by Jennifer Joy
Extending his hand to Jackson, he helped the gentleman to his feet. There was more clapping, which Tanner was embarrassed to see that Darcy joined in on, and Jackson smacked him on the back as if they were old friends now.
Nobody but Tanner could have heard Jackson through the cheers and remarks. “I will have to best a few of my students now or I will never live this down. And you owe me a new waistcoat. I do believe mine split right down the middle,” he said before he raised Tanner’s arm into the air and cheered along with the rest of his students like the good sportsman he was.
Tanner was mortified.
When he saw Arabella’s father directly to his left dabbing his face and shrugging into his coat, Tanner wished the plank floors would open up and swallow him whole. With furrowed brows and a decided frown, Mr. Hardcastle shook his head, communicating his disapproval. But it was the wrinkle of his nose before he turned away — that demeaning gesture of repulsion — that cut Tanner to the quick.
Darcy and Jackson surrounded him, and Tanner attempted to pay attention, but all he could see was Arabella’s father’s face before he left. The disgust.
Who did he think he was pretending to be a gentleman, allowing himself to befriend Darcy when he should keep his distance, falling in love with a woman so far above him he could never reach her … a woman whose father despised him before even knowing how his origins punished everyone around him?
Jackson’s next words cut through the fog of Tanner’s self-deprecating thoughts. “You took me down, but in doing so in the manner you did, you proved my point. You have up to fifty rounds with Lofton. You spent a great deal too much energy to knock me off my feet only once. No man could do that fifty times over. It is not good enough, Mr. Tanner.”
Tanner’s heart sank. He had failed already.
With a wry smile, Jackson continued, “But it is a very promising start. I look forward to our next round. I expect you here every day between now and your fight.”
It was a glimmer of hope but paled in importance beside Mr. Hardcastle’s marked disapproval.
Tanner nodded and forced a smile as was expected of him, then he did the only thing he knew would cheer him. He focused his mind on the work before him.
Thus, Darcy’s suggestion was a welcome one which Tanner grasped onto wholeheartedly. “Come, Tanner, we have a great deal to do today. The judges await our call.”
Chapter 21
Arabella heard the sound she had been listening for all afternoon and well into the evening. At the soft click of the front door and the scuffle of boots, she tossed her needlework aside and hastened out to the landing.
She saw Tanner and Mr. Darcy heading toward the stairs, no doubt to make their way into Mr. Darcy’s study where they would continue to exclude her from involvement in their plans.
Georgiana, in a moment of weakness (for which Arabella was grateful but for which she lightly chastised her young friend), had succumbed to her curiosity and peeked inside that same study. The diary had been there along with a neat stack of papers with notes scribbled on them beside it. The note on the very top had sent Georgiana straight to Arabella, and its message had riled Arabella’s blood like only Tanner was capable of doing.
He meant to send her away.
Arabella had followed Georgiana back to Mr. Darcy’s study to see it for herself. It was wrong of them to intrude into the master’s sanctuary without his permission, but Arabella’s guilt diminished when she saw the note. Purchase passage to Charleston, Mrs. Annesley and companion.
What right did they have to send her away without even asking? Elizabeth was as shocked as she and Georgiana had been.
And now, Tanner would answer for his presumption.
She met the gentlemen halfway down the stairs, anxious to intercept the bothersome brothers before they had a chance to disappear … and all the righteous indignation melted on her tongue before she could pronounce a word of complaint when she saw Tanner.
He stopped when he saw her, his shoulders bent and his head bowed, too tired to take another step. His cheek was swollen with a red welt, his bottom lip was split down the middle so that any attempt to smile or speak would hurt. His left eye was blackened.
Gently, she lifted his chin up so that they were eye level on the stairs. “Mr. Darcy, do you have any witch hazel in the house?” she asked without taking her eyes off Tanner.
She remembered that she was supposed to be angry at him — at him and Mr. Darcy — but even though she had been rightfully upset, she could not bring herself to feel anything but compassion for the beaten man wincing as she traced her cold fingers over his bruised skin.
“Why are you doing this?” she asked.
“I have to,” he said, his swollen lip slurring his words. He would take on the world if it meant keeping his family safe. It was not fair. It was her brother and her past choices which had put them in danger in the first place. It was her burden to bear, not Tanner’s.
Mr. Darcy sent Lawrence to Tanner with a bottle of witch hazel in hand and the promise of a steaming bath to ease his aching muscles.
Tanner’s attempt to disguise his limp only added to Arabella’s brooding guilt. It was not fair for him to take on the burdens of everyone. No wonder he wished for her to leave! She had inadvertently caused enough suffering as it was, and she recoiled at the thought of more to come. That was what Tanner sought to prevent, but at what cost to him? At what cost to the Darcys? Would they never have peace again? And all because of her?
Her anger narrowed its aim until it focused on the one man who deserved every bit of her ire. The Viscount Lofton.
With a purpose, Arabella returned to her room where she penned a note and handed it to the footman to deliver immediately before she lost her nerve.
Excusing herself from the dinner table due to a headache she had intended to feign but which became quite real, she retired early, hoping sleep would help pass the time until morning.
It did not. Echoes of “What am I doing?” prevented rest, so that she was awake and dressed in her riding habit before sunrise.
Swallowing her fear and her pride, she asked the groom to fetch Brutus. The look on her face must not have allowed for further questioning or argument, for after a moment of hesitancy, the groom disappeared to do as she had requested.
She paced and fretted, but she could not back down now. The message had been sent, and she had to try. Brutus would protect her. While she doubted the wisdom of her plan, she was not so foolish as to go without some sort of chaperone.
Great. Since when — even in her own distressed mind — did a horse qualify as a chaperone and protector?
Still, when she settled into the sidesaddle and Brutus charged forward, her concerns lessened with each powerful step he took toward the Ladies’ Mile where she had arranged to meet with Lofton.
As she had hoped, there were a few other riders about, taking advantage of the early hours for uncrowded and unobserved exercise. Lofton was already there, waiting for her.
“Miss Hardcastle,” he greeted with a toothy smile that did not reach his eyes.
“Thank you for meeting me, Lofton,” she replied, pulling to a stop when Brutus’ agitation prevented her from going any nearer. He, clearly, did not like their present company. He laid his ears back and looked at Lofton and his mount from the corner of his watchful eye, prepared to bolt or charge. He felt like a coil ready to spring below her, and she tightened her grip around the reins in preparation.
“I admit I am curious why you chose to meet me in a public place … alone.”
The way Lofton enunciated “alone” chilled her through. Shrugging her shoulders and glancing around, she said flippantly, “You only think I am alone.”
He looked around them, and she lifted her chin, gaining confidence when she sensed a flicker of doubt in his countenance. With a soft chuckle, he said, “I do hope you are enjoying your time in town, and it is my greatest hope that you will allow me to secure your first dance at Mrs. Trollop’s
soiree. You are attending with Miss Darcy, are you not?”
“I did not call you here because I wish to spend more time in your company,” she said bluntly.
His fake smile faded into a sour sneer. “You always were too direct. It is what I loved most about you.”
“Love? You did not love me.”
He clutched his heart mockingly. “Oh, I forgot. Only money-grubbing officers and illegitimate sons are worthy of your heart.”
“Insult me all you like, but I know what you really are. I have proof you killed my husband. It was nothing for you to arrange for a man to challenge him when he was caught cheating. What appeared to be nothing more than a tavern fight was manipulated by you when you paid that man to beat Nicholas to death. I will not allow you to harm my friends as you did him. It ends right now.”
“What proof?” he mocked.
She had given this a great deal of consideration. “Ambrose saw to it. You killed him too late.”
Arabella would never betray another woman to Lofton. She would protect Honoria’s involvement with her own life. But Ambrose was already dead and could suffer no more at anyone’s hand. He had given them a page from the diary, so it was not a complete lie.
Lofton’s jaw clenched. “I always get what I want. You defied me when you ran away. You made me look like a fool, and for that you must pay. You and your precious friends,” he seethed through his teeth.
Jolting forward, he reached out to grab her arm.
But Brutus was ready for him. Ramming against Lofton’s horse, Brutus bit Lofton on the arm as he struggled to keep his own mount under control.
Tugging on the reins and shouting, Arabella tapped on Brutus’ side and braced herself for a gallop across the park, praying Lofton would have sense enough not to follow her. Surely, he had more sense than she had!
What had she been thinking? On what grounds had she believed it possible for her to convince Lofton to leave her, her family, her friends, and (from the list of names she had seen in Mr. Darcy’s study) half of London alone? Why had she thought acting on her impulses would turn out any better for her this time than it had in the past?
She knew the household was awake by the time she returned, and her mistake made her heart sick. Her only consolation was the sizable bruise Lofton would have on his arm.
Pulling an apple from the pocket sewn into her habit, she gave it to Brutus. “You earned that, my friend.”
Walking to the house, her feet weighing heavier with each step, she forced herself inside to her fate. She deserved to be sent away after what she had done, but it was not in her nature to give up the fight just yet. She just needed to make certain her blows hit the right person.
Chapter 22
Tanner paced. The day was early, and already it was wrecked.
Arabella was gone, taking Brutus from the stables and leaving a cryptic note that only worried him more than it was meant to allay their fears. Half of the household was out looking for her. Where had she gone? Would she come back? Why had he not asked the footman to keep his post in front of her door?
The newspaper crumpled between his fingers. His pulse raced and hammers pounded in his head when he skimmed over the article again. As if Arabella’s disappearance had not incited enough anxiety, Lofton had made good on his threats — only he seemed to have shifted his attention to Tanner. He supposed he ought to be relieved. Better him than Arabella. It was a small comfort.
“We knew it would happen,” Darcy said stoically.
Tanner admired his calm.
“It is as bad as I imagined it being. Worse even,” replied Tanner.
“The timing is most unfortunate, but we must proceed.”
“And quickly,” added Mrs. Elizabeth.
Georgiana was uncommonly silent, stirring her tea while she stared into her cup.
Tanner dropped the odious newspaper on the table. “There is not a home in London that will admit either of us after this. Darcy, he questioned your honor publicly in the worst possible way. All the reasons I had to keep our connection secret are used against you in this paper.”
Portions of the article ran through Tanner’s mind faster than he could chase them away. …welcoming a disgrace into his home … and if that were not inappropriate enough, introducing him into the society of unsuspecting individuals so far his superior, he is not worthy to scrape the muck off their boots … as if they are above common decency and societal decorum … tainted by association … ruined prospects … Who would wish to attach themselves to a family who so willingly flaunts the values by which we live, and in doing so sullies not only their family name but the good reputations of those with whom they associate?
Tanner looked at Georgiana, who now picked at her food, but had yet to take a bite. “I am so sorry, Georgie.”
Her eyes and cheeks were fever bright. “I am only sorry to see you suffer, Tanner. Society has no hold over me because I care not for its members’ opinions. They do not give any more consideration to my happiness than I do to their strict and unjust norms.” She sat taller in her chair and tossed a ringlet over her shoulder. “Besides, I aim to shock everyone when I marry a man below my station.” She looked at Darcy and winked.
He smiled, though Tanner suspected that the idea of their little sister being old enough to marry was as disagreeable to Darcy as it was to Tanner.
“I wish nothing less for you than what I have with Elizabeth.” Darcy reached over and took his wife’s hand, continuing, “Do not settle for wealth or a title. They mean nothing if you are not happy.”
Elizabeth’s eyes sparkled in mischief. “Try for a barrister. With our tendency to stumble into mysteries, we could use a man of the law in the family.”
Tanner’s chortle was cut short when Georgiana blushed. Why would she blush? She is too young! She is only recently out in society!
He looked at Darcy, whose normal composure was replaced with a flash of panic. He swallowed hard, his free hand trembling slightly as he cleared his throat and reached for his teacup.
Mrs. Elizabeth giggled. “If your sister being old enough to marry disturbs you, let us pray we never have…” her smile faded and her laughter dried up. She, too, lifted her teacup, muttering, “… daughters,” into it.
Darcy squeezed her hand, and Tanner felt horrible for being so consumed in his own worries, he had failed to notice how frail Mrs. Elizabeth looked that morning. Darcy’s extra attentiveness, Georgiana’s silence … it all made more sense now, and Tanner swore to himself he would not do anything to upset her further. No matter how wretched he felt.
Before he could think of what to say to console her, a ghostly figure stopped in the doorway of the breakfast room.
Tanner shot up from his chair, charging around the table to embrace Arabella. He had feared she had run away, and now that she had returned, he wished to hold her so close to him she would never leave again.
But he stopped, remembering himself in time.
Standing as stiffly as Arabella stood before him, Tanner shifted his weight back and forth, hoping she would say something.
“I tried Mrs. Seymour’s plan. It did not work.”
Never in a million years would he have expected to hear those particular words from Arabella. Remembering his pledge for Mrs. Elizabeth’s benefit, he mumbled, “Just shoot me now.”
“Not in the breakfast room, you will not,” exclaimed Mrs. Elizabeth, bravely masking her personal disappointment with humor.
Georgiana asked, “Is there anything left that could possibly go wrong today? Did it all have to happen this morning?”
Arabella looked between them, her eyes flooded to the brims, but her chin set at such a defiant angle, Tanner knew she would not let a tear spill. The desire to pull her into his arms, to reassure himself that she was safe and reassure her that all would be well, was overwhelming.
Needing something to do lest he acted on his impulses, he busied himself by pulling a chair out and motioning for Arabella to sit when she stoo
d dazed still in the doorway. “Go wrong? What else has gone wrong?” she asked, blinking her eyes up at him uncomprehendingly.
He tried to explain. “It has been a morning for…” Tanner searched for the right word. Nightmares … soul-crushing disappointments … reputation-ruining public condemnations. “… surprises,” he finished.
Arabella sniffed, her chin quivering as she said, “You will wish to send me away immediately when I tell you what I have done.”
“Why do you think we would ever send you away?” Tanner asked, trying to lower his tone when his question sounded like a shout in his ears.
She lifted her chin, beautiful in her bravado. “Do not feel the need to appease me. I know you purchased passage to Charleston in my name.”
“I will not deny it, but the intention was most certainly not to send you away unless you wish to go,” he said, looking to Darcy for confirmation when his reply did nothing to appease her anger. Infernal woman, jumping to conclusions just like she had jumped on Brutus and run off.
Tanner felt the blood drain from his face as he finally understood what she had done. She had tried Mrs. Seymour’s plan. She had met with the villainous blackguard … alone.
He said, “Wait a minute. You met with Lord Lofton?”
A hush spread over the table as they waited for her answer. When she nodded, Tanner dropped his head into his hands and rubbed his fingers over his pulsating temples. Arabella had spirit, he would give her that. But she would be the death of him — figuratively, and quite likely, literally.
He wanted to tie her to the chair she occupied with his cravat. Then, he intended to scold Brutus for conveying her to Lofton, but discounted the ridiculous idea when he knew where the true blame lay. What kind of man blamed his horse?
Darcy said, “Please, tell us everything.”
