by Golden Angel
Plus, a small voice inside of her snickered, he'd be far too wary about angering her brother, the duke, to acquire a mistress.
Isaac's ominous silence didn't bode well for either her or Thomas, but she couldn't quite bring herself to care. Maybe tomorrow when the euphoria of the champagne and her brazen tactics began to fade. Not that he would really have a leg to stand on, considering he'd been trapped into marriage by Lydia. Arabella didn't fool herself into thinking she and Thomas would be able to turn their marriage into a happily-ever-after the way Lydia and Isaac had, but at least she wouldn't have to watch Thomas live happily-ever-after with someone else.
And she didn't care one whit how selfish that was. At least, that’s what she kept telling herself. The little cold ball of anxiety inside of her stomach indicated differently, but she pushed it away defiantly. It was far too late for regrets now.
"Let's get you inside," Lydia said, still fussing as soon as they arrived at Manchester House. "We'll have a bath run, you need to warm up."
"Is Thomas coming directly here?" Arabella asked, feeling a small fluttering in her stomach. Nerves? Excitement? Worry? "Should we draw a bath for him too?"
"I'll worry about Thomas," Isaac said, a trifle grimly. He looked a bit odd in his ballroom finery without his coat, which was still wrapped around Arabella. Hopefully it wasn't completely ruined by the thorough soaking she'd given its insides. Almost absent-mindedly, obviously distracted, he pressed a kiss to Arabella's forehead. "You go get dry and warm."
With Lydia tugging at her arm, Arabella walked a few steps and then paused, turning back to look at her brother. "Don't... don't be too hard on him?"
The request came out more of a question than anything else, and Isaac gave her a look.
"One question... did he kiss you or did you kiss him?"
She couldn't help the little smile that quirked her lips. "Knowing both of us as you do, what do you think?"
With a groan, Isaac closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Get her upstairs, Lydia."
All three of them were well aware of the unspoken "before I throttle her" which followed his directive. Used to such imprecations, knowing it would never be carried out, Arabella shrugged and allowed herself to be led away.
A warm bath sounded wonderful. Then, hopefully, she'd be able to shake off Lydia and go eavesdrop on her brother and Thomas, who surely would have arrived by then.
******
After stopping by Hood House for a quick change of clothing, although he denied himself the warm bath he knew Arabella would be having (and tried not to think too hard about her soaking in warmer waters than the fountain), Thomas made straight for Manchester House. Although Hood House was well located, it wasn't in the center of Mayfair like Manchester House and it was nearly half the size.
Something that hadn't daunted him before, at least not consciously, but now he felt as though the mansion was looming oppressively over him as he walked up the steps.
The door opened almost immediately as he approached, before he could even knock, the properly correct butler running judgmental eyes over his hastily donned attire and wet hair.
"My lord, please follow me," Rigby intoned, sounding rather ominous as he turned and led the way towards Isaac's study. Feeling like he was walking towards his doom, Thomas braced himself to face the man whose sister he'd just horribly, scandalously, compromised.
The Duke.
His friend.
He'd wronged Isaac on so many levels he wouldn't blame the man for challenging him to a duel.
Somehow the scene on the terrace had just gotten completely out of hand.
If only he had been able to push her away without them falling. If only he hadn't stood so close that she'd been able to drunkenly kiss him—it didn't matter that he had no idea why she'd done so, he'd made it possible by attempting to intimidate her.
If only he hadn't sent Gabrielle away.
If only he hadn't followed Arabella onto the terrace in the first place.
It was all too easy to trace back every single misstep he'd taken. Now he had to face Isaac and explain.
The butler opened the door to the study and Thomas walked past him, a ball of guilt and misery in the pit of his stomach. To his shock, the look Isaac gave him as he entered wasn't at all condemning or angry, not even resigned... he looked... apologetic?
"Thank you for coming," Isaac said, standing up from the chair where he'd been sipping a glass of brandy.
"Of course," Thomas said, feeling off-kilter already.
"Drink?"
"Yes, please." He took advantage of the few moments to gather himself and martial his reactions. Obviously this interview wasn't going to be nearly as hostile as he'd anticipated. This family never quite behaved the way he expected, so maybe he shouldn't be too surprised by that. Although neither Isaac nor Benedict were known as Originals, as a Duke and his brother they were often quite free to do as they pleased as long as they toed the line.
Handing Thomas a full glass, Isaac sighed as he sank down into one of the leather chairs in front of his desk. More slowly, Thomas settled himself into the one opposite Isaac's. His friend still didn't look angry, but he was obviously upset, and yet he hadn't started yelling or threatening Thomas yet... The tension stretched.
Deciding to take the horse by the reins, because he was too anxious to sit in silence, Thomas took a fortifying sip of the brandy and immediately launched into the speech he'd hastily thrown together and practiced on the ride over.
"I must offer my most abject apologies for the scene on the balcony this evening. I obviously did not intend for events to play out in the manner they did, but as I have grievously compromised Arabella I am here to offer for her and make the situation right." Having said his piece, Thomas deflated slightly, feeling rather wrung out as he waited for Isaac's reaction.
The other man blinked. "You think you compromised Arabella?"
"Well... yes," Thomas said, mentally reviewing the events on the evening. He certainly hadn't dreamed the whole thing. His hair was still wet, so he knew he hadn't hallucinated it. "Half the guests at the ball, including Lady Jersey, saw that she'd been compromised."
"Oh, I'm not arguing that she's thoroughly compromised," Isaac said, sighing as he took a mouthful of his brandy. He shook his head. "However, I got the impression from her that she'd been the one to instigate the kiss."
"Well, yes... but..." Thomas struggled to martial his thoughts. Yes, Arabella had kissed him, but he bore responsibility as well. Especially as he was the man. Wasn't the gentleman always at fault in situations such as this? After all, he should have been able to stop her—shouldn't have been alone with her in the first place, even if there had been others on the balcony. As a friend of the family, he'd known there would be no raised eyebrows, but really, he should have asked Gabrielle to remain present, not sent her away. "I'm still the gentleman she was compromised with. I'm here to offer for her hand if you'll accept me."
The look Isaac shot him now was nearly bewildered. "Of course I'll accept you! Don't be a dolt. I'm the one who suggested her to you in the first place."
"Well... yes... but..." Good grief he was becoming repetitive. It wasn't his fault though; the things Isaac kept saying took him aback.
He now realized he'd never really taken Isaac's prodding seriously. Had always had the underlying suspicion that the man was teasing him. Had always assumed if he'd said yes, he wanted Arabella as his wife, that Isaac would laugh and tell him it was all in play or, worse, that Isaac would laugh at his temerity... to think that a mere viscount would think a duke's offer of his sister serious...
No, Isaac wasn't the type to be cruel, but Thomas had never quite been able to convince himself it wasn't some kind of joke or trick. Not consciously. He'd never really thought about it deeply—in fact, it was entirely possibly he'd not really thought about it at all. It was possible he hadn't dared to.
He pulled himself up, wanting to lay all of the cards out on the table.
"Under the circumstances, if you preferred to see if Hartford steps up, I would understand. After all, he is a marquess and has been openly courting her—"
Isaac snorted, cutting Thomas off. "Yet tonight he was nowhere in sight, and we both know the generalities of what he was doing instead. While he might be courting her, a marriage between them would be one of convenience. Arabella enjoys his company in many ways, but she's always had a preference for you."
"I... she... what?!" If it wouldn't be completely déclassé, Thomas would have dug his finger in his ear, sure that his hearing must be blocked because he couldn't possibly have heard what he just thought he did.
Perhaps he was dreaming. Perhaps this was all some insane imagining of his brain and he'd wake up in his own bed any minute now.
"Why else would I keep throwing her at you?" Isaac asked, chuckling. He gave Thomas a look of amusement, obviously enjoying Thomas' confusion. "While Arabella is talented at many things, she's terrible at hiding her emotions. Also at watercolours and embroidery. Don't expect any works of art from her, although she is tolerably good at sketching."
"I... see..."
At a loss for words, Thomas downed the rest of his brandy. He didn't really know what else to do. A man could only take so many revelations, after all.
******
Unfortunately, Lydia stuck to Arabella's side like a burr, and she had no chance to plant herself at her brother's keyhole.
Which meant she had no idea what to expect when Isaac finally called her to his study. Lydia escorted her, still fussing over her slightly, obviously worried about the social repercussions. Arabella wasn't. She had no doubt Thomas would arrive and offer for her, just as he was supposed to.
Because Thomas always did what he was supposed to do.
Even if the circumstances were in no way his fault.
Arabella rather liked the dependability of his character, and not just because it made him easy to manipulate.
Entering her brother's study, her eyes were drawn immediately to Thomas, who was standing by Isaac's desk. For once he looked less than correct. Although his hair was drying, it was obviously still damp and much fluffier than its usual pristine styling. The points of his collar and his cravat weren't nearly as stiff as they normally were. And the expression on his face was closer to befuddled than anything else.
Since she hadn't had time for more than a simple coiffure to fix her own hair and Lydia had insisted on her donning her warmest gown—a green wool that wasn't unattractive but certainly wasn't anything special either. Still, she was practically brimming with anxiety and excitement, despite having mostly sobered.
While she might not have had the bravery to act so precipitously if she hadn't drunk all that champagne, she certainly wasn't unhappy with the results either. At least, she didn't think she would be. Mostly she just wanted to complete this next step. See Thomas' face. Gauge his reaction.
Decide what she was going to do now.
After all, being so impetuous always had unexpected consequences and she couldn't be sure of her next move until she had fully contemplated everyone else's reactions. Especially Thomas'.
Given his worry about his position in Society against hers... well, she knew he would make the prescribed offer of marriage. Beyond that, she was unsure how he would handle the situation.
What he would think about it.
She'd been too wound up after their fall in the fountain to truly pay attention to him, on top of her impulse to burst out laughing—which she hadn't wanted him to see, and so she hadn't been able to look at him. Now, with sober control over herself, she could better study him.
Although she hadn't expected him to look quite so flummoxed. It made her wonder exactly what Isaac had said to him, and inwardly she cursed her inability to listen in on their prior conversation. She couldn't quite bring herself to curse Lydia though. The sincerity of her sister-in-law's concern was quite evident—and as she was certain Lydia was in a delicate condition it was hard to resent her mother-henning.
Looking at her brother, Arabella raised her eyebrow in question. He sent back a look containing the clear command—behave yourself.
"Sister, Thomas would like to speak with you. Lydia and I will give you a few minutes to yourselves," Isaac said.
"But..." Lydia started to protest, bristling slightly at Arabella's side as Isaac came forward to take her arm.
"She'll be fine," Isaac murmured, low enough only she and Lydia could hear. His tone was much gentler than it had been for Arabella, filled with such tenderness and love, it made her heart ache.
It was unlikely she would ever hear Thomas speak in such tones to her.
For a moment, unbearable sadness weighed her down, although she was slightly heartened when she remembered he wouldn't be speaking to any other woman in such a manner either. That had been her goal after all. Mutually assured misery, for the rest of their lives. So much better than being miserable and having to watch him be happy.
As the door closed behind Isaac and Lydia, Thomas suddenly shook himself, almost like a hound shaking off water. The look of befuddlement slid away and his expression settled into the more accustomed stern lines it usually held. Her lips quirked with amusement. No matter what Isaac had said to him, Thomas remained himself.
“Arabella,” he said, and hesitated, obviously thinking.
“Thomas,” she responded, rather impishly.
Immediately, he frowned almost repressively, peering at her. “Are you still drunk?”
“No-o?” She started to retort back with a definitive ‘no’ before realizing it might behoove her not to reveal just how intentional her actions on the terrace had been. It was doubtful he’d find it amusing. The statement quickly turned into a question, and he groaned as he pressed his fingers to his forehead. Quickly, she cut off any line of thinking that she was too drunk to understand what was happening. “I am sober enough, Thomas.”
“Thank goodness for small mercies,” he muttered, and she glared at him. Coughing, to cover his verbal indiscretion, he pulled himself up to his full height. “Arabella, I have come to offer for your hand. Although the circumstances of my proposal are perhaps not the most desirable, I want you to be assured that as my wife you will have every comfort I am able to provide, as well as an honorable and faithful husband, and—”
“I accept,” she said calmly, cutting off what was no doubt a very thoughtful speech about everything he was willing to provide her but would make no mention of love.
Thomas frowned at her interruption. He would become accustomed to it, especially if he wanted to constantly make long-winded speeches and lectures. Arabella might have once loved him, might even still retain some of her feelings for him, but she had never been blind to his faults. She much preferred Thomas when he wasn’t standing upon ceremony or pontificating, when he was relaxed and had forgotten to worry about who was watching him.
Pressing her lips together to hide her smile, she looked calmly back at him.
The expression on his face became harder, sterner. It might have been quite intimidating if she weren’t already used to such trenchant disapproval from him. As it was, she found herself more and more amused at the predicament he now found himself in.
Forced to propose to her.
The woman he’d insisted was an unmanageable hoyden. Undesirable to him as a wife. Who, despite her attempts at turning herself into the kind of woman who fulfilled all the terms of his ridiculous list, he’d never acknowledged anything except for her flaws.
She felt no small amount of vindictive triumph at having maneuvered him into such a situation.
Thomas’ frown deepened. “Before you accept, I want to be clear in my expectations, Arabella. Unlike your siblings, I will not tolerate the unacceptable behavior you seem to delight in. If you are rude, boorish, or unladylike, if I hear you cursing, insulting someone, or maliciously gossiping, if you do anything scandalous to provoke the ire of Society, there will be consequences.”
>
The triumph she’d been feeling was swept away by annoyance and defensiveness on behalf of her maligned brothers and sisters-in-law. Plenty of even the stuffiest members of Society had remarked upon her improved behavior this Season—well, at least before she’d realized Thomas was never going to marry her of his own accord no matter how well behaved she’d become. Just because he hadn’t noticed didn’t mean no one else had.
Temper sparked, she regarded him through narrowed eyes. There was no point in arguing with him. She’d already heard how he’d dismissed Isaac’s defense of her behavior earlier in the Season.
No. Much better to demonstrate how well behaved she could be under her family’s roof—and how little control he truly had over her once she was under his. Arabella dictated her own behavior; she certainly did not have it dictated to her.
Even Isaac had given up spanking her unless she’d done something truly erroneous, knowing how short a period of time the punishment affected her. Because Gabrielle was married to Thomas’ brother, Arabella knew damned well that the Hood men also practiced domestic discipline within their households. Thomas was probably under the impression she’d never been truly disciplined by her brother.
Ha!
He was going to be in for a surprise.
“As I said,” she responded silkily, doing her best to keep her tone even and calm. “I accept.”
******
The cool, measuring way she regarded him didn’t hide Arabella’s temper from Thomas’ steady gaze. He saw her desire to leap to her brothers’ defense, and he didn’t fault her for it. However, it was impossible to ignore that they’d let her run wild for far too long. He hadn’t wanted a wife he had to spend time firmly shaping, but now that he had one he certainly wasn’t going to neglect his duties. Arabella was intelligent, witty, and socially apt when she chose to be. It was up to him to help her stamp out her less desirable traits so she could live up to her full potential.
