Arabella danced, all through the evening. If she was on the dancefloor, then she could keep looking out for Charles. She kept spotting him, talking along the edges. He watched her, as she watched him.
Each time that she saw him, it was like a knife through her heart. She loved him so thoroughly, and she knew that he felt the same. Arabella could search the whole world over, and she would never find anyone who loved her so well and perfectly as Charles did.
This was what it was always going to be like. She was always going to be looking for him, standing along the sides, where the ton had relegated him. Simply because he worked for them. They would never bend the rules—not for anything—not even for love.
That was all that she wanted to do, because she loved him. The final dance ended, and she curtsied to her partner—the Marquess of Mawbray.
She excused herself, and then began looking for her parents, so that they could say their goodbyes and head home. She saw her father, first. He was watching her, from near the door to the terrace.
“I need to speak to you,” he said.
“About what, Pappa?” She was afraid to ask—not after they’d been on such cold terms for the past few days.
“I saw you, dancing with Mr. Conolly,” he replied. Her heartbeat rose, as she expected him to tell her that he would never employ him again. “I want to apologize.”
“What?” She couldn’t have been more surprised. She thought that she’d misheard him.
“I realize that the two of you are in love,” her father said. “How is it my place to keep two who are so deeply in love apart?”
“Oh, Pappa,” she said, beaming.
“I’m so sorry for the way that I acted,” he said. “Please forgive me?”
“You were only acting in what you believed to be my best interest,” she said. Even though he’d been wrong, he had been trying to keep her in an economic situation that she was used to.
“Quite right.”
“There’s nothing to forgive,” she said. “So long as you’re planning on fixing the mistake.”
“I will speak with Mr. Conolly myself,” he told her, offering her his arm. “Let’s go find your Mother and get her home, yes?”
She grinned, slipping her hand into the crook of his elbow. She glanced around, looking for Charles, but she couldn’t find him.
He must have gone already. Pappa wouldn’t have spoken to him here, though.
She rode back in the carriage with both of her parents. She watched through the window as London passed by, all lit up in the winter darkness. The sky overhead was deep blue. The light of the moon on the frost was cold, glittering.
Arabella was so impossibly happy. For the first time in what felt like ages, she had hope for the future. Once her father spoke with Charles, it would all be decided. She’d never thought that she would end the night so happily.
Chapter Thirty-Six
Charles had only just finished eating a late breakfast, when heard the knock on the front door. He remained where he was, reading the newspaper. He heard Mrs. Osbourne, talking to whomever it was.
Charles was tired. He’d been up until late. After arriving home from Lord and Lady Danstall’s, he’d stayed up, drinking brandy and staring into the fire. He had come to terms with the reality of his situation. He was going to love Arabella from afar.
It was certainly better than his father’s lot in life. But that was Charles’s burden to bear. To be in love with someone who loved him back, though they could never be together.
At least not in this life.
“Mr. Conolly,” Mrs. Osbourne said, peering inside of the dining room. She was wringing her apron in her hands nervously.
“Yes, Mrs. Osbourne?” he asked, looking up from the newspaper.
“The Duke of Tiverwell has arrived for you,” she said.
Who?
The Duke of Tiverwell had never been in his home. He had sent him word there, but usually met with him at the office. He wondered what the matter could be. He wondered if he was still angry, from the night before.
“I showed him into the parlor,” Mrs. Osbourne said.
“You did right,” Charles assured her.
“I hope he thinks it clean,” she said, as she wrung her hands nervously.
“It doesn’t matter what he thinks,” Charles assured her. “You keep it looking very nice. There’s never a thing out of order.”
She nodded. “Thank you, Sir,” she said. “Shall I fetch some tea?”
“Let me see what business he’s come here on,” Charles said. “How about you sit down and have a cup?” She smiled, then bustled off into the kitchen. Charles knew that she’d have tea prepared, on the off chance that the Duke wanted any.
Charles entered his own parlor, to find the Duke, looking about it. He was standing in the center of the room, his hands clasped behind his back, as he looked at the clock over the mantel.
“Your Grace,” Charles said, bowing. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”
“Have a seat, Mr. Conolly,” the Duke said. Charles, unused to being ordered about in his own home, did as he was told. The Duke didn’t sound angry. Charles found himself curious more than he was offended.
“I have come here on behalf of my daughter,” the Duke said. “And to apologize.”
“For what?” Charles asked, surprised. The gentlemen of the ton never apologized. He couldn’t recall a time when it had ever happened. Lord Dunsmore apologized, although he rarely acted like any other gentleman of Charles’s acquaintance.
“I won’t allow my own mistake to stand in your way,” His Grace said. “I have come to tell you that I give my permission for you to marry my daughter.”
Charles was silent as he processed what he was hearing. He swallowed, his heart pounding. He didn’t know whether to be happy or shocked. He could scarcely believe his own ears. “Why have you changed your mind, Your Grace?”
“Last night, I saw the two of you, dancing. I saw how you both looked at each other—with such love. I have seen much, and I know what true love looks like. Watching the two of you part was unbearable, even for me.”
“I appreciate it, Your Grace,” he said.
“I believe that you will keep her comfortable, here,” he went on, letting his eyes travel about the room. “As for the rest, I will give you money.”
“No need,” Charles replied, out of reflex more than anything.
“Let me do what I can,” the Duke said. “Don’t be so proud, Mr. Conolly. You’ll need to have the stables out back fitted up, so that you can keep her horses.”
“We’ll discuss it with Lady Arabella,” Charles said, wondering when the Duke had seen the stables in the back of his home.
“Indeed, I suppose after this, we can never have another conversation without her,” the Duke commented.
“No. We cannot, Your Grace,” Charles agreed.
“Except for one,” the Duke said, taking a seat at last.
“What’s that?” Charles asked, wondering what else the Duke could have come to discuss.
“Now, I need you to do something for me, Mr. Conolly,” the Duke said, crossing his legs.
“What is it?” Charles asked.
“I need you to talk to Lord Norton,” he replied. “I want Arabella to be my only heiress.”
“What should I offer him?” Charles asked.
The Duke scribbled a note on the paper, then handed it to Charles. He glanced at it, blinking in surprise.
“Do you think that’s enough?” His Grace asked.
“It should be,” Charles said. “I’ll let you know if there’s a counter-offer.”
“Please do,” the Duke said. “After all, if you marry my daughter, then as her husband, you benefit.”
Charles didn’t know what to say. “Thank you, Your Grace,” he said.
“I don’t particularly like that you will be master of Tiverwell,” the Duke said. “But in time, I will get used to it, I suppose.”
“Arabella wi
ll be the head of the household,” Charles replied. “I will let her take the lead at that time.”
The Duke stared at him for a long moment before nodding. Charles wasn’t interested in becoming a Duke himself. Arabella was much more suited to running the Dukedom. Charles would be her helpmeet.
“No one else could deserve her,” the Duke replied, standing up. “No one else could love and cherish her as you will. I trust that we should expect you to arrive at some point, today?”
“Yes, absolutely.”
Charles stood. They both shook hands, and then Charles saw the Duke out. Mrs. Osbourne came out of the kitchen.
“What did he want?” she asked, curiously.
“He just gave his permission for me to marry Lady Arabella,” he said.
“Oh!” Mrs. Osbourne cried. “That’s happy news!”
“It is,” he agreed. “Happy news at last.” It had been a long time since Charles had been allowed to have hope. He could hardly believe it.
He began to plan for the day—he would need to go and speak to Arabella. He would need to dress in something other than his usual jacket. He thought of Arabella, waiting for him just then. He needed to hurry.
Arabella had Annette dress her in one of her pale pink muslin dresses. She had her hair curled neatly. She had just finished preparing, when Mr. Blankley knocked on the door.
“Mr. Conolly is here to see you, My Lady,” he said. “Your father has said that he has permission to have a private audience with you.”
“Show him into the parlor,” Arabella replied. “I will receive him there.”
“Oh, My Lady,” Annette said. “How exciting!”
“Indeed,” Arabella agreed. “How do I look?”
“Pretty as a picture,” Annette replied.
Arabella grinned, and then made her way downstairs, to the parlor. When she arrived, Charles turned toward her. He smiled, and she crossed the room, running into his arms.
He pulled her close, kissing her. She placed her hand on his cheek as the kiss deepened. Arabella’s breath was nearly taken away. She pulled away, beaming at him.
“He came to see you,” she said, looking up and into his eyes.
“He did,” he replied, getting down onto one knee. He held both of her hands in his. Her pulse raced, as he finally asked her the one question she wanted to hear. “Will you make me the happiest of men, Arabella? Will you marry me?”
“Of course!” she said. “I love you.”
He stood up, pulling her close. She couldn’t believe how happy she was. It was as though everything were falling into place.
“I just think you should know,” he said. “The constables are trying to pin the murders on me.”
The one cloud in an otherwise sunny sky.
“I know it’s not you,” she told him. “They’ll have to get to you through me. I will fight for you, tooth and nail.”
He smiled. “I don’t doubt that.”
The door to the parlor opened, and her mother peered in. “Mr. Conolly,” she said, as they both stepped apart. “I do hope that you’ll stay to luncheon.”
“Of course, Your Grace,” he replied. “I’d be glad to.”
Charles stayed for luncheon. He and Arabella shared secret glances. He was still processing how everything that they’d hoped for was coming to pass.
It is too good to be real.
He couldn’t keep his eyes off of her for long. The pink dress brought out the roses in her cheeks—the pale pink of her lips. She was far too good for him, but he loved her so much, he would do anything to deserve her.
The Duke of Tiverwell was out, but the Duchess presided over the table like a queen.
“So, when will the wedding take place?” she asked, all business. “Spring weddings are all very well and good, but I do believe that summer is the best time. We can have it at Tiverwell Manor.”
“Why not London?” Charles asked.
“It’s such a city,” the Duchess replied, wrinkling her nose delicately.
“I think,” Arabella said. “We shouldn’t wait.”
“Arabella!” her mother said, scandalized.
“There’s a murderer about,” she explained. “I don’t want a large wedding that brings all of the ton out and about—I just want to be married to Charles.”
“That’s so sudden,” her mother said, clearly disapproving. Charles could understand why she wanted a big wedding though—Arabella was her only child. There would only be one.
“We’ll post the Banns, and then be married here in London,” Arabella replied. Charles thought, trying to come up with something that would please the both of them.
“A winter wedding? I won’t hear of it,” the Duchess stated flatly.
“Then we’ll elope,” Arabella replied.
Her father entered then. “You absolutely will not,” he replied. “We need to show the ton that Charles is one of us.” He poured himself a glass of brandy, then sat down at the table. “It will have to involve the ton. It needs to send a clear message.”
“We can have it soon, though?” Arabella asked.
“Whenever you like,” her father said.
Charles himself was surprised at how easily the Duke had come up with a solution. “Perhaps a month?” Charles suggested. “So there’s time to prepare.”
“Oh, very well,” Arabella said, smiling.
When Charles was on his way out, Arabella walked with him to the front door. She looked up at him, smiling.
“Are you happy?” he asked.
“Indescribably,” she replied.
“Good,” he said.
The murderer was on watch. At any time, the Duke of Tiverwell would make a mistake—would be alone. Nemesis wouldn’t miss it. Though there were plenty of gentlemen who were less protected on the kill list, the Duke of Tiverwell was the one that Nemesis most wanted dead.
Nemesis took up a seat at one of the bars, sitting by the window. The murderer ordered stew and an ale, watching the Millgate Club closely. It was barely an hour later, when the Duke of Tiverwell exited, climbing into his carriage with his entourage of footmen.
Nemesis was disappointed. The Duke never went anywhere alone. He was always accompanied by a group of armed footmen. The Murderer wondered whether or not to take a break. Give the Duke time to be lulled into a false sense of security.
There wasn’t much time. Nemesis wanted to be done. Even then, stuck in a cheap pub, the murderer hungered for the kill. The door to the Millgate Club opened, and the Earl of Mowbray exited.
Lord Mowbray staggered toward the brothel down the street.
Some nights, any gentleman will do.
Nemesis acted fast, getting up from the table and walking out into the street. The murderer checked around, to see if there was anyone lingering about.
The street is empty, except for Nemesis and the drunken Earl, who had stopped, and was standing in the middle of the road, looking at his hands.
Nemesis acted fast, pulling the knife out, plunging it into the Earl of Mowbray’s side, then twisting. Nemesis pushed the Earl down, watching as he tried to get back up again.
There were a few moments of struggle, and then, nothing. Nemesis inhaled, feeling the rush of power, and then reaching into the Earl’s pockets. There was money, more money than Nemesis made in a year. The Murderer glanced around.
No one was about. Nemesis left Lord Mowbray in a heap in the street. There was enough money for a proper room. Warm blankets and a roaring fire awaited. Nemesis knew that this would all come to an end. There was no way to get away with it forever.
I’ll enjoy the fruits of my labor as long as I can.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
When Arabella went down to breakfast the next day, her father was already seated at the table. He held the paper in his hand. He angled it away from her so that she couldn’t see the headline.
“What’s the matter, Pappa?” she asked. He looked pale.
“The Earl of Mowbray was murdered last nigh
t,” he replied.
“Oh, dear,” she said, her hand going to her chest. “I danced with him at Lord and Lady Danstall’s ball.” Lord Mowbray had been a kind gentleman. His loss was grievous.
When is this going to end? How can no one know who is doing this?
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