As Charles looked around the crowd, he spotted Lord Drysdale, who was clearly trying to get his attention. He waved at Charles, urging him to come over. Charles waded through the crowd toward him.
“Mr. Conolly,” Lord Drysdale said. Charles returned his bow.
“How have you been, My Lord?” he asked, settling against the wall.
“I’ve been well, Mr. Conolly,” Lord Drysdale replied.
“Any further threats?” Charles asked in a low voice.
“None at all, sir.” Lord Drysdale smiled. “I now believe it to be some sort of mischief. Nothing more than a prank.”
Out of the corner of Charles’s eye, he noticed Lady Arabella. He knew it was her, by the bold flash of yellow, reminiscent of a gold finch among sparrows. He glanced her way. She motioned with her eyes, then walked out of the room.
Charles looked at Lord Drysdale who smiled at him. “Excuse me, sir. I must go and greet Lady Catsmore.”
Somehow, Charles had received Lord Drysdale’s approbation.
“If there is anything more, My Lord,” Charles said. “Do tell me. I think I may be able to help.”
“I will do so, Mr. Conolly.”
Charles watched the Viscount of Drysdale as he walked off. He then turned to go and find Lady Arabella.
As he left the room, he cast his eyes about. No one was paying him any mind. In the time that the ton had been gone from London, he had forgotten. He might have been indispensable to them, but he was not one of them. They would see him differently, very soon. If the Duke saw him as worthy of marrying the Lady Arabella, then they would have to see it, as well.
Arabella waited for Mr. Conolly, her heart pounding. Finally, she heard the sound of his footsteps, soft on the marble floors. She bit her lip, beaming as he turned the corner.
She took him by the hands. He looked about. “Lady Arabella, what if we’re seen?” he asked.
“Come, now,” she said. “You must call me by my name, Charles.”
“Arabella,” he said, and it was the most wonderful sound she’d ever heard.
“I believe you had something that you wanted to ask me?” she said.
He smiled, his expression softening as he looked at her. It made her pulse race in anticipation.
“Have you changed your mind?” he asked.
“No, never once,” she assured him.
“You know what you’ll be sacrificing?” He raised an eyebrow as he waited for her answer.
“I do,” she confirmed. “I don’t mind, Mr. Conolly. I love you.”
“I love you, too.”
They had never said it, aloud—only written it. To have it said, and to hear it for the first time was a delicious, heady rush that went straight to her head like the finest champagne.
Arabella dared to place a hand on his chest. Charles covered her hand with his. Her skin heated at his touch. When she looked up into his eyes, she knew that he was going to kiss her. She went up onto her toes. Their lips met. The kiss was searching, full of longing, which was finally fulfilled. As he kissed her, he put his hand on her lower back, pulling her toward him. She gripped the front of his shirt.
When they separated, they stood there, looking into each other’s eyes. Charles took both of her hands in his. He didn’t seem to know what to say.
“Then that’s settled,” she stated happily, squeezing his hands.
“I’ll come and talk to your father tomorrow,” he promised, to her heart’s delight.
She handed him her dance card. “Here,” she said. “I’ve saved the second dance for you.” Unfortunately, the first one was with the Duke of Longmire—a new acquaintance of her father’s.
Charles smiled, penciling in his name on the second line, then handing it back to her. She slipped the ribbon around her wrist.
“Now,” she ordered. “We must return, separately, or they’ll all talk.”
He nodded, gesturing for her to go first. She returned to the party, beaming. She felt like everything was coming together. Tomorrow, all would be known. Then, she and her mother could begin to plan the wedding.
All her life, she had expected to drag her heels. Her mother had always assured her that when the time came, she would be excited. To find that her mother had been right! She couldn’t wait to tell her.
Charles waited a few moments, collecting himself. After that kiss, he was off-balance. It was rare for him to lose himself so thoroughly. His passion for her burned inside of him like a bright flame. She had told him, in her letters, that she had not changed her mind. To hear her say it, meanwhile watching the joy on her face was another thing entirely.
He was surprised at his luck. He was head over heels in love with her. Charles had never thought much about love. He had fully expected to be a confirmed bachelor, until late in life. Marry, simply for comfort…This was something else entirely.
“Mr. Conolly!” the Earl of Diggar was calling out to him.
“My Lord,” he said, happy to see him.
“It’s good to see you,” Lord Diggar said, patting him on the back. It was clear that the Earl was well into his cups. His face was just as red as his crimson velvet waistcoat.
“And, you as well, My Lord,” he agreed.
“I was wondering if I might stop by your office,” the Earl said. “Sometime this week.” He was frowning, keeping his voice low. “I have some affairs which need to be put in order.”
“Of course, My Lord,” Charles said, thinking back to his date book. “I believe I have an opening on Monday morning, at ten.”
“Make it Thursday,” he replied, raising his eyebrow, as though daring Charles to refuse him.
“Certainly, My Lord.” Charles’s eyes were following Lady Arabella, as she made her way through the crowd. She was like a star, emanating light.
“She’s quite a strange lady, is she not?” Lord Diggar asked, his own eyes following her.
“Not at all, My Lord,” Charles replied.
“Hmm,” Lord Diggar grumbled. “Not you too, then?”
“No, My Lord,” he replied. It would be best to keep it all a secret.
“I can see it in your eyes,” Lord Diggar said, smiling. “You’re quite taken with her.”
Charles smiled at him. He supposed if Lord Diggar and Lord Drysdale could see that they were in love, then the Duke of Tiverwell was likely expecting his visit tomorrow. He may have been expecting it since the summer.
“Good luck convincing the Duke of Tiverwell to agree to that,” the Earl muttered.
“And why shouldn’t a lady marry a man like me?” Charles asked, his emotions sinking as heavily as a lead balloon. The Earl laughed, a loud bark.
“No offense, dear man. I’ve known the Duke for most of my life,” the Earl replied. “He’s likely already got another Duke in mind for Lady Arabella. If I know anything, he’s the type of gentleman who has found a Duke who has something to give him. But I do wish you all the best, Mr. Conolly,” the Earl said, nodding. “I really, truly do.” His eyes seemed watery. He reached out, clapping him on the back. “You’ll end up on your feet.”
Charles watched as the Earl of Diggar made his way back toward the refreshment table, where he partook of another glass of brandy. Charles watched as Lord Diggar pulled out his gold pocket watch, looking at the time, then downing the entirety of the glass. He swayed, nearly dropping the watch in a nearby bowl of punch.
Arabella was all aflutter the next day. From the moment she opened her eyes, she was filled with a combination of nerves and excitement. She wondered what time Charles would show up, to speak with her father. She had Annette dress her in a pale pink muslin, which brought out the roses in her cheeks. She had her arrange her hair in perfect curls, framing her face, pulled back in a low chignon.
Then, she waited, sitting in the parlor with her parents. Her mother was still rehashing the night before. Overall, the ball had been a success. Arabella had danced the night away, keeping an eye on Charles. She’d caught him watching her, the weight o
f their shared secret stretching between them.
“How many times did you dance with Lord Carrington?” her mother asked.
“Twice,” she replied, dutifully. Any moment now, Charles would arrive, and then she would never have to discuss Lord Carrington again.
She would finally be able to speak freely of her love for Charles, and then they could make plans for the wedding.
The butler peered inside. “Your Grace,” he announced. “Mr. Conolly requests an audience with you.”
“Very well, tell him that I will see him in my study.” Her father looked stern, and he went a bit pale. Arabella looked down at her hands. She could barely contain her joy.
The door closed after her father. Arabella looked up at her mother, smiling brightly.
“What are you smiling about?” her mother asked, curiously.
“Mr. Conolly has come to ask Pappa if he can marry me,” she replied, excited to finally share her secret.
Her mother went pale. “Mr. Conolly? The—the barrister?” She set her tea cup and saucer down on the coffee table.
“Yes,” she said. “We’ve fallen in love, Mamma.”
“Oh, Arabella,” her mother said. “Your father cannot possibly say yes.”
“Why ever not? Mr. Conolly is very well off,” Arabella said, unable to believe what she was hearing.
“But you would be so reduced,” her mother said.
“He loves me, Mamma,” she argued. “And I love him.” Surely, her mother could see that if there was love, then there was no need to worry.
“That doesn’t matter,” her mother said, shaking her head so that her curls bounced against her cheeks. “That doesn’t matter at all.”
Arabella stood up. She felt a little sick. “I have to go to him,” she said. Perhaps her mother was wrong. It couldn’t be. Her father would see reason.
“Perhaps you should,” the Duchess said gravely.
Arabella ran from the room.
Chapter Sixteen
Charles was shown into the Duke’s study. He was nervous, but he hid it. He’d had lots of practice, in chambers. This was much the same.
“Mr. Conolly, what is the matter?” the Duke asked.
“Nothing, Your Grace,” he replied, clearing his throat. “I’m here on a more personal errand.”
“Very well.” The Duke sat down, gesturing for Charles to do the same. He was frowning in confusion.
“I am not a titled gentleman,” Charles began, going over the speech he’d rehearsed over the past six months. “But I am very well off, as a result of my work. I am able to provide for a wife, and to keep her comfortable.”
The Duke frowned even deeper, staring at Charles for a long beat before speaking. “What are you saying, Mr. Conolly?”
“I’m saying that your daughter and I have fallen in love,” he said. “And I’m asking for your permission to court her, with the intention of marrying her.”
The Duke was utterly quiet, his mouth hung open. Charles waited while he recovered. When he did, though, it was like a cannon had gone off.
“Get out,” the Duke hissed, standing up so abruptly that he knocked his chair over.
“I beg your pardon?” Charles asked.
“I never believed you to be a social climber, Mr. Conolly,” the Duke stated. “I have never been so wrong in my life.”
“I am not, Your Grace.”
“Then why, pray tell, are you romancing my daughter, without my permission?” the Duke demanded. He was going a deep shade of puce that was quite shocking.
“I am asking you for it, Your Grace” Charles replied.
“You could never be worthy of my daughter, sir,” the Duke stated coldly. “You are the son of ordinary, low people. You are a barrister. She is of noble blood.”
“I am well aware—” he began, but the Duke wasn’t going to let him finish.
“Clearly, you are not aware, or you would never have attempted to pursue her. How dare you?” The Duke was looking at him as though he were finally seeing him for what he was. But he was mistaken. Charles genuinely loved Arabella.
“It was my understanding—” he began again.
“How dare you presume that you are on such a level as my daughter? Do you presume that because she wears breeches and rides astride that she is low enough for you to catch?”
Charles stared at the Duke for a very long moment. Seeing nothing but rage, there in the Duke’s face, he then stood up. “I apologize, Your Grace. I can see that I was mistaken.”
“Yes. From now on, you come when you are called. No other time,” the Duke ordered, making a chopping motion with his hand.
Charles bowed to him, feeling the sting of that rebuke. To be spoken to like a dog was a low hit. He stepped out into the hall. The butler stood there, wide eyed. He said nothing, just led Charles to the door.
As he passed the parlor, Arabella came running out. She was pale, and looked as though she were going to cry.
“Mr. Conolly? What did he say?” she asked, reaching out for his arm. Charles didn’t dare touch her. Not there, in the house of her father.
He simply gave her a stern shake of the head, and then walked out the door that was held open for him. Charles walked quickly down the steps, then paused on the sidewalk. His hands were fists at his sides. He had expected to put up with a little bit of a fight from the Duke. But to have been treated in such a manner…
He shook his head, and then began to walk. It was, in all ways, much worse than he had imagined it would be. He might have lost both the Duke’s business as well as his good opinion.
She’s worth the risk, as well as the loss.
As Mr. Blankley, the butler, closed the door after Charles, Arabella ran up to her father’s study, knocking on the door. Perhaps she would be able to talk some sense into him. She hadn’t ever thought that he would say no…
“Come in,” her father called out.
When she entered, he was scowling darkly. He had a glass of brandy in front of him. As she stared at him, he took a sip of it, setting the glass down. He didn’t speak, merely waited for her to say something.
“What did you tell Mr. Conolly?” she demanded. Her hands were in fists at her sides.
“What did you expect me to say?” he replied.
“But, Pappa—we’re in love…”
“You mean to tell me that you’ve fallen in love with my barrister?” he demanded, angrily. She barely recognized him.
Who is this? This isn’t the father who told me that I should fall in love.
“Yes.”
“That’s as good as falling in love with the butler or the cook!” he roared in anger.
“You told me that I should fall in love before marrying,” she pointed out, more hurt than anything.
“With a gentleman of noble birth! At the very least, a Viscount,” he roared. She flinched a little, but stood her ground.
“Is there any way to convince you otherwise?” she asked.
“No.” He looked away from her. “Get out of my sight.”
“Very well then, if you do not change your mind in regard to Mr. Conolly, then I shall never marry.”
“You will do as I say,” he growled.
“I will not,” she retorted. She turned and left, making her way to her room, where she sequestered herself for the rest of the day.
Charles and Arthur were out at the Black Dog. He had called on Arthur as soon as he had left the Duke of Tiverwell’s. Arthur had the absolute class not to say I told you so. He bought Charles a round, then set the tankard down in front of him.
“Tell me,” he said, gently, then sat back to listen.
“I’ve never been so mortified in my entire life,” Charles said. “He told me that I will only come when called.”
“Like a dog!” Arthur raised his eyebrows. Then looked down at the tankard of ale between his hands. “At least he didn’t fire you.”
“No. He needs me too much,” Charles replied grimly.
“
Well, there’s still time that he may change his mind,” Arthur said.
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