Looking straight ahead of her, towards the door of the church, Arabella took in a long breath and lifted her head high. If her husband was not about to walk her out of the church, then she would have to do so alone. It was not at all the correct procedure, and no doubt her father would be most displeased with her, but she could not simply stand here and wait for her husband to sober up enough to take her arm and walk alongside her. From the way he was swaying and staggering, she was not even certain that he would be able to walk without treading on her dress or her feet, and then they might both go crashing to the floor in a heap. She was embarrassed and disgraced enough already. She did not need more.
Not looking to the left or to the right, as was expected, Arabella trained her gaze on the door of the church and began to walk down the aisle. There were a few stifled gasps and certainly some whisperings, but she ignored them as best she could. There was nothing else for it. She had to walk out of the church alone.
Behind her, there came the sound of a yelp, which was then followed by a sudden crash and a good many exclamations from the remaining guests. Closing her eyes tightly, Arabella forced herself to a stop, her hands clasping into fists as she struggled to maintain her composure. Her husband, the drunken fool, had obviously fallen to the ground, but she dared not look around for fear that she would break down completely. All she had to do was take a few steps to the door.
The fresh air was not as welcoming as Arabella had hoped, although at least the cool air brought some relief to her heated cheeks. Her heart was hammering furiously with the shame and mortification over what had occurred, and from behind her, she could hear the sound of the guests all talking amongst themselves. A harsh laugh ran towards her, and she winced, knowing full well that her husband had either made even more of a fool of himself or that he himself was the one laughing like a buffoon. No doubt, her father, Viscount Molesey, would be hurrying out after her, ready to pile her indiscretions and mistakes on her shoulders one after the other. Even though her new husband was in his cups, even though his behavior had nothing whatsoever to do with her, her father would find a way to place the blame solely on her head.
Her eyes alighted onto the waiting carriage, and her heart filled with a sudden hope. It would be so simple to hurry towards it, to climb in and make her way to her husband’s home without having to wait for the guests or for her parents. It was not right, of course, for she was meant to be waiting for Lord Fitzpatrick to appear, but such was her embarrassment that she did not think she could endure another moment in his presence. He might rail at her in the morning, angry that she had behaved so, but surely she could tolerate that, if it meant escaping from the torment that faced her today?
“He does not care for me,” she whispered aloud, attempting to gather her courage. “Why should I consider him?”
It was the first moment of courage that she had felt in many months. Gathering her skirts in her hands, and without so much as looking behind her, Arabella hurried towards the carriage, seeing the horses stamping and whinnying in preparation.
“We are to go now, if you please,” she told the driver rather stiffy, not wanting to betray a single flicker of emotion. “Lord Fitzpatrick will come along presently. He is busy speaking to the guests and—”
“We are to go directly to the estate, Lady Fitzpatrick.”
The driver of the coach leaned down to her, clearly thoroughly confused.
“And that is where we are to go now,” she replied, with a good deal more fervor than before given that the first few guests had begun to trickle out of the townhouse. “Onwards. Make haste!”
The driver hesitated, then shrugged and looked back towards horses before clicking to them just as Arabella managed to get herself seated.
She had made her escape.
1
Three years later.
Walking through the streets of London evoked so many memories that it was deeply painful to even breathe the very air. Lady Arabella Fitzpatrick forced her pain down with every single modicum of strength she had, refusing to allow herself to shed even a single tear.
She was stronger than that now. It was time for change. She had put up with far too much for far too long, first from her father and then from her supposed husband. No young lady deserved what she had endured.
Lifting her chin, Arabella allowed the slight breeze to clear her blurred vision. She would not allow another tear to fall when it came to her husband and his lack of consideration for her. Nor would she weep over her father’s indifference. He had not so much as written to her these last three years, aside from the very first letter which had arrived not long after she had made her escape from London. It had told her, in no uncertain terms, that she was to blame in every way for the palaver that had been Arabella’s marriage to Lord Fitzpatrick.
Her first act of courage had been to rip up that letter into tiny pieces and throw it onto the flames. Her next act of courage had taken three years to come together, but at least she was here now. She had to hope that the ton would not remember her face and immediately know her for who she truly was.
Finding her way to the townhouse, Arabella climbed the few steps and rapped smartly on the door. It was opened at once by the butler, who ushered her in and accepted her card from her.
“I am here to see Lady Ward,” she said firmly. “She is expecting me.”
The butler nodded and inclined his head. It did not take long before Arabella found herself led into the drawing room, her stomach twisting in knots as she walked inside.
“Lady Ward.”
Lady Cecelia Ward rose to her feet at once and hurried over to Arabella with outstretched arms. Arabella could not quite maintain her composure, and the moment Lady Ward embraced her, she felt herself break down completely. Her shoulders shook as tears ran in rivulets down her cheeks.
“Oh, Arabella.” Lady Ward stepped back, still holding Arabella’s hands. “You are here at last.”
Arabella sniffed and nodded. “I am, dear sister,” she said hoarsely, not letting go of her sister’s hands for fear that if she did so, she might find that this was some wonderful yet terrible dream. “I have longed to see your face again.”
Cecelia began to cry at this remark and embraced Arabella again. “I have oft wanted to visit you, Arabella, but your husband did not respond to any of my letters. I could not simply appear at his door without his express welcome.” Her expression twisted. “Nor could I have done so this last year due to my mourning, although I was eager to try.”
Arabella laughed harshly and shook her head as Cecelia led her towards a chair, gesturing for her to sit down before ringing the bell for tea.
“I fear you would have been waiting for an eternity to receive a letter in response from my husband, my dear sister, although I am truly grateful for your willingness.”
“Oh?” Cecelia looked confused.
Closing her eyes and feeling the familiar sense of shame creep over her, Arabella shook her head. “I know that you wrote to me very often, and that I, in return, sent correspondence to you, but not once did I tell you the truth of the matter,” she whispered, praying that her sister would not be upset with her for doing such a thing. “I have been so ashamed, so broken, that I did not want to tell another living soul.”
Cecelia’s brown eyes flared with surprise, her oval face wreathed with concern. “What do you mean, Arabella?”
Arabella sighed heavily and opened her eyes. She looked into Cecelia’s face and saw the gentleness there. The kindness and the compassion that their father had never been able to steal from Cecelia with his harsh ways and angry words. “My husband, Lord Fitzpatrick,” she said hoarsely, her fingers twisting together in her lap as she forced the words out of her mouth. “I have not seen him in three years.”
Her face infused with color the moment she spoke the truth aloud. Her sister gasped audibly, her eyes wide and her mouth ajar as she stared at Arabella.
“I have not seen him since our wedding day,” Arabella
continued, the words tumbling out of her now, as though the sooner she said them, the sooner her mortification would fade. “I have had one letter from him every six months. It always says the very same thing – that he is busy with business in London and that I am to remain at the estate. There is never anything else.”
“But this cannot be,” Cecelia whispered, her hand pressed against her heart. “You have never spoken to me of it.”
“That does not mean it is untrue,” Arabella replied, wincing. “I did not want to bring any more shame down upon my head than has already been placed upon it. I feared our father, even though he is back in his own estate and I am no longer his concern. In addition, I feared angering my husband any more than I have already done – for what other reason could there be for his unwillingness to return home?”
Her sister shook her head, clearly struggling to take in this news. “I do wish you had told me, Arabella,” she said, after a few minutes of silence had passed between them. “I might have come to you at any time then. I might have spent my mourning year with you, without anyone questioning me.” She sighed heavily and reached to take Arabella’s hand. “What pain you must have endured.”
Arabella tried to smile but did not quite manage to do so. “It has been difficult, I confess. However, in these three years, I hope that I have found a good deal more strength than ever before. The very same strength that had me ride away from my own wedding without my husband by my side has now brought me back to London in an attempt to find him again.” She looked carefully at her sister. “I presume you have not seen him?”
Her sister threw up her hands. “I have barely any memory of what the gentleman looked like, Arabella, and I certainly have not heard of Lord Fitzpatrick appearing in town.”
Arabella sighed and nodded. “That is to be expected. The last letter I had from him stated that he still remained in London, and therefore, I expected him to be there still.” She spread her hands. “I do not even know what I shall say to him if I do discover him.”
This seemed to bring a fresh light to her sister’s eyes, a light that Arabella could not quite understand. She waited in silence as Cecelia stared, unseeingly, in Arabella’s direction, her mind obviously working on some idea or another.
“I must take you to see Lady Angelica Landerbelt,” Cecelia said eventually, a small smile breaking out across her face. “I know that she will be able to help you.”
“Help me in what way?” Arabella asked, confused. “I do not understand what you mean.”
Her sister’s smile grew, the light in her eyes remaining steady. “She may be able to help you exact some revenge upon Lord Fitzpatrick in one way or another, Arabella. After all, he must learn that how he has treated you cannot continue!”
Arabella frowned, her stomach suddenly unsettled by anxiety. “I do not think that I—”
“At the very least, she will be able to help you in your intention of meeting your husband again and demanding that he pay you the respect you are due, as his wife,” her sister continued, unaware that Arabella had begun to speak. “Lord Fitzpatrick must be shocked into addressing his behavior towards you, Arabella. That is quite certain.”
Arabella, her frown still lingering, found herself nodding. “I suppose you are correct, Cecelia,” she replied slowly. “I confess that I have been quite at a loss as to how I am meant to continue as regards my husband. The only thought I had was that I could not bear another day of waiting at our estate, in the desperate hope that he would choose to return!” She sighed and shook her head. “I would be grateful for any help you or Lady Landerbelt might offer me.”
“Good.” Cecelia clapped her hands together. “Lady Landerbelt is a wealthy widow, you see, and has been able to help others with their own particular situations before, so I am quite certain she will be able to advise you in some way, Arabella.” She sighed, her hands resting in her lap. “And I am so very glad that you have returned to me now, my dear sister. We have both had a difficult few years, have we not?”
Arabella, who had not known much about her sister’s marriage to Viscount Ward, nodded slowly. “You have endured the death of your husband,” she commented quietly. “For that, I am sorry.”
Cecelia sighed, her shoulders slumping. “I did not care for my husband, nor he for me,” she stated. “It was an arrangement of our father’s, as well you know, but now I am free of both my father’s demands and my husband’s orders. He has left me with a small fortune and the townhouse here in London, and therefore, I can do as I please.” A small note of triumph entered her voice. “I intend to be as independent as I wish, allowing my own thoughts and ideas to rule instead of worrying about what either my husband or my father thinks.” She looked across at Arabella, a slight note of guilt creeping into her voice. “Do not think that I am lost in grief, Arabella, for it is not so. In truth, I am more content than I have been in many years.”
“It is a contentment I can only dream of,” Arabella replied with a heavy sigh. “Not that I wish my husband’s life to be brought to an end, you understand, but more that I would find the same contentment, the same knowledge that my thoughts are my own and that they are respected as such. That I would be treated as a person in my own right, worthy of respect and consideration.” Her voice grew quiet as she shook her head, hopelessness filling her. “But yet I fear it can never be so.”
Her sister reached across and patted her hand. “Let us go and speak to Lady Landerbelt,” she said, as though this lady, whomever she was, held all that Arabella was looking for. “She may be able to help you gain such a thing, Arabella, in one way or the other.”
Holding her sister’s gaze, Arabella nodded slowly and tried to let her mind fill with hope, her heart to lift from its fears and doubts and cling onto the confidence her sister offered. “I must hope she can,” she said softly, her heart leaping in her chest at the thought of seeing her husband again. “For I think I shall go to pieces the very moment I lay eyes on Lord Fitzpatrick again.”
“Then we shall call upon her just as soon as she is able to receive us,” Cecelia said. “And have no fear, Arabella. You shall not be pulled apart by the mere sight of him. You are stronger than you know. You have more determination and strength than you are aware of, I am quite certain of that.”
Arabella drew in a long breath, her shoulders settling about her. “Thank you, Cecelia,” she replied, truly grateful for her sister’s aid. “I look forward to meeting Lady Landerbelt and seeing what advice she can offer me. It cannot come soon enough.”
2
“I am so very glad you could make it, Lady Ward.”
Arabella held her breath as her sister turned towards her, ready to make the introduction.
“May I present my sister, Lady Arabella Fitzpatrick, Lady Landerbelt.”
Lady Landerbelt’s eyes widened. “Good gracious. How very good to meet you, Lady Fitzpatrick. Had I not known you were Lady Ward’s sister, I would never think you to be family!”
Arabella felt her face grow hot as she curtsied in front of the lady, aware that her green eyes and mousey brown hair were very different to Cecelia’s brown eyes and dark brown ringlets. Cecelia was thin and a little tall for a lady, whereas Arabella held more curves and was not as tall as her sister. “Thank you for your invitation to this evening’s event, Lady Landerbelt. It is most kind of you.”
Lady Landerbelt’s bright blue eyes did not lift from Arabella for even a moment. “I believe you stated that you wished for my advice as regarded a particular matter,” she said slowly, tipping her head to the left as though she might be able to regard Arabella in a better light. “Is that so?”
Arabella nodded, finding the intensity of Lady Landerbelt’s gaze almost intimidating. “It is,” she admitted, looking at her sister for a moment. “It is on a particularly delicate matter as regards my husband.”
Lady Landerbelt nodded slowly, a small smile playing about her lips. “Indeed. This does not surprise me in any way, Lady Fitzpatrick, for I have s
een your husband here in London these last few months and have never once seen him out and about with his wife – even though I knew he was wed, of course.” Her forehead puckered with a frown. “I do wonder if…” She trailed off and darted a glance towards Cecelia before nodding slowly, as though she had come to some internal agreement with herself. “Does anyone else know of the truth of your identity, Lady Fitzpatrick?”
Arabella shook her head, not quite certain what Lady Landerbelt meant. “No, indeed not. I only arrived in London some two days ago and immediately made my way to my sister’s townhouse.”
“And your husband does not know of your return to London?”
Again, Arabella shook her head, her face infusing with color. “He does not.”
“Oh, you must not think that I think poorly of you for such a thing,” Lady Landerbelt said at once, leaning a little closer to Arabella as though to reassure her. “For I, of course, do not. I quite understand.”
Arabella, seeing that the three of them were now in private conversation and were not about to be interrupted by any of the other guests, drew in a long breath and decided to tell Lady Landerbelt the truth. “I must tell you, Lady Landerbelt, that I have not laid eyes on my husband since the day of our wedding.” She watched as Lady Landerbelt’s eyes rounded slowly, her eyebrows lifting. “That was some three years ago now. I have had letters from him, but he has never returned to his estate.”
Regency Engagements Box Set Page 19
