Following Lady Landerbelt’s directions, Arabella hurried up the short flight of stairs that led to some of the smaller rooms of the house, her stomach twisting this way and that as she did so. She had never once thought that Lady Landerbelt would suggest that she find a way to become close to her husband in order to draw out the truth of his character and his reasons for leaving her alone back at the estate. It did not seem likely that she would be able to become close to him in the first place, given that he had not exactly seemed overcome by her presence. In fact, he had simply been polite and gentlemanly, which was just as she had expected. How was she to go about attempting to draw out the truth from him if he did not even give her a second glance? On top of which, Arabella realized that the very idea of becoming somewhat important to Lord Fitzpatrick made her heart quicken just a little, which was not at all what she wanted to feel. She had been so filled with anger and disappointment and confusion after having been left alone these last three years that she had wanted her anger to continue to burn upon seeing him again – but it had not done so. Instead, and mayhap due to Lady Landerbelt’s questions, Arabella had begun to find herself wondering just who her husband really was. When both he and Lord Thompson had joined them for a short stroll in the park, Arabella had found herself walking alongside her husband, but it had felt as though she were walking with a complete stranger. They had talked, yes, but she had still found him guarded as though there was something he could not say, something that he was unable to reveal to another. Yes, he had smiled and laughed and talked, but such contentment had never quite met his eyes. There had still been that hesitation there whenever she had asked him something, a momentary pause that had her mind filling with questions.
The truth was, Arabella knew nothing of his character, aside from the fact that he enjoyed too much liquor upon occasion. This, therefore, had to mean that that she could not be certain that his reasons for not returning to her and to his estate were not purely selfish. There had begun to be a deep sadness in her heart that she had been unable to remove from herself. A sadness that she did not know her husband, not in any single way. A sadness that she had been left alone these three years without a single word of explanation, unable to enjoy the company and embraces of her husband. A sadness that she knew him so little when she found herself wanting to know more.
Arabella rolled her eyes to herself and sighed heavily. She was being far too ridiculous, of course. There was little reason to allow her heart to even consider Lord Fitzpatrick in any way, and yet there was something about him, something about the smile that stretched across his face, that made her heart leap in her chest despite the fact that she did not wish it to be so. When they had walked together in the gardens, it had been so pleasant that, once she had overcome her anxiety, she had found herself enjoying her time with him. His conversation had been good, his manner pleasant, and his smile much too delightful for her heart to bear. As much as she disliked it, as much as she had railed at herself for allowing her heart to be so free, she had felt it warm towards her husband, despite her feelings of frustration and pain. It was utterly inconsistent and yet, once she had returned home and set her feelings out before her eyes, she had come to realize that yes, she had enjoyed her husband’s company, and yes, her heart had tried to draw itself towards his.
It had been a moment of painful self-awareness. Nor had it been something she had felt able to share with her sister or with Lady Landerbelt. She had not wanted them to think her foolish nor did she want Lady Landerbelt to grasp at those feelings with both hands, so as to use them in order to draw Lord Fitzpatrick closer to Arabella. It would do Arabella even more harm should her husband discover the beginnings of affection in Arabella’s heart and yet state that he did not feel anything of the sort in return.
“I must put them to the grave,” Arabella said aloud, her steps slowing as she realized that, having been lost in thought, she had quite forgotten to follow Lady Landerbelt’s directions. “They must be put from me entirely.” Her chin lifted and one hand clenched into a fist as she walked, quite determined that she would conquer her own inadequacies simply by sheer force of will. She wanted to remain angry with her husband, wanted to be as furious and as irate as she could be in order to shame him into returning to her and taking on his role as her husband, as he ought. There was no need for her to feel anything other than that.
Frowning, Arabella looked about her to see if there was a footman nearby that might be able to direct her towards the small parlor that Lady Landerbelt had suggested, or to the powder room. Unfortunately, there did not appear to be anyone about, which meant that she had, in all likelihood, come a little too far. A knot of fear tightened in her stomach, for she did not want to be discovered by some uncouth, lewd gentleman who had drunk far too much and then thought her easy prey. Swallowing hard, she turned around and, much to her relief, saw a door to her left, a little further on. She must have missed it the first time she walked past, having been caught up in her own thoughts. The door was a little ajar, and there was a light shining from within. Hurrying towards it gratefully, Arabella pushed open the door with one hand and stepped inside, quite certain that she would find other guests from Lord Winton’s ball within, each taking a few minutes rest as she longed to do.
Instead, her eyes settled on a figure bending down behind what appeared to be a rather ornate study desk. He was muttering to himself, his words coming out in a torrent that she could not quite make out. His fingers were busy working through papers of all sorts, although she did not quite understand why. This was not Lord Winton, so why was there a gentleman prying in the gentleman’s study?
His eyes suddenly caught hers and a gasp flew from her throat. Staggering back, she found the hardness of the door behind her, her fingers scrabbling for the door handle so that she might pull it open and make her escape.
“Wait, please!”
His voice was desperate, his eyes flaring wide with horror.
“Please, you cannot, you must not, say anything to Lord Winton. Lady Stanley, please, I beg of you!”
She shook her head, wordlessly, her fingers finally landing on the handle. Twisting it, she pushed it open and practically fell out of the room, only pausing for a second to catch herself before hurrying away from the study and back towards the ballroom.
Hearing a noise behind her, she looked over her shoulder for fear that he would be chasing after her – only to see him staring after her, with a hopeless look in his eyes.
Just what had Lord Fitzpatrick been doing?
5
Having been told that Lady Stanley was not available for callers, Anthony had been forced to wait until she left the house of her own accord. It was not at all polite to accost a lady as she went about her business, but the cloying fear that she would speak of what she had seen last evening had not left him.
Anthony could still see it in his mind, could still feel the same cold sweat wash over him as he thought of her standing there, her eyes wide as she took everything in. Why had she been there? It could not be that she had come to Lord Winton’s study purposefully, surely, which meant that it was nothing more than a mistake. However, the fear that she might then tell others of what she had seen was real enough and Anthony knew that he had to do all he could to prevent that from occurring.
Calling upon her had done no particular good, for the butler had taken his card, thanked him, but then stated that Lady Stanley was resting for the afternoon, so that she might go about later that evening to one of the many engagements she had. Anthony had not missed the slight hardness to the butler’s tone. It was clear that Lady Ward had, for whatever reason, made it quite clear to her staff that he was not to be admitted.
Frowning hard, Anthony rubbed at his brow, his frustration and worry growing steadily. Had Lady Stanley told Lady Ward of what she had seen? If she had, then that would only increase the difficulty surrounding him, for he would have to reveal to Lady Ward the truth about what he was doing then also. As much as he did n
ot want to share the truth with anyone, if Lady Stanley was to be kept safe, then there was nothing else for him to do but tell her everything.
His breath caught, his body sparking with awareness, as the door to the house opened and Lady Stanley stepped out. She looked utterly beautiful, her face tipping up to the sky for a moment as though she were glad of the sunshine. Her lips were gently curved, her emerald eyes glittering with a happiness that Anthony found himself longing for. His breath was pulled from his body as she began to walk along the street, finding himself caught with such longing that it quite took his breath away. It was utterly foolish, of course, for a gentleman such as he did not allow himself to be caught up with any lady. He could not allow himself such liberties and certainly would not do so when he had a wife waiting for him at home.
Guilt stuffed itself into his mouth and he swallowed, hard. The sharpness of his guilt took his breath from him yet again, making him bow his head and stare hard at the ground as he attempted to regain his sense of composure. Lady Stanley might be beautiful, but he was not about to allow himself to be overcome by her. Yes, they had enjoyed a pleasant walk in the park, and yes, he had found her conversation to be witty and intelligent, but admiration was all he could have for her. There was to be nothing else in his mind or his heart. He would not betray his wife, not after everything he had put her through thus far. Just what his Lady Fitzpatrick must think of him, he could not say, but he was quite certain that she did not think well of him.
Wincing, Anthony picked up his pace and began to hurry after Lady Stanley. It was just as well she was widowed, for it meant that she did not require a chaperone, which meant he would be able to fall into step with her easily enough. There was no reason not to be jovial and amiable, as far as he could be, of course. He did not want to frighten her, but he had to ensure that she was completely aware of his urgent request for her silence. Whether she realized it or not, what she had witnessed was of the utmost secrecy. If she told another living soul, then it might be disastrous.
Hurrying after her carefully, knowing that he would have to approach her at just the right time so as not to frighten her terribly, Anthony fastened his gaze upon the lady, determined not to lose her. Where was it she was going? Did she simply want to enjoy a short walk through the London streets, enjoying the freedoms that came with being a young, wealthy widow? Or did she have some intention or other?
The question soon had its answer. Lady Stanley made her way towards the shops and, to his surprise, walked directly past the dressmakers without so much as glancing in the window at their new bonnets. Instead, she walked towards the bookshop and, without so much as a glance over her shoulder, pushed open the door and stepped inside.
Silently, Anthony sent up a prayer of thanks for his good fortune. He would be able to speak to Lady Stanley here without fear of interruption or the like. They would have to be quiet and discreet, of course, but at least she could not easily escape from him. She would have to listen until he could be certain she understood.
“Ho, there!”
Closing his eyes and setting his jaw with frustration, Anthony turned from the bookshop door to see none other than Lord Thompson bearing down on him, a broad smile on his face.
“Thompson,” Anthony said, as amiably as he could despite the frustration burning through his heart. “Good afternoon.”
Lord Thompson looked behind Anthony to the shop and chuckled loudly. “I did not think you were the sort to peruse books and the like,” he said, with a knowing look towards Anthony. “Should you like some company?”
“No, no,” Anthony protested quickly, holding up a hand. “No, indeed. I do not. I am simply searching for a new title so that I might give it as a gift to Mama.” It was the first excuse he could think of but, thankfully, Lord Thompson seemed to accept it without hesitation.
“Ah, that is a wise idea indeed,” he murmured, half to himself. “Mayhap I ought to do such a thing for my own dear mama. After all, it has been some time since we last conversed, and I fear that my as yet unmarried state drew a great deal of criticism from her.”
Anthony nodded, trying to appear sympathetic when all he wanted was for Lord Thompson to leave him alone. “How do you fare with Lady Ward?” he asked, distracting Lord Thompson from going into the bookshop. “I saw you conversing with her last evening.”
Lord Thompson’s face brightened. “And dancing,” he said, with a broad smile. “She was a trifle unwilling at first, I admit, but soon she agreed.”
Perhaps to allow her some respite from your company, Anthony thought to himself, hiding his own ironic smile.
“Mayhap she would like a book also,” Lord Thompson considered aloud, looking thoughtful. “It would make an excellent gift, would it not?”
Anthony shook his head firmly. “No, not if you do not know the lady particularly well,” he said decisively. “No, you must send her flowers, old boy. That is the first gift that ought to be sent. And, I know for certain that she is currently at home at this present time—and without Lady Stanley by her side for company.” He saw Lord Thompson’s eyebrows rise, saw the look in his eyes, and felt himself go awash with relief. “If you go quickly, you may be able to deliver your gift to her in person.”
“Capital idea,” Lord Thompson said, suddenly appearing a little frantic. “Wonderful idea. Thank you, Fitzpatrick. I had better…I must go.”
Anthony watched with a flicker of amusement in his heart as his friend turned on his heel and practically scurried up the road in the direction of Lady Ward’s townhouse. Most likely, he would forget the flowers and would appear at the door with red cheeks and his hat askew, but at least he had left Anthony and would not be able to interrupt his conversation with Lady Stanley.
“You have what I want?”
The cold, hard voice of Lord Hollander caught Anthony’s ears, and he swung around to see the man coming out of a small side street, as though he had been listening to every word that had been exchanged between Anthony and Lord Thompson.
“There were no letters in Lord Winton’s desk,” he replied firmly, ignoring the cut of fear that sliced through him. “I searched thoroughly but could not find what you seek.” For a moment, he thought that Lord Hollander was going to grow angry, feared that he might lose his temper and bark furiously at him, but to his astonishment, Lord Hollander simply looked thoughtful, as though this did not come as a surprise to him.
“Then you must continue your search,” Lord Hollander stated, after a few moments. “If they are not in Lord Winton’s possession, then they must be held by Lady Franks.” He chuckled darkly, his eyes narrowing smaller still. “Although quite how you shall search a lady’s bedchamber for such letters, I cannot say.”
Anthony shook his head, his anger burning wild and hot within him. “I do not want to do this any longer.”
“I hardly think you have a choice,” Lord Hollander replied, his tone a little bored as though he heard this once too often from Anthony. “You know full well what will occur if you do not.”
Again, as it always did, Anthony’s mind scrambled for a response, scrambled for a way to retort something profound back to Lord Hollander that would allow him to make his escape for good, but nothing came. Lord Hollander had the upper hand, and they both knew it to be so.
“There is also another matter at hand,” Lord Hollander continued, after a few moments of icy silence. “It is to do with Lord Thompson.”
Anthony’s stomach dropped to the ground, his whole body frozen in place as he glared at Lord Hollander.
“I will do nothing to—”
“His mother, Lady Thompson, has expressed profound regret that her son has refused to marry thus far,” Lord Hollander continued, as though Anthony had not spoken. “She has suggested a lady to me, and I have promised that I will do what I can to ensure the marriage takes place.” Clearing his throat, he arched one eyebrow. “That is, you are to do such a thing.”
Anthony shook his head. “I will not.”
&
nbsp; “You will,” Lord Hollander replied easily. “It is what must be done. Therefore, you will bring your friend to the library of Lord Masterton’s home on the night of his ball, in five days’ time. I will give you the time at which you are to appear with him. Thereafter, you will quit the room and leave the rest to me.”
Heat flared up Anthony’s spine, filling his face with anger. “You intend to have them compromised, is that it?” he asked furiously, his hands tightening into fists. “You want Lord Thompson to have no other choice but to marry this young lady.”
“His mother wishes it.”
“And just how much is she to give you for the trouble of arranging it?” Anthony asked, growing coldly furious. “I know full well that you are gaining a good deal out of each and every task you take on.”
Lord Hollander gave him a dark, glittering smile. “It does not matter what I gain, Lord Fitzpatrick. It is only important that you do as I ask, else it shall be all the worse for you – which you well know.”
And with that, he turned on his heel and began to walk away from Anthony, leaving him feeling more morose and upset than ever before. His frustration that he could not find a way to escape from Lord Hollander bit at him, making him want to cry out in pain. Turning on his heel, he watched the tall, thin figure walk away, his heart beating furiously in his chest. All he wanted to do was to live a life free from Hollander’s threats and demands, a life where he might return home to his estate and to his wife, but it seemed he was not about to gain such a thing any time soon. His mind was too weak, for he had no easy idea as to what to do in order to loosen the shackles that Lord Hollander had put around him. It was a seemingly impossible situation, made all the worse now with the demand that he work against his friend in order to do Lord Hollander’s bidding.
Regency Engagements Box Set Page 22
