Hind shrugged and put a spoonful in his mouth. “I have things well in hand here, should you wish to return to London. There’s no need for you to stay. We’ve had everything in place for months only waiting on the land. I’m still not sure how you managed such a thing.” He frowned as he chewed. “Good God, you’re right.”
Rowan had been avoiding London. At first, he’d been so angry with Arabella his only thought had been to get as far away from her as possible. He’d left her a terse note only saying he’d gone away on business. He hadn’t trusted himself to speak to her. As the weeks slid by and he attempted to bury himself in the rail project and renovating the mills, Rowan was able to view things with more objectivity. He thought back to her reasons for involving herself with Corbett in the first place, the anger towards her brother and Jemma. It was easy to see how in a fit of pique she would agree to such a thing as marriage. Arabella wished to lash out, hurting those around her as she’d been hurt.
Knowing her as he did, Rowan could see all of it so clearly. Arabella nearly paid for her bitterness with a marriage to Corbett. Even knowing her motivation, the sense of betrayal he felt would not dissipate. She’d lied to him and he had yet to forgive her.
“Perhaps after the survey is completed,” Rowan said.
Petra had implored Rowan to return more than once. His mother, in particular, wished him home, her joy blatant at the estrangement between he and Arabella, though she didn’t know the cause. Mother was hosting a ball in Petra’s honor to celebrate his sister’s birthday and what she hoped would be an offer from Lord Dunning.
After finishing their stew, he and Hind walked back to the small cottage Rowan rented to share a drink and further discuss the clearing of Tidwell’s land. He lit a cheroot, blowing smoke into the late afternoon air and debated his return to London.
“Looks like London has found you, Malden.” Hind nodded towards the large, expensive coach and matched horses sitting outside the cottage. Four large footmen in livery and the driver stood around the vehicle.
Damn. Rowan didn’t need to see the coat of arms on the door to know who was probably sitting in the small parlor sipping his scotch.
Hind’s eyes widened as the crest came into view. “I believe I’ll pass on your offer of the drink my lord, as it appears you’ve a visitor.”
“I’ll see you tomorrow as we start the survey.” Rowan shook his hand and watched Hind walk off in the direction of the boarding house. Nodding to the footmen and driver he entered the cottage, irritated at the invasion of Surrey by the Duke of Dunbar.
His Grace sat in the parlor, his overlarge form massive in the tiny space. A chair groaned beneath his big frame. A glass of scotch dangled from one hand as if he’d nothing better to do than come to Surrey to interrogate Rowan.
“Your Grace.” Rowan greeted his brother-in-law. He had no desire to discuss Arabella with Nick.
His Grace raised a brow at his tone. “I helped myself. I didn’t think you’d mind. The chair, however, is not happy with my presence. It’s quite ancient. I’m sure the legs are about to give at any time.”
“I didn’t realize you were coming to visit, Your Grace. I can give you a tour of the land if you wish, but the survey has not been completed.”
“Nick.” He frowned. “You are a member of my family and I’ve given you leave to use my Christian name several times. I may be a duke but I’m feeling rather ‘your graced’ to death as of late.” His mismatched eyes held a speculative look. “And I’m not here to view our investment, as well you know.”
“Here to meddle then?” The Duke of Dunbar was known to arrange people and events to his satisfaction. The habit was incredibly annoying.
“I do not meddle.” He sounded offended.
A small bark of laughter left Rowan. “Jemma compares you to an elderly matron of the ton with your machinations.”
A pained look crossed the duke’s face. “She has confessed everything to me, Malden. I wish she had done so at the first. I underestimated the extent of my sister’s anger which was more directed at me than anyone. Bella is very complicated, which of course, doesn’t excuse her behavior.”
“No, it does not,” Rowan said in a quiet voice. “She should have told me.”
“Given your dislike of her at the time, she felt certain you would leave her to Corbett.” A growl came from Nick.
“I never disliked her.” Rowan wasn’t afraid of the man before him, even though nearly everyone else in London was. “I’ve always wanted her.” He gave the duke a hard look. “Does that surprise you? But she should have told me instead of allowing herself to be blackmailed and leaving me to feel the fool.”
“Is that why you left? Because you feel foolish?”
“I needed a moment to think. I cannot be objective in London.”
“What will you do?” The chair creaked loudly as Nick tried to get more comfortable.
Rowan walked to the sideboard and poured a large scotch. He took a sip before replying. “I plan to renovate the mills while the rail is being laid.” He’d been pondering that very thing. What would he do about Arabella?
“Am I sending her back to Wales or to the Continent? If she is to go to the Continent the preference is Italy, though I’m not sure why. She’s never particularly cared for the Italians, but she has expressed a desire to paint.”
“Neither.” Rowan’s heart thudded dully. “And she lacks the patience to study painting.” He didn’t care for the thought of Arabella being so far from him. Hell, Surrey was too far.
“Will you seek a divorce? Or an annulment? You can claim she married you under false pretenses.” The larger man shifted again, and his lips grew tight. “I will not stand in your way nor claim displeasure. I suppose I could send her to Scotland. A convent stands on my holdings there.”
Rowan snorted. “She’d be terrorizing the nuns within a week. Even I would not punish innocents in such a way. I appreciate your counsel however unnecessary it is.” He’d never truly considered a more permanent solution to his estrangement from Arabella. The thought of divorcing or annulling his marriage in spite of the ugly words he’d hurled at her, was inconceivable. He’d come to that conclusion a week after he left London.
“My sister is an awful person.”
“She isn’t,” Rowan murmured. “Or at the very least, she isn’t anymore. And she’s my wife. If anyone knows what Arabella is, it is me. I will decide her fate, not you, Your Grace.”
If Nick was shocked by his words, he gave no indication. He nodded and stood, an oddly sympathetic look on his face. “I’ll see myself out, Rowan.”
“Safe journey back to London, Nick. Give my love to Jemma.” He said the last over his shoulder at he moved back to the sideboard to refill his glass. He watched through the parlor window, as the Duke of Dunbar’s coach pulled away. The argument between his head and his heart battled inside him.
He would leave for London the day after tomorrow.
41
“Dear God, I never pictured you moping about looking as if you would perish from despair.”
Arabella turned from her contemplation of the rain-soaked gardens to face her sister-in-law, Her Grace, the Duchess of Dunbar. Unfortunately, she was in no mood for sparring although it held a certain appeal. Now that she felt certain Rowan meant to discard her, Arabella wasn’t disposed to being polite to any member of his family.
“Hello Jem.” She used her brother’s nickname for his wife knowing how it angered her sister-in-law. “Come to gloat?”
Jemma cocked a brow and looked for a spot in which to seat her ever-increasing form. Her eyes alit on the couch. “Partially.”
“How did you get in without being announced?” Arabella wished to be left alone to contemplate her fate. No word from Rowan in weeks, though she had a vague idea he was in Surrey somewhere. It wasn’t unusual for married couples to lead separate lives, but their estrangement so soon after the wedding and before an heir was produced caused a significant amount of gossip. La
dy Marsh must be skipping around making calls on every acquaintance she had in London to cheerfully spread the news.
“I’m a duchess. No one denies me entry.” Jemma patted her stomach in the most annoying way. “I’ve come to speak to you about the celebration of Petra’s birthday.”
“Pregnancy has addled you.” Arabella gave a short laugh. “I’ve no intention of attending anything in honor of Petra. Why would I? Aren’t you afraid Precious Perfect Petra will be scandalized by my presence? Certainly, your aunt will not wish me there.”
“Can you ring for tea? I’m starving.” Jemma gave the small mound another pat. “Hopefully your cook has made something with chocolate.” She gave Arabella a hard look. “Stop your pacing and sit down. And regardless of the circumstances, you are still Rowan’s wife and to avoid such an event would only make things worse.”
Arabella shot her a look of dislike deliberately ignoring her request.
“There have been several references in the society pages,” Jemma said carefully. “You are taking the papers are you not?”
Arabella looked away. “Yes.” The papers had been full of thinly veiled references that an annulment was in the works over the rather unfortunate marriage of Lady Arabella to Lord Malden. “They say my brother coerced Rowan and he, being terrified of Nick. and being an honorable gentleman, agreed to the marriage under duress.”
Jemma snorted. “That’s rich. Rowan is not nearly as honorable as he appears. Nor is he particularly terrified of Nick.” She put a finger to her lip. “I’ve always found it odd he isn’t. At any rate, I surmised at first Rowan allowed the betrothal to you merely to annoy my aunt and avoid Lady Gwendolyn.” Dislike flashed across her face. “I don’t particularly care for Gwendolyn. Shallow. Insipid. Made several rude comments about my husband.” Jemma gave her a pointed look. “Please ring for tea before I waste away.”
“We finally agree on something, Jem. I don’t care for her either.” Arabella rang for tea wishing Jemma would get to the point of her visit. “Although I think Lady Gwendolyn is exactly who Rowan should be with. She’s rather perfect for him.” Arabella bit her lip. “I assume he will request an annulment and claim I deceived him. Which I did.”
“Had you wed Corbett you would not have been married very long,” her sister-in-law said with certainty. “I would have shot him myself if no one else did.”
“A duchess should have better decorum than to go around brandishing pistols.” Arabella rebuked her. “Rowan deserves better than to be saddled to me. He should be married to a woman not riddled with the dislike of society. One who is flawless and possessed of a pleasing disposition. I am bitter and damaged with few redeeming qualities. You above everyone know that to be true. Jem.”
“My God, Arabella, do you hear yourself? You are wallowing in self-pity.” Jemma tried to resettle her form. “If you don’t gather some backbone then it would be best for you to be sent away. Possibly Australia.”
Arabella’s hands clenched. She had the worst desire to box Jemma’s ears no matter she was with child.
“True, my aunt doesn’t care for you. But you are making a mistake in assuming she is in control of this situation.” She sighed in relief as the tea cart was rolled in. “Oh, Thank God. Finally.”
“You’ll grow to be enormous if you keep eating. Like a giant ball of butter.”
Jemma shot her an ugly look. “If you’ve been paying the least bit of attention you would know my cousin values imperfection. He seems to like a dour personality. Unpleasantness. The ability to empty a room with only a sneer. In short, you.” Jemma placed several small sandwiches on a plate and proceeded to eat them with relish.
Arabella’s hand twitched into her skirts. Jemma’s words had stirred the briefest flicker of hope. “Why are you saying these things to me?”
Jemma eyed the teacakes. “Where is the dress?”
Arabella felt the blood drain from her face. “Excuse me?”
“The crimson dress. The color chosen especially for you. He loves you in red. Who do you think went with him? Me.”
Arabella’s mouth popped open at the words. “Surely not.”
“I was shocked as well. I reminded him of our mutual dislike. But, as it turns out, it was fortuitous I accompanied him to Madame Moliere’s. He would have forgotten the matching gloves had I not reminded him. Though Rowan needed little prodding to remember the…underthings that went with the gown. Oh, Arabella, I’d no idea.”
Arabella reddened. “There was also a necklace. Did you assist with that purchase as well?”
“No. My cousin knows his baubles.” Another sandwich found its way into her hands. “May I be blunt, Arabella?”
“Dear God, please. I grow exhausted watching you eat the entire contents of the tea tray. I expect you to burst at any moment.” Arabella’s nerves already on edge from Jemma’s visit were stretched taut.
“I’m trying to help you. Though you don’t deserve my kindness. Rest assured I still dislike you. I’m doing this for Rowan, whom I love dearly.”
“Thank you for clearing that up,” Arabella sputtered back. An ache was beginning behind her temples.
Jemma stood and brushed a few stray crumbs from her skirts. “All of life is a gamble, Arabella. If you want Rowan, you must fight for him. Petra’s party is in two days and she’s already written to her brother he must be there. Gwendolyn will be in attendance and telling anyone who will listen you are to be discarded in her favor. Do you really wish to relinquish Rowan to that pea-wit?”
“No.” The words cut to the quick. She wasn’t about to let go of her husband so easily.
“Wear the dress and demand his attention.” Jemma snatched the remaining sandwich off the tray. “Arabella, he was caught off guard when Barker approached him. Yes, he was incredibly angry and disgusted with what you almost did. As we all were. But,” Jemma gave a great sigh, “even I concede that you are not the same person who made such a poor decision.”
Arabella looked down at her hands as her sister-in-law raised herself off the couch and waddled to the door. She looked over her shoulder at Arabella.
“Do not let love go so easily.”
42
Arabella paced towards her dressing room and halted at the sight of the crimson ballgown left where Edith had hung it. She shook her head, walking back into her bedroom.
“I can’t do such a thing,” she muttered out loud. “What if he rejects me outright? Gives me the cut direct in front of everyone?”
What if he doesn’t?
She spun about and headed back to the dressing room. Since Jemma’s visit, Arabella had done nothing but consider her sister-in-law’s suggestion. Wear the red dress. Attend Petra’s ball. Seduce Rowan.
But what if he no longer wants me?
Chewing on her fingernail, Arabella considered her options. She was a woman of action and rather rash decisions on occasion. Not always with the best outcome.
She shot another look at the ballgown. Could a man who didn’t want her have chosen such a dress for her? Or the undergarments that went with it?
She looked again to the door separating her rooms from Rowan’s and walked slowly towards it. Lowering her hand, she threw the lock with a soft click and swung open the door.
The faint smell of leather and tobacco invaded her nostrils along with a clean masculine scent that was all Rowan’s. She inhaled deeply almost feeling his arms around her. Walking to the enormous bed, she ran her fingers over the dark blue coverlet, remembering the nights spent on this bed naked, her body wrapped around his. A book lay on the side table, a piece of leather sticking out to mark the reader’s last page. The tome was Mr. Faraday’s, the gift she’d brought him from Thrumbadge’s. He’d been reading excerpts out loud and debating the finer points with her wearing his dressing robe and nothing else before their estrangement.
Arabella clutched a hand to her stomach, feeling his loss keenly. For the first few days after their argument she’d thought he would return to the hous
e, but instead he fled to Surrey, so repulsed by her he couldn’t bear the sight of her. She’d survived for twenty-six years without him and could certainly continue with her life, she’d finally convinced herself. She could start afresh and move to the Continent. Maybe America, although the accent grated on her ears.
But none of those things would stop her from missing Rowan.
The thought of approaching her husband at Petra’s ball in what was essentially hostile territory was rather daunting. While she was assured he would attend the celebration for his sister, he’d not sent word to the servants to ready his chambers, nor sent her a note that he would return. He did not mean to come home to her. He had not forgiven her.
“He cannot just discard me.” Her hands clenched. “I will not allow him to do so. Not without a fight.” Jemma, though Arabella was loath to admit it, was correct. If Arabella wanted her husband, she would need to convince him of her sincerity. The alternative was to relinquish Rowan and make plans to leave London; Arabella was far too possessive to give in so easily.
Full of resolve she stalked back to her room and closed the door behind her. She purposefully did not lock it. Grabbing the bell pull she rang for Edith and a bath.
It was time for Arabella to claim her husband.
* * *
“What do you mean she’s not here?”
Rowan was tired, dusty and needed to see his wife. The journey from Surrey had taken far too long, or perhaps it was only his own impatience which made it seem so. After the Duke of Dunbar left Surrey, Rowan had done nothing but try to reconcile his disappointment in what he viewed as her betrayal with his feelings for her. It was unfair for Rowan to punish the woman she was now for the mistakes made as the unpleasant girl she’d been. And he didn’t wish to spend the rest of his life missing her. The last few weeks felt as if he’d lost part of his soul.
Wickedly Yours (The Wickeds Book 4) Page 24