes as she desperately hoped he would allow her to stay – but it was to no avail.
Lord Armitage shook his head slowly. “No, I’m afraid not, Amelia. As I said, it has all been arranged, and you are expected. You will be a duchess, my dear! Isn’t that worth a cheerful disposition? There are many young ladies who would long to be in your situation.” Bending down, he took her hand and looked into her eyes.
“Amelia, there is nothing here for you. No prospects, other than living with your aging father until he passes away.” He gave her a sad smile. “Is that truly the life you want? Can you not see that I have done this for your own good?”
Amelia didn’t know what to say. A small part of her understood that her father had agreed to the arrangement out of love, but that still didn’t detract from the despair and upset she felt. Closing her eyes, she took a steadying breath, aware that her tears were having no effect on her father and turning her into a complete watering pot.
“There’s my girl,” her father murmured, pressing a quick kiss on her cheek. “Now, why don’t you run along and pack? I’ll make sure the maid is sent to assist you. Don’t worry about packing too much, though, for you are to have a trousseau once you arrive. You can’t get married without such a thing, or so I am told.” He gave her a wide smile and one mor
e pat on the shoulder before leaving the room.
Amelia tried her best not to dissolve into tears once more, taking long breaths in an attempt to calm her frayed nerves. She would be departing for England come the morning. She was hardly able to take it in. This would be her last night under her father’s roof, the last time she would rise and enjoy her breakfast in the early morning colonial sun. From tomorrow on, everything would be different.
What would the Duke truly be like? If what her father said was true, then she could tell very little about him, but her heart told her that there was no rumour without some kind of truth behind it. Men of high station and power, by default, had very little regard for morals. More than likely, the Duke of Lenister was everything she had heard, if not worse. Amelia buried her face in her hands, wanting to scream aloud in frustration, but instead she contented herself with a few angry stamps of her feet.
Then, without any more delay, she rose, smoothed down her gown, lifted her chin and made her way to her bedchamber. There was much she had to attend to. She had no intention of meeting her fate dressed as a pauper.
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