by Rose Pearson
Without so much as stopping to pull a bonnet on, Arabella hurried out of the door and ran across the street towards the Duke of Crestwick’s home. Her heart was thundering violently, her pain and her hope slicing through her in equal parts. Jacob was not dead. He was not gone from this world, as she had believed. He had returned, come back from the grave, almost, and she finally had the second chance she had been praying for.
“Do shut that door, mama, the place is quite draughty.”
Arabella closed her eyes, one hand pressed against her stomach as she heard Jacob’s familiar voice speaking to her. He was sitting in the library, with the drapes half closed as though he wanted to be covered in shadows instead of swathed in sunshine.
Evidently, he believed her to be his mother, although she had not yet found the words to correct him. Opening her eyes, she let out her breath slowly, taking him in. He was sitting in the chair by a small fire, his eyes closed tightly as his head rested back against the chair. His leg was stretched out in front of him on a small stool, but aside from that, he appeared to be the same gentleman she had always known.
The butler had told her where St. Leger was and having met and greeted the Duchess on the stairs, Arabella had been encouraged to pay a visit to Jacob with the promise that the Duchess herself would be present within a few minutes. Arabella was glad of the Duchess’ blessing to visit Jacob herself, as well as being quite grateful for the opportunity to speak to him alone for a short while. That was, of course, if she could ever get the words out of her mouth!
“Shut the door, mama, I beg you.”
Arabella swallowed hard, turned, and quietly pushed the door closed until the gentle click reached Jacob’s ears. He sighed contentedly, pushing one hand through his dark hair whilst his eyes remained tightly closed. He was obviously exhausted from his outing. Silently, Arabella wondered what had happened to his leg, wondered how someone had managed to mistakenly inform his family that he was, in fact, no longer living on this earth.
“Are you going to sit –”
Jacob opened his eyes, his words cut short by the shock of seeing Arabella standing there. She could not take her eyes from his, seeing such familiarity and yet such a strangeness that she could not quite make out.
“Arabella.”
His voice was strained, the word tense.
“Jacob,” she whispered, taking a few steps forward and finding that she was forced to lean on the back of a chair, such was her sudden weakness. “I cannot believe this to be true.” She wanted to run to him, wanted to embrace him and hold onto him as if she would never let him go, but there was no openness to his expression, no joy of greeting in his eyes.
“Yes, it is as you see,” he stated, a little coldly. “It appears I am not dead, as you might have believed.”
Her breathing became ragged as she took a few steps towards him. “I have longed to have another opportunity to speak to you, Jacob,” she whispered, one hand resting against her heart as though this might help it settle from its frantic rhythm. “I cannot tell you how sorry I am for what occurred between us before you left.”
To her surprise, he held up one hand, silencing her, his eyes biting into her own. “I need not hear this, Arabella,” he stated, firmly. “I do not need you to apologise.”
Her stomach twisted. “But I must tell you how wrong I was,” she said, urgently, the words pouring from her lips without her being able to stop them. “I should never have laughed at you, I should never have believed you to be jesting. I can see now that you meant every word. I cannot tell you, Jacob, just how much I regret what I said to you that day.” Her eyes bored into his, desperation burning in her soul as she silently prayed that he would believe her.
Jacob blew out a long breath, as though he was struggling to see her again. Turning his head away, a small shrug lifted his shoulders. “That is the past, Arabella.”
There was nothing more, no acceptance of her words, no assurance of forgiveness, no delight flaring in his eyes for the second chance they now had. Arabella wanted to weep, her eyes stinging with tears as she watched him turn his gaze away from her own, severing the connection between them. Apparently, it was much too late. Too late for her to make amends, too late to find a way for them both to be as happy and as contented as they might have been.
“Jacob,” she said, again, more hesitantly this time. “I –”
“I hear you are engaged.”
His voice was hard, his expression severe. Her heart dropped to the floor.
“Yes,” she said, dully, seeing his harshness. “The Earl of Winchester proposed and my mother accepted on my behalf.”
A snort escaped his mouth. “Your mother?”
Arabella nodded, the truth resounding in her heart. “I have not been able to forget you, Jacob. Even when I believed you to be dead, my heart was filled with regret over what I had lost, over my own foolishness. I believed you to be lost to me forever.” Her heart began to cry out in pain, tears burning in her eyes. “I thought that I could never consider marrying another, but I came to realise that I needed to find my own path regardless of what I feel. I have to marry, if I am not to end up a spinster, dependent on my sisters’ generosity.”
Jacob’s jaw tightened, but Arabella went on regardless.
“I do not feel anything for the man I am to marry, Jacob.”
There came a moment or two of silence, the air growing thick with tension between them. Arabella struggled to maintain her composure, wondering at this difference in Jacob’s character and finding it difficult to comprehend it. This was not the smiling, warm and amiable gentleman she had considered to be her dearest friend. This was someone entirely new.
Jacob cleared his throat harshly, the sound grating as it reverberated around the room.
“I am glad for you, Arabella,” he said, eventually, his voice low and filled with unspoken emotion. “The Earl appears to be quite suitable for you.”
“No,” Arabella breathed, but Jacob held up a hand, his eyes now lingering on the fire to his left.
“The Earl will make you a good husband,” he continued, firmly. “At least he will be able to move around the floor with ease, able to escort you from place to place without pain and suffering.” He scowled, his brows sitting low over his eyes. “He is not half a man.”
Arabella closed her eyes, feeling the warmth of her tears on her cheeks. “You are not half a man, Jacob,” she whispered, brokenly. “You are –”
“Spare me the accolades,” he interrupted, harshly, his words shocking her and sending a spiral of pain into her heart. “I have no need of them.” Slowly, his eyes turned back towards her, a darkness within them that she had not seen before. “In fact, I have no need of your company either, Arabella.”
Her breathing was ragged as she tried to control her weeping. “Jacob, please.”
“Just leave me,” he stated, with a wave of his hand as though she were nothing but a servant expected to obey the master without further interruption. “And do not return to this house. I have no urgency to see you again, Arabella.”
She could not breathe, the pain in her heart burning through her like a fire. There was nothing she could do but turn away, her heart breaking into sharp pieces that ripped her apart as she did so. Her feet were heavy, almost dragging her towards the door as the very same darkness that seemed to encapsulate Jacob began to wind its way around her soul.
“My dear!”
The Duchess was at the door just as she opened it, apparently shocked to see her in such a dreadful state. “Whatever has occurred?”
Arabella could barely speak, mortified that she was evidencing such a display of emotion before the Duchess, given that she simply could not keep her composure. “Do forgive me,” she whispered, dropping her gaze. “St. Leger has asked me to go and go I must.” Her eyes remained on the floor, so she did not see the flash of anger that came into the Duchess’ eyes.
“I see,” the Duchess murmured, grasping Arabella’s arm, and leading he
r out of the room. “I must apologise if he was in any way rude to you.”
“No,” Arabella whispered, wiping futilely at her eyes. “He was not rude. He was truthful and honest, and yet I cannot bear to agree with him that his leg makes him any less of a gentleman.”
The Duchess’s expression grew taut. “Then I think I shall have to force his hand,” she stated, quietly. “Have no fear, my dear Lady Arabella. You shall have the opportunity to see him again, to prove to him that he is not the cripple he believes himself to be.” She pressed Arabella’s hand, but Arabella felt no hope. “I shall send you an invitation once it is all arranged.”
“I thank you,” Arabella murmured, feeling almost as broken as she had been when she had first received news of Jacob’s death. “But I fear it is much too late. He does not wish to see me again.”
The Duchess let out her breath slowly, her eyes fluttering closed. “Give him time,” she said, eventually, squeezing Arabella’s hand as her eyes opened. “I think that in time, things will change in his own heart and mind.”
“But it cannot be so in mine,” Arabella stated, softly. “My engagement stands. Jacob does not want me. Therefore, I must go forward as I had planned.” Her heart ached as she pulled her hand from the Duchess’. “Good day, Your Grace. I thank you for all of your kindness to me thus far.” So saying, she walked towards the door and walked back outside into the warm air, feeling as though she had lost every single trace of happiness from her soul.
Chapter Seven
“Are you quite all right?”
Arabella’s eyes flared in surprise, given that the Earl very rarely asked after her health.
“You look a little pale and it would not do for my bride to be to appear out of sorts,” he continued, patting her hand. “You ought to pinch your cheeks a little, my dear.”
Her surprise faded away, replaced with the understanding that the Earl only cared about his own appearances and not, in fact, her wellbeing. She sighed and turned towards the large mirror above the fireplace in the drawing room, doing as he had asked so that some colour flared in her pale cheeks.
“Much better,” he exclaimed, with evident delight. “You must be the brightest, the most elegant and the most sought after young lady present this evening. I shall be very proud to have you on my arm.”
The man is arrogant, Arabella realised, trying not to let her heart swirl with disappointment all over again. She had known that about the Earl, had she not, before he had asked her to marry him. Given that she had not considered that he would propose so soon, she had accepted his flaws without a good deal of thought, but it was only now that they came to the fore, boring into her mind and filling her with despair.
To be married to such a gentleman, to find herself alone with all that she thought and felt, to battle her struggles alone, did not appear to be in any way conducive to a happy marriage. And yet the Earl showed no signs of appearing to care for anyone but himself.
“Wonderful,” her mother exclaimed, as she walked into the drawing room. “You both look quite wonderful.”
“And you are resplendent,” the Earl replied, bowing over the Countess’ hand. “Shall we go?”
“We must wait for Rosalind, I think,” Arabella stated, reminding both her betrothed and her mother that they were, after all, in Rosalind’s new home, having been invited there for dinner, with the promise that everything they would require for their preparation would be awaiting them. Arabella had found that to be just as her sister had stated, for her hair had been dressed, her dress ready and waiting for her, and now all there was to do was to make their way towards the carriages.
Rosalind hurried in, looking beautiful in a gown of light green that seemed to shimmer as she walked. “Lord Southend has a matter of urgent business to attend to,” she stated, looking somewhat apologetic. “We must be tardy, I think.”
Lord Winchester cleared his throat, not appearing to be put out by this news in any way. “Then we shall go ahead of you, of course. Thank you, Lady Southend, for such a wonderful evening.”
He offered his arm to Arabella, who accepted it with a sigh of resignation. She did not want to go anywhere with the Earl and her mother, but especially not to the ball thrown by the Duke and Duchess of Crestwick in order to reintroduce their son to society. After what Jacob had said to her when she had called, when they had first become reacquainted with one another, she could hardly bear to be in his company once again. She could not bear to see the disinterest in his eyes, the way he would glance at her and then dismiss her all over again. That was not the Jacob she knew, that was not the Jacob she had come to love. She could not imagine what it was that had changed him so, wondering if the army had truly been so terrible as to fill him with this deep, unrelenting pain that he could do nothing with. Or had it been her own rejection of him that now set them so far apart? Was he unable to forgive her for what she had said and what she had done? Even though she had gone to him, even though she had begged him to understand, he had not said a word about it other than to congratulate her on her engagement.
She had practically professed her love for him, but even that had not seemed to have any particular effect. There was no light in his darkness now. He appeared to revel in being surrounded by shadows, considering himself less of a man now that he had returned to England, injured. He had been through such a great ordeal, she considered, as they walked down the steps towards the waiting carriage, and yet some of it she could understand. She knew what it was like to lose someone you loved so very dearly, knew what it was like twice over, given that she had mourned both the loss of her father and of Jacob. He had lost his brother, which was a pain she could both understand and sympathise with. What she could not understand was what it felt like to now be the heir to such a strong and important title, what it was like to return to England as the heir to the Dukedom instead of fighting in the army.
She did not know what it was like to have to struggle with one’s body, to have such a change brought about that it was difficult to even know oneself again. But if only he would speak to her, if only he would allow himself back into that warmth of friendship they had once shared together, then surely that would bring him some sort of respite from his pain?
“Do try to smile a little more.” The Earl interrupted her thoughts, reaching across the carriage to pat her hand. “You look a good too much in thought for my liking.”
She bristled despite knowing that she ought to remain quite silent, ought to simply nod and do as he had asked. “That may be, my lord, because I am deep in thought,” she replied, a little tartly. “Did that occur to you?” Lifting one eyebrow, she ignored her mother’s swift intake of breath, keeping her gaze fixed on her betrothed.
The Earl cleared his throat, his smile fading from his face. “I see,” he said, a little gruffly. “Your thoughts are not troubled, I hope?”
“They are, as a matter of fact,” she stated, as the tension mounted between the three of them. “But I do not think you would be inclined to hear them, Lord Winchester. Not when you do nothing but think of what would be best for you.”
“Arabella!” her mother exclaimed, sounding quite horrified. “You cannot speak so.”
“No,” the Earl interrupted, his voice growing a little dark. “No, you cannot do so, Arabella. You must learn to speak with consideration and tact, not allowing your thoughts to come flying from your mouth whenever you wish it.”
A harsh laugh tore from her lips. “You will find, my lord, that I can be quite free with my own thoughts and considerations when the moment takes me, and that I am entirely disinclined towards doing as I am ordered.” She lifted her chin, refusing to be cowed by his angry look. “Should you ever wish to ask me what it is that I am thinking of, or why, mayhap, I may be a little disinclined towards going to a ball for a gentleman I once considered a very dear friend, then I would be glad to share such things with you, Lord Winchester.” Shaking her head, she leaned back against the squabs. “Although I fear that I will
not need to have any expectation that you will do such a thing.”
Thankfully, they arrived at the Duke and Duchess’ residence where the ball was to be held. Arabella was the first out of the carriage, hearing her mother whisper a loud apology to the Earl over Arabella’s sharp tongue - but Arabella did not care. She would not be held back from speaking her mind whenever she felt inclined to do so, refusing to pretend to be someone she was not when it came to being with the gentleman she was to marry. He would know her character through and through before they wed, whether he wished it or not. She was not about to be the quiet, obedient little wife he evidently wanted her to be, for that was not who she was. Had not she and Jacob so often laughed about all the expectations society placed upon them? Had they not often stated that they had every intention of doing just as they pleased, regardless of what was brought about thereafter by way of consequences? It was as if she had forgotten that part of herself, growing angry that she had, only some minutes before, pinched her cheeks just as the Earl had instructed her to do. She could not… would not, allow herself to become a subservient, silent wife, with no opinions or thoughts of her own, never able to have the opportunity to verbalise what she thought and felt.
“Good evening, Your Grace.” She greeted her hosts as was expected, hearing the Earl and her mother doing the same soon after. Her stomach was twisting itself into knots, as though it was determined to have her cast up her accounts by the end of the evening. There was no particular reason for her to feel so anxious, not when she knew that there could be nothing between herself and Jacob any longer, but still she felt nervousness flood her. It was as though she was both desperate and afraid to look on him again, as though she was terrified about what she would feel within her heart, about whether or not she would be able to keep her composure.
