by Rose Pearson
“Him?” Arabella repeated, her hands clasping together in front of her. “You refer to St. Leger?”
“To Jacob, yes,” the Duchess said, plainly. “This ball is thrown for him, as a way to welcome him back to society, but he has thus far, refused to come below.”
Arabella looked into the Duchess’ face and saw the sadness lingering in her eyes, the fear, and the anxiety that she could well understand.
“I have tried to speak to him, as has his father, and his sister,” the Duchess continued, now appearing a little desperate. “It would be rather mortifying to have such an event as this without the guest of honour so much as making an appearance!”
Arabella swallowed the lump in her throat, fearing that she already knew what the Duchess was to ask her.
“Would you attempt to speak to him, my dear?” the Duchess asked, grasping one of Arabella’s hands. “He may be more inclined to listen to you.”
Arabella shook her head, her heart aching. “I do not think that he would be in any way inclined to listen to me,” she said, slowly. “After what was shared between us –”
“I know that he was terribly rude to you and is not in any way inclined to listen,” the Duchess interrupted, her hand squeezing Arabella’s. “But I would ask if you would be willing to try. I know it is a great deal to ask, but I cannot bear the embarrassment that would come if he were not to attend. He has to do all he can to show society that he is ready and prepared to be the next Duke of Crestwick and not to appear this evening will only do him harm rather than good.”
Arabella sighed inwardly, stifling her immediate desire to refuse and, instead, nodding slowly. “I can try,” she stated, softly. “Where is he?”
The Duchess looked more than relieved. “The library, where you spoke to him previously,” she said, gently. “There is a maid waiting outside the door to ensure there is no suggestion of impropriety.”
Arabella managed a tight smile, relieved at this consideration. “Thank you, Your Grace,” she mumbled, suddenly feeling rather unsteady. “Would you ask my mother to remain here to wait for me?”
“But of course,” the Duchess promised, letting go of Arabella’s hand. “I will inform her that one of your ringlets has come loose and that I have sent you to my lady’s maid in order to have it repaired.” She smiled, the lines on her face becoming a little less all of a sudden. “You are very kind, Lady Arabella.”
“I care about Jacob,” Arabella replied, truthfully. “I think I always shall.” She and the Duchess exchanged a small, sad smile before Arabella turned away, making her way towards the library which was one flight of stairs above the ballroom.
Her heart was hammering wildly as she found the waiting maid and the slightly ajar door. She took a moment to steady herself, feeling a trickle of sweat run down her back as she pushed the door open. She had never felt this way when it came to Jacob. There had always been an easy camaraderie between them, a camaraderie that was now gone, seemingly, forever.
“What is it now?” Jacob’s harsh voice reached her, just as he turned his head to see who it was that had entered. His brow furrowed, his lips thinning. “What are you doing here, Arabella?”
She looked at him, undaunted. “Your mother asked me to come and see you, Jacob.”
He grunted, rolling his eyes. “She need not have done.”
“Why are you here when there is a ball in your honour going on below?” she asked, as gently as she could. “You look as though you are dressed for such an occasion and I have not known you to turn your nose up at such a thing before.”
Jacob said nothing, although she saw, in the flickering light of the fire’s glow, that his jaw tightened, jutting out a little more. This was not the Jacob she knew, the one with the ever-ready smile, the one who had always been more inclined towards laughter than anger. Whatever had happened to him to make him so?
“Please, Jacob,” she said, seating herself opposite him and ignoring the trembling that was going on within her soul. “You need not sit up here alone. You have friends and family waiting for you in the ballroom. This is to welcome you back to society, to welcome you back to the life we all thought you had lost forever. Can you not see that your family wishes you to be there? That this is for your good?”
“Good?” The word seemed to throw him out of his chair, for he rose with such force that Arabella stiffened in her chair, her hands tightening on the arms in case she needed to defend herself in some way. “How can this be for my good? A chance to mock the gentleman who has returned to England no longer as the man he was, the man he ought to be?”
Arabella blinked rapidly, trying to steady her breathing. “I do not understand what you mean, Jacob,” she said, quietly, her voice thin. “Who will mock you?”
His jaw worked. “Do not pretend that you do not see me limp and stumble, Arabella,” he said, harshly, one long finger pointed in her direction as his face flared with colour. “I am meant to be a Duke one day, a Duke who cannot walk without pain, who cannot stand up to dance without stumbling through each step.” Turning away from her, Arabella still managed to catch the look of disgust on his face, the disgust that she realised was aimed at himself.
“No-one considers you in such a way, Jacob,” she promised, getting out of her chair to reach for him. “I swear to you! Why should you continue to think of yourself in such a way, when there is not another living soul who thinks of you as either a cripple or less than you ought to be.” She pushed the memory of her mother’s harsh words from her mind, refusing to let them linger there. “Please, do not let such dark thoughts haunt your mind. They will only do you more ill than you know.”
Finally, her hand reached his, catching it between her own for a moment. Heat seared through her fingers, burning up her arm and towards her heart, sending a shudder of awareness all through her.
She looked at him. He apparently had felt it also, his eyes flaring with a sudden shock.
And then he tugged his hand out of hers. “No,” he growled, turning away. “It is quite useless. You need not stay here, Arabella. I am not about to be convinced.”
Arabella lifted her chin, filled with a fierce determination to remove Jacob from the dark, preying thoughts that ensnared him, keeping him tied to his silence, to his solitude, and away from society and all the joys that life could bring.
“I will leave you,” she said, slowly, her voice clear and ringing with strength, “but only if you will dance with me.” Her heart beat wildly as Jacob turned back towards her, confusion knotting his brow.
“What do you mean?”
“Precisely that,” Arabella replied, firmly. “I will leave you here to your own solitude, once you have danced with me.” She tipped her head, glad that the door had been left wide open. “Listen, can you not hear the waltz just beginning?” She smiled, despite the frantic beating of her heart. “That would be quite perfect, I think.”
Jacob’s lips thinned. “You are mocking me.”
“No,” she said at once, reaching to take his hands again. “I am not mocking you, Jacob. I have made that mistake before, believing you to be jesting when you were not and I would beg of you not to do as I have done but to take my words as they are. I want you to dance with me. Here and now, to prove to yourself that you can do such a thing, and that you are not the frail, crippled gentleman you believe yourself to be.” She heard the challenge in her voice and saw his eyes narrow, praying desperately that he would accept what she was saying. “If you can do it, then you shall have no excuse for not returning to the ballroom. So, what say you?”
Jacob closed his eyes, his jaw tight as he considered his options. “I do not want to agree, Arabella, for fear of letting you down,” he said, eventually, his voice low and filled with pain, “but if you insist, and only on the promise that you will leave me alone should I fail, then yes, I will dance with you.”
Arabella’s heart swelled with relief and joy. “Wonderful,” she said, her breath catching as he drew her into the waltz
position, which forced her to look up into his face. “Then, shall we begin?”
Chapter Eight
Jacob could not quite believe what he was doing. The library was nothing compared to the ballroom, yes, but for whatever reason, he was somehow able to twirl Arabella carefully around the room, although it was not with the ease and the smoothness of stride he had been capable of before.
His breath caught as the last strains of the waltz died away, seeing the joyous expression on Arabella’s face. He had done as she had asked, having had every intention of proving her wrong so that she might leave him in peace, only to lose himself in the music and find himself reaching the end of the waltz without having had any intention of doing so.
His leg ached terribly, but it was nothing compared to the happiness that began to swell in his heart. He had managed to do something he believed himself to be entirely incapable of. He had managed to dance with Arabella, had managed to move around the floor without too much difficulty, to the point that there had actually been a little enjoyment within his steps.
“You did it,” Arabella breathed, her eyes shining up at him. “You danced with me. You can have no doubt now, Jacob, surely? You cannot continue to believe yourself to be incapable, not when I have seen what you have been able to do.”
Jacob swallowed, his heart flooding with emotion as he looked down into Arabella’s eyes, seeing her so familiar and yet so changed. She was not the same lady he had left behind, for there was that hint of regret and sadness about her now, even though she was looking up at him in evident delight.
Had she truly meant it, when she had told him that she regretted everything she had done that day he had proposed to her? Was she truthful in her expression of love and hope towards him? He could not quite believe it and yet there it was for him to see, shining in her eyes like a bright light that was guiding him home.
And then, the Earl of Winchester came to mind. The man he had told Arabella to go back to, the gentleman she was to marry. Yes, she had believed that Jacob was dead, yes, she had tried her best to consider her future in spite of her grief, but still there came a sharp sting in his heart as he saw her now tied to another gentleman. He had encouraged her in her engagement, had he not? He had told her to forget about what he and Arabella had shared so long ago, telling her that it was for her best if she wed the Earl of Winchester.
Clearing his throat, he stepped back, his hands falling to his sides despite the urge to do quite the opposite and hold her steadily in his embrace.
“You have made your point, Arabella,” he stated, as calmly as he could, “it seems as though I can dance, as you have evidenced here.”
Her smile did not quite take away the anxiety from her eyes. “Then you will come below to the ball?” she asked, tentatively, “you will not hide away?”
Jacob sighed heavily and pushed one hand through his hair. “I do not wish to go.”
“I am well aware of that,” she stated, “but you no longer have the excuses you gave me only a few minutes ago.”
He shook his head. “I do not feel as though I can ever truly be one of them,” he said, beginning to find the threads of the intimate friendship he and Arabella had once shared. He was able to be open with her in a way that he had never been able to be with even his own parents. “We have never been inclined towards behaving as society expects of us.”
Arabella’s smile became a little shy. “I will own that to be the truth,” she agreed with a sigh. “But things change, in time. Now, you are to be the next Duke of Crestwick. You have duties and responsibilities that you must face up to, that you must shoulder regardless of your own feelings on the matter.”
Jacob felt his body tense, his mind trying to refute what Arabella was saying, but finding that he could not.
“You are not broken, Jacob,” Arabella said, softly, coming closer to him and putting one hand gently on his arm. “You have been injured, yes, but that does not make you any less than any other gentleman here. I do not look upon you in such a way and should someone consider you in such an unfavourable light, then that is their own foolishness and shame, not yours.”
“I want to believe that,” Jacob replied honestly, aware of the searing heat that was climbing up his arm from where she had touched him, that old familiar longing beginning to burrow its way out of his heart. “But I am not the same gentleman as I was, Arabella. I can never be that man again, the man who was better in every sense.”
Arabella shook her head, letting go of his arm and walking towards the door. “That is only your own mind telling you such things, Jacob,” she said, quietly. “You must refuse to listen to it. You have just told me that you could not dance, being quite assured of it, and yet here you are, having just completed the waltz with me.” She smiled at him, her cheeks infusing with colour. “You are more than capable of doing everything that is expected of you, and more, Jacob St. Leger,” she said, firmly. “Just allow yourself to believe it.”
The door closed softly behind her, his heart reaching out for her as Arabella left the room, to leave him alone with the solitude he had thought he wanted. His mind grew heavy with whirling thoughts, the ache in his leg growing steadily more painful as he began to pace the room.
He could not allow himself to believe all that Arabella had said, could he? To do so would be to allow himself to believe that he was just as respectable, just as capable as any other gentleman, when he knew that he could not be.
“But you have a sharp mind,” he told himself, going against the belief in his mind that he could never be the son his brother had been, could never match up to the kind of Duke his elder brother might one day have become. A heaviness began to settle over him, resting on his shoulders as he allowed himself to sit back down in the chair, his heart in agony.
The deep depression that he had fallen into still tried to cling onto him, still tried to pull him down into the mire but, with more strength than he had ever before brought to it, Jacob tried to fight it off. Arabella had been the light he had needed to break through the thick, dark clouds that wrapped all around him, her belief in what he was able to do giving him the smallest, faintest hope that he might be able to do all that was expected of him as heir to the Duke of Crestwick.
Plunging his head into his hands, Jacob let out a groan as he rested his elbows on his knees, his eyes squeezing shut tightly. He knew what Arabella wanted. He knew what his mother, father and sister wanted – they all wished for him to go below to the ballroom and allow the many guests there to see him presented to them again. He would have to stand there, greeting them all, before limping down the stairs and out amongst the guests. What would they think of him? The shame of it bit at him, sending heat rushing up into his neck and face.
Arabella will be waiting for you.
“That does not matter,” he said aloud, trying to dismiss the idea, but still the urge to go to her, to prove to her that yes, he had listened to what she had to say, and that the hope she had given him had come to his aid remained within him.
With another frustrated groan, Jacob rose from the chair, albeit with a good deal more stiffness now that his leg was in even more pain from dancing. Arabella was right. He had to take on his duties and responsibilities as he ought, which meant that he could not shy away from society, could not hide his face for the rest of his days just because of his shame over his leg. As much as he was mortified about having to reveal his injury to the rest of the guests, as much as he wanted to shy away from the fact that news of his injured leg would spread through society like wildfire, he knew that he had to find the courage to face it regardless. Arabella was right. He could not hide up here forever, letting the darkness and shadows become his only companions.
His heart quickened as he made his way towards the door, somewhat unsteady on his feet. Walking down the stairs was rather difficult, and certainly brought with it a good deal of pain, but he gritted his teeth and continued his descent regardless. The buzz of the crowd, the chatter and the laughter wer
e like fiery arrows to his soul, sending fear and trembling all through him.
“Arabella,” he murmured to himself, trying to place his thoughts solely on her. She had come back to him, she had been the one to encourage him, to force him to face what he feared and continue on regardless. She would be waiting for him, her eyes alight with happiness and joy over his determination. It was she that forced him onwards, she that made him take every single painful step towards the ballroom.
“Jacob!”
His mother had been waiting for him, her eyes widening as he came towards her. Her face was a little pale, but the brightness of her eyes spoke of relief and joy. He could not help but embrace her, aware of just how much she had done for him to try to encourage him back into society, to make him see and believe that he was as worthy to be here as his brother had been.
“I am sorry, mama,” he said, softly. “I am sorry that I was foolish enough to state that I would not come to the ball. After all you and father have done by way of preparing this for me, I ought not to have been so selfish.”
His mother shook her head, blinking bright, sparkling tears out of her eyes. “You need not apologise, Jacob,” she said, referring to him by his Christian name, in the way she did only when she was filled with deep, overwhelming emotion. “I cannot tell you how glad I am that you have come. I knew sending Arabella to talk to you was a wise idea.” Her eyes twinkled as she looped her arm through his, standing proudly at his side. “I take it she was the one who convinced you?”
Jacob shook his head, walking towards the ballroom. “It was she who convinced me, yes, mama,” he admitted. “Although not in the way that I had expected.”
“Oh?” She looked up at him in confusion.
