To Pleasure a Lady (26 page)

Returning to his desk, he snatched up his letter, then turned on his heel and crossed to the door. Flinging it open, he strode forcefully from the room without looking at her again, leaving a profound silence in his wake.

Swaying, Arabella moved over to a chair and sank down, her hand held to her breastbone, where a relentless fist squeezed her chest. She wouldn't let herself believe what Marcus had claimed, even though a part of her dearly longed for it to be true.

I love you. I want to marry you and to have children with you. I want to spend the rest of my days with you, making you happy.

The remembrance made her throat ache—

Stop this ridiculous sentiment at once!
Arabella berated herself. Marcus didn't love her. He had walked out without attempting to change her mind, without even demanding to play out the final day of their wager. How powerful could his feelings for her be if he hadn't even bothered to argue with her?

She had wanted to argue with him. She had wanted to call him back and tell him how she felt for him.

At the painful wrench of her heart, Arabella squeezed her eyes shut. What idiocy! She should be glad she had deliberately sent him away before she risked even greater hurt than last time. Yet no amount of rational logic could explain the dreadful ache inside her, the hollow sense of devastation.

Trembling, Arabella wrapped her arms around herself. What was wrong with her? It was absurd to feel moisture burning in her eyes. Absurd and deplorable. She
despised
tears. Other than to mourn her father's passing, she had never cried during the terrible scandals her parents had caused. She had borne the painful loss of her mother and the public repudiation by her betrothed without once giving in to tears. She had stoically endured the humiliation, the rejection and poverty that had followed. So why did she feel so desperately like crying now? She was free of Marcus. She should be overjoyed that the threat was over.

Yet it seemed an empty, bitter victory.

It was then that she heard Lily's muttered oath behind her. “Did the earl make you
cry,
Belle? I swear, I will draw and quarter him!”

Arabella dashed frantically at her eyes and summoned a weak laugh as she looked up at her youngest sister. “It is not ladylike to swear, Lily. And it is certainly not polite to threaten to dismember an earl.”

“I don't give a fig! I will murder him for hurting you.”

Easing Lilian aside, Roslyn bent over Arabella and took her hand. “She doesn't mean it. It is just that we hate to see you in such pain.”

“I will get over it.”

I
will
! Arabella vowed fiercely, although she knew it would be a long time before it happened, if ever.

Chapter Seventeen

Can I believe Marcus when he says he loves me? Do I dare to trust in love again?

—Arabella to Fanny

Dismayingly, the pain did not relent. Nearly a full week after Marcus's acrimonious departure, Arabella still felt the residual effects, despite her every effort to the contrary.

The weather on this Saturday afternoon was perfect—lazy and bright with sunshine—and yet a stark contrast to Arabella's dour mood. The academy's pupils were enjoying an outing at the Freemantle estate, some playing Pall Mall on the lawns with Roslyn, others rowing boats on the ornamental lake, supervised by Tess and Lily, and still others plucking flowers from the gardens and making wreaths to adorn their hair and bonnets under the guidance of Jane Caruthers. A sumptuous tea would follow later, held under the elm trees and presided over by Lady Freemantle.

Arabella took little pleasure in the treat, however. Instead, she withdrew to the shade of an elm, where she could nurse her melancholy in private and halfheartedly watch the frolic on the lake. When the girls began playing tag with the rowboats, splashing each other and frequently erupting in shrieks of delighted laughter, she was surprised that Tess Blanchard joined in.

Arabella roused herself from her morose thoughts long enough to smile. It was good to see Tess laughing and enjoying life for a change, since she'd been in mourning for the past two years. Before her engagement had ended with the death of her betrothed in the terrible Battle of Waterloo, no one had been more lively and high-spirited than Tess. That she was now showing some of her once customary gaiety suggested that she finally had resolved to rejoin the living.

Perhaps a quarter hour later, Tess tore herself away from the lake battle and made her way, breathless with laughter, to where Arabella sat all alone.

“I have come to recruit you to our side, Arabella,” Tess said, extending her hands down as if to pull Arabella to her feet. “We need you for reinforcements.”

Arabella returned a wan smile. “Thank you, but I have no desire to become drenched, as you are. I endured more than enough soaking last week when I chased after Sybil in an atrocious thunderstorm.”

Tess cast an amused glance over her shoulder to eye Sybil, who was primly wandering the gardens under the strict dictates of Lady Freemantle. “Your sacrifice was obviously worthwhile. Sybil's reputation was saved along with our academy's. Even better, she is so disquieted by the possibility of being expelled that her behavior has become perfectly angelic. I vow I don't recognize her anymore.” Tess returned her attention to Arabella. “Come now, the sun is warm enough to dry your gown quickly. I won't allow you to mope on such a glorious day.”

When Arabella refused to respond, Tess frowned and sank down to sit on the grass beside her. “What is wrong, dearest? You have been perfectly miserable ever since Lord Danvers left for London.”

Wincing, she looked away. It was vexing to admit how wretched she'd felt since Marcus left. She had hoped her life would return to normal, but her hopes had proved futile, since everywhere she turned, she found reminders of him. Her misery was compounded by the fact that she hadn't heard a word from him
or
his solicitors in all that time.

“Perhaps I am sickening with an ague,” Arabella prevaricated.

Tess gave her a penetrating look. “Perhaps you are lovesick.”

Unable to deny the charge, she returned a humorless laugh. “Is my condition so obvious?”

“Your unhappiness is obvious, at least.” Tess's gaze searched her face. “But are you certain it is love you feel for him, Arabella, and not just a powerful physical attraction? It isn't merely infatuation?”

She had little doubt of her feelings for Marcus, Arabella reflected, but it would be good to talk about her dilemma with someone who could understand. Tess knew about true love, since she had been sincerely in love with her betrothed. “I believe it is love, but how does one tell?”

Her friend's gaze grew thoughtful. “The signs are usually recognizable. When you love a man, he becomes the center of your world. You yearn to be with him, and when you are not, he is constantly on your mind. He brightens your day. His simplest touch sparks passion in you…a tender look fires a warmth in your heart. Life feels
empty
without him.” Tess paused. “Is that how you feel about Lord Danvers, Arabella?”

Gazing down at her clasped fingers, Arabella nodded. That was
precisely
how she felt about Marcus, including the emptiness. Since he'd been gone, the hollow feeling inside her chest was a relentless ache that wouldn't go away.

“You miss him sorely, don't you?” Tess prodded in a sympathetic tone.

“Yes.” She missed him dreadfully.

“So what do you intend to do about it?”

Arabella gave a helpless laugh. “I don't know.”

“Do you think he might love you in return?” Tess asked.

“He claimed he does.”

Tess stared. “Lord Danvers actually told you he loves you?”

“Yes…last week, just after we returned from rescuing Sybil. But I wouldn't believe him. I feared he was just saying so to persuade me to accept his proposal.”

Her friend hesitated. “Arabella, he doesn't strike me as the kind of man to declare his love without meaning it. I doubt he has ever made such a confession to any other woman.”

“No, I suspect not.”

“So how did you respond to his declaration?”

She flushed at the memory. “I'm afraid I panicked. That was the moment I realized I loved him, and I was suddenly terrified. I told Marcus that I had won the wager and wouldn't marry him. That he would be better off leaving at once.”

“So that is why he left Danvers Hall? You drove him away?”

“Yes.”

“Well,” Tess said slowly, “it is not too late to mend matters. Not if you love each other.”

The stab of panic returned to lodge in Arabella's chest. “But that is the problem, don't you see? I can't be certain of his love. And even if he does love me a little now, how do I know his feelings will last? There is nothing more hurtful than loving someone and not being loved in return. I know because I have experienced it.”

Tess shook her head. “Viscount Underwood was clearly not worthy of your love, but I believe Lord Danvers is. You must think so too, or you would never have allowed your affection to go so far. Isn't that so?”

“Yes.”

“Do you love him as much as you loved Underwood?”

“Much more.” Her love for Marcus was far stronger than her first love had ever been, which meant the devastation would be far greater if it turned out to be one-sided.

“Then perhaps you should accept his proposal,” Tess said.

Arabella sent her friend a despairing glance. “Marriage would only make any disparity worse. My mother loved my father initially, and look where their marriage ended.”

“But from everything you have told me, your parents were a terrible mismatch. You and Lord Danvers are much better suited.”

“Why do you say so?”

Tess smiled. “I have seen you together, the way you are with him. The way you look at each other. A fire lights in your eyes when you look at him, did you know?”

It was Arabella's turn to stare.

Tess went on. “As surprised as I am to admit this, I think he could be the ideal match for you. You would always keep him challenged and interested, and he would do the same for you.”

Arabella shook her head in denial. “I cannot be sure of that.”

“No, I suppose you cannot. But we can never be sure of anything in life, Arabella. And the chance for love is worth the risk of being hurt. Do you really want to give up hope for your future because of what happened in the past?”

Twisting her fingers in her lap, Arabella looked away. Marcus had accused her of letting fear rule her, and she knew it was true; she feared being hurt again. But she was already hurting dreadfully. How could the pain be any greater than what she felt right now?

When she remained silent, Tess asked quietly, “If you could be certain he loved you, would you marry him?”

“Yes,” she finally murmured.

Tess sighed. “Well, you will have to decide for yourself, but I don't think you will be happy without him. And I don't think he will wait forever for you to make up your mind.” Climbing to her feet, she gazed down at Arabella, her voice softening. “I believe you should take the risk and accept his proposal, Arabella. True love is too precious to waste. I would give anything to have that chance again.”

Turning away, Tess left Arabella struggling with her warring emotions.

True love is too precious to waste
. If that was so, then she would be an utter fool to let her fear of being hurt again prevent her from seeking happiness with Marcus.

         

Wanting privacy to settle her agitated thoughts, Arabella departed early for home before the tea even began, leaving her sisters and Tess to supervise the event. When she reached the Hall and spied a carriage bearing the Danvers crest standing in the drive, her heart leapt. Marcus had returned!

She tried to keep her eagerness under control as she drove the gig around to the stables and turned it over to a groom, yet she found herself hurrying toward the house.

Simpkin met her in the corridor to take her spencer and bonnet and to announce a visitor. “Lady Loring has called, Miss Arabella.”

Arabella froze, not certain she had heard correctly. “My
mother
is here?”

“Yes. I have put her in the small salon.”

She felt the color drain from her face. When she swayed dizzily, Simpkin instantly became concerned. “Are you unwell, Miss Arabella?”

“No…. I am just…surprised.” Although
shocked, dismayed, bewildered
were more descriptive of her feelings.

To think her mother had come to call after all this time. What in heaven's name did she want? And where had she come from? Four years ago Victoria had reportedly fled with her lover to the coast of Brittany in France, near Brest, when Britain was still at war with France. Travel was perilous and any communication between the two countries was unpredictable at best. But they'd heard nothing more about her, not even after the long war ended with Napoleon's abdication the following year.

Her footsteps hesitant, Arabella walked slowly down the corridor to the salon and paused on the threshold to observe the familiar stranger seated on the settee.

She was unmistakably a lady, fair-haired and elegant. In looks, Victoria most resembled Roslyn, with the same golden delicacy and aristocratic bearing. And she was still quite beautiful. Even though she had borne three children and endured a scandalous widowhood, the years had been kind to her.

At the sight of her, a chaos of emotions flooded Arabella, along with a rush of painful memories. Then Victoria looked up, her expression hesitant, vulnerable…even fearful.

Reflexively, Arabella felt her hands clench with anger and bittersweet happiness. She had never forgiven her mother for abandoning her and her sisters and leaving them mired in scandal. And yet some part of her was overjoyed to see Victoria again.

Trying to remain calm, Arabella entered the room but kept her distance. When her mother simply watched her warily, she broke the taut silence. “What brings you here, Mama?”

“You, of course,” came the quiet answer. “I wanted to know how my daughters are faring.”

Arabella couldn't keep the bitterness from her voice. “After four years without even a word, you suddenly care how we are faring?”

“I have always cared. It is wonderful to see you again, Arabella.” Victoria patted the seat cushion beside her. “Will you come and sit with me?”

“I prefer to stand, thank you.”

A small, sad smile twisted her mother's mouth. “I knew you would not forgive me. I told him so.”

“Him?”

Victoria sighed. “Lord Danvers.”

Arabella's brow furrowed. “What does he have to say to the matter?”

“He is the reason I am here. His lordship sent a ship to France this week to escort me home to England. His secretary met me in Dover yesterday, and his carriage brought me here today.”

Marcus had hunted down her mother in France? Arabella wondered, a little stunned. “Whatever for?”

“Because he has hopes that I can reconcile with my daughters. At the very least, he is determined that I explain…and apologize to you for what I did.”

Her eyes widened as she stared at her mother. “What explanation could you possibly give that would excuse abandoning your children the heartless way you did? You walked out of our lives, Mama, without even a single word of farewell, and then left us to deal with Papa's death all alone.”

“I am so very sorry, Arabella.”

Her mouth tightened. “Isn't it a bit late for apologies? It all happened a long time ago, so I'm not certain there is any point in even discussing it.”