by Burke, Darcy
He could also tend to Halstead Manor. Everything he needed was right here before him. But, again, it wasn’t what he wanted. Without Arabella, none of it mattered. Brixton Park was a pile of stones. She was flesh and blood and the reason his heart was beating.
He worked to summon the words he needed to say. He reached for a cake again just as she reached for his hand. He startled, and the cake he’d just picked up went flying onto the floor.
They locked gazes for a moment, then began to laugh. It was ridiculous, but it felt quite good to let go of some emotion through laughter.
Graham knelt on the floor and found the cake beneath the table.
A sharp gasp from the doorway drew him and Lady Clifton to swivel their heads in unison toward the sound.
Like a dream become real, Arabella stood there gaping at them as the color completely drained from her face.
Chapter 16
She was too late. Arabella watched as they laughed together, looking so intimate at the small table overlooking the garden with the maze beyond. The next thing she knew, he was kneeling before Lady Clifton. Arabella had thought she was the one proposing. But maybe he’d known all along. Maybe that was why he’d given Arabella’s father the money. He didn’t need it. He knew salvation was his in the form of Lady Clifton.
“I’m interrupting,” Arabella said softly.
Graham jumped to his feet, knocking the table in his haste. Lemonade sloshed, and Lady Clifton grabbed two plates in an effort to keep them from tottering from the table. Wait, were those butter biscuits on one of the plates? He was eating those with Lady Clifton?
Arabella wanted to disappear into the floor. Or throw a plate of butter biscuits at his head. Both sounded equally pleasing.
“You aren’t,” Graham said. He glanced about, opening his mouth, then snapping it shut again. He seemed to realize she’d come, scandalously, alone. But then so had Lady Clifton, it seemed. However, she was allowed. Widows had much different rules.
Arabella looked toward Lady Clifton, who was sipping her lemonade. “It really looks as though I am. I understand you are to be congratulated. That’s why I came, actually.” It was, she hoped, a believable excuse.
She feared it wasn’t.
Particularly given the way his eyes narrowed in that skeptical fashion. “You came here to congratulate us?” Now his eyes widened. “You knew?”
She nodded, somewhat enjoying the look of shock on his duplicitous face. “Phoebe and Jane told me. I wanted to rush right over and offer my congratulations.” She looked from him to Lady Clifton. “Congratulations!”
The countess lifted her glass. “Thank you.”
As Arabella started to turn, Graham raced forward and clasped her arm. “Wait. There’s nothing to congratulate.” She peered at him in surprise. “Just…wait.” He gave her a firm stare, then turned and strode back to Lady Clifton.
He knelt again in front of her, and Arabella thought she might be sick, especially when he took the countess’s hand. “I deeply appreciate your generosity, and in another situation, we might have found happiness. However, I find myself in love with another, and I cannot accept your kind proposal.”
Lady Clifton flicked a glance toward Arabella before staring into Graham’s face with concern. “Miss Stoke? But she’s as penniless as you. You’ll lose Brixton Park.”
“It means nothing to me when compared with her. I would give a thousand Brixton Parks if it meant she would be my wife. I only hope it isn’t too late.” Graham looked toward Arabella, his beloved gaze warm and steady.
Arabella’s legs shook. She had to grasp the frame of the doorway to keep from swaying.
Graham let go of Lady Clifton’s hand and rose, turning to Arabella. His gaze told her everything he’d just said and more. They’d both been ridiculous fools.
Arabella walked toward him. “It’s not too late.”
“Thank God.” He rushed forward and took her in his arms, holding her tight against him.
Her lips found his, and she poured every drop of love she had into their kiss.
The sound of Lady Clifton coughing forced them apart—but Arabella didn’t let go of him, and he didn’t let go of her. He slid his arm around Arabella’s shoulders and held her snug to his side.
“My apologies, Lady Clifton,” Graham said. “I believe I am already betrothed.”
Arabella tightened her hold on his waist. “Yes, he is.”
Lady Clifton stood, her lips pursing. “This is disappointing.” She looked to Graham. “Jane and Phoebe insisted we would suit—and I agreed. They also led me to believe you were looking to wed, but apparently, you were only interested in my fortune.”
Graham flinched. “I am not proud of that,” he said quietly. “You deserve someone who will love you.”
“Yes, I do. Having had that already, I realize now I could never settle for less. A love match is worth, as you said, a thousand estates. I know that from experience,” she added softly, with a tinge of sadness.
“I won’t forget your kindness,” Graham said. “If I can ever be of service—to you or your son—I hope you’ll let me know.”
“That is most generous of you. However, I believe our association is concluded.” Lady Clifton sounded perhaps more than disappointed; she sounded annoyed. “I wish you the best.”
“We wish you the same,” Arabella said, hating that the countess felt used. Yet, she also felt relieved that she’d reached Graham before he and the countess had made a mistake that would have led to misery for all of them.
Lady Clifton inclined her head, then took her leave. She was scarcely gone from the room before Arabella turned toward Graham and he turned toward her. They both spoke at once.
“I am such a fool,” she said.
“I am a giant ass,” he said.
They startled, their gazes locking. Then they both smiled with relief and happiness.
Graham pulled her to his chest and brushed his lips against her forehead. “Oh, my dearest love, to think we almost walked headlong into disaster.”
She looked up at him in question. “I assumed you’d recovered your money as well as my father’s. Why didn’t you?”
He grimaced. “There was, in fact, no money. The sale of Brixton Park will provide what we both needed—the return of your father’s investment and a path for me to rebuild the ducal coffers.”
“You’re selling Brixton Park for us?” The question ended on a squeak. She couldn’t quite believe his selflessness. Only she could. That was absolutely the man she’d fallen in love with.
He nodded. “I meant what I said. I’d forfeit a thousand of them, more, if necessary, if it meant we could be together. Or, in this case, if it meant I could save you and your family. I didn’t think you wanted me.”
“You thought I wanted to be a spitfire.”
“Didn’t you?”
“Not as badly as I want to be your wife.” She stood on her toes and pressed her lips briefly to his. “Can I still be a spitfire?”
“My love, I wouldn’t have you any other way.” He clasped her back, his hands on her spine and the upper curve of her backside, and kissed her.
After a long moment, she eased her lips from his. “I love you, Graham.”
“I love you, Arabella.”
“I regret that Lady Clifton felt badly.”
“The blame is mine,” Graham said. “I should have been direct with her—and with Miss Lennox and Miss Pemberton—from the beginning.”
“And how would that have appeared?” Arabella asked. “You couldn’t have gone around telling people you were searching for an heiress.”
“Colton seemed to think I could. He said that plenty of women—or their fathers—would be interested in purchasing my title.”
It was true, of course. Arabella shook her head.
“I hate that you’re losing Brixton Park. I wish there was a way to save it.” A thought occurred to her. “How did you pay my father? You can’t have sold it yet.”
&n
bsp; He shook his head. “I have a loan from the Marquess of Ripley.”
“Can he be trusted? What of his cousin?”
“No one was more surprised than Ripley that Tibbord was actually his cousin Drobbit. He’s quite offended. I daresay Tibbord, Drobbit, whatever, won’t be harming anyone else with his schemes or by spreading gossip about people’s fortunes.”
She sucked in a breath. “He’s the one who told everyone we were destitute?” She clenched her jaw in anger. “From now on, I propose we call him the Swindler. He doesn’t deserve the right to have a name, let alone two.”
He gazed down at her in admiration and love. “My spitfire… You are quite correct.” He dropped another quick kiss on her mouth. “Now, must you return home immediately, or can I persuade you to take a tour of the upstairs?”
She gave him a sultry smile. “What part of the upstairs?”
“My bedchamber, of course.”
“You’re a naughty gentleman, Your Grace.”
Graham swept her into his arms. “I have it on good authority you like me that way.”
“I do indeed.” She curled her arms around his neck and kissed his jaw. “In fact, I love you that way.”
Then he took her upstairs and showed her just how naughty he could be.
Epilogue
Huntwell, Huntingdonshire
One month later
“He is so precious,” Arabella gazed down at David and Fanny’s son, and Graham hoped to see that same look on his wife’s face soon—when they welcomed their own child into the world. They weren’t expecting an arrival yet, but it wasn’t for lack of them trying…
“We wanted to ask if you would do us the honor of being Graham’s godparents,” David said from beside his wife, who was spending her first day away from her bedchamber.
Arabella looked over at them, but it was Graham who spoke. “You do us the honor,” he said softly. “Truly, I am overcome. You already named him after me.”
“I can think of no one finer,” David said. “With my father’s name in the middle,” he added.
“Are you sure you want me to be his godmother?” Arabella asked. She looked to Fanny. “I know you have a sister and close friends.”
Fanny gave her a warm smile. “We discussed it at length. Given the close relationship between your father and David’s, we really thought this was the perfect way to unify our families.”
Arabella gently swayed with the baby in her arms. “My father will be delighted.”
Mr. Stoke had been thrilled to welcome Graham into their family. And as a member of their family, Graham now knew how upset he’d been when David had failed to marry his daughter. Mr. Stoke had even admitted his disappointment was part of what led to some of his poor decisions. He was desperate to show that they didn’t need the Earl of St. Ives.
“Are you done with Brixton Park, then?” David asked.
Graham nodded. There was only a slight sense of loss, but he was too eager for what was yet to come to brood on the past. “We said goodbye before we came here to welcome young Graham.”
“I hope Ripley paid you enough,” David said.
Graham exchanged a look with Arabella. He’d paid too much, but they hadn’t been able to stop him. Plus, he’d invited Arabella and Graham to use it whenever and however they chose. “He was quite generous.”
“Good, you deserve that, especially given his cousin’s involvement.”
Graham had told David everything, and David had chastised him profusely for not asking for help, even as he understood the pesky issues of pride and self-reliance.
“Ghastly news about him,” Fanny said with a shudder.
“About who?” Arabella asked.
“You didn’t read the paper this morning?” David glanced toward a table where a newspaper lay.
“We may have overslept.” Or something. Graham traded another look with his wife, this one full of heat.
“Apparently, Drobbit was found dead a few days ago,” David said grimly. “Bullet straight through his heart.”
A cold sense of dread tripped up Graham’s spine. Again, he and Arabella looked toward each other. He gave his head an infinitesimal shake. They’d discuss it later.
Graham looked at David, his heart pounding. “He was murdered?”
“Seems so, though they don’t know the culprit. I imagine it will be the talk of London upon your return.”
They were due to go back in a few days, but Graham wondered if they should return sooner. Why? What could they possibly do? In fact, it might be wiser to increase their distance from Ripley. His reputation was bad enough, but now…
Fanny changed the course of the conversation to her friend, Lady Lavinia. She and her husband had welcomed a son a fortnight before. “And our other friend, Sarah, Lady Ware, will deliver soon—in the next few weeks to be sure.”
Sarah was Anthony Colton’s sister, of course, and mention of her brought Colton to Graham’s mind. Colton should probably move away from Ripley for a while. Their close friendship had become a focal point of the Season, along with Colton’s decline from eligible bachelor to unseemly rake. More often than not, he was seen gambling or suffering from excessive drink. He’d had a notorious assignation with a married woman a few weeks ago—they’d been caught in the act of fornication at a ball. It troubled Graham to see him fall so far, but he was utterly impervious to counsel. Still, Graham would try again, particularly where Ripley was concerned.
After a short time, young Graham began to fuss, and Fanny declared it was time for him to be changed and fed before her sister, the Duchess of Clare, arrived, which was due to happen shortly. Graham looked forward to meeting the Duke and Duchess, whom David had said were lovely people. He’d also noted that the Duke was a welcome ally for people like them—gentlemen who weren’t yet at ease in their positions. While David had expected his, he hadn’t been quite ready to embrace it when his father had died suddenly.
As soon as they were alone—David had escorted his wife and son upstairs—Arabella turned to Graham. “You don’t think Ripley—”
Graham didn’t want her to say it out loud. “I don’t know, but many will probably say he did.”
Her brow creased with concern. “If only they hadn’t fought in the park.”
Ripley and Drobbit had come to blows one day in Rotten Row. A number of gentlemen had heard Ripley tell his cousin that he should be lucky he wasn’t dead, and that if it were up to him, he would be. Add that to the countless comments Graham and Arabella had heard him make about regretting his cousin’s behavior and all the damage he’d caused, and it seemed at least possible he could be the one to have shot him.
It was also likely that any of the other men Drobbit had fleeced could have committed the crime. A few had come forward when an actual investigator had begun to look into Drobbit’s affairs—at Graham’s request and Ripley’s expense.
No, Graham didn’t want to think Ripley would have killed Drobbit. The marquess was a rake and more than a bit of a scoundrel, but he was, at his core, a decent person. Or so it seemed to Graham. Why else would he have supported the investigation of his cousin and purchased Brixton Park at such an exorbitant price?
Graham stood. “Come, let’s walk in the garden and put this from our minds for a while.” He held out his hand.
She put her fingers in his, and he still felt a jolt of excitement when they touched. He hoped it would always be that way and had to imagine it would. Every day, his love for her increased and his passion for their future grew.
Arabella curled her arm through his, and they made their way outside into the lovely spring day. Trees were filled with green, and flowers blossomed along the path. “I look forward to when we go to Halstead Manor. My mother’s letter was so descriptive of the gardens and all we could do to improve them.”
Her parents had traveled to Halstead Manor, where they planned to live in the dower house—as soon as it was made hospitable. Graham’s first order of business after selling Brixton
Park had been to hire a steward for the estate. He had sent Graham his preliminary report, and it was all Graham could do not to rush to Essex and bury himself in repairing the damage the last several dukes had done.
However, he still had duties in London, and they would stay in David’s town house for the remainder of the Season. “You sound excited to get there.” Graham looked askance at her with a smile.
“I am, because we’re getting a dog. Or two.”
Graham laughed. They’d discussed the need for canine companionship. It was just a question of how many. “I am amazed that the secret of a happy life is love, butter biscuits, and a dog.”
“Or two,” she repeated. “I’m excited to be wherever you are. And to rebuild Halstead Manor together.”
He was excited for that too. “There is no one I’d rather have at my side.”
They were a good distance from the house and from prying eyes, in the shade of a large maple tree. She pivoted into his embrace, wrapping her arms around his neck. “Good, because you’re stuck with me.”
“Forever,” he whispered against her lips.
“And ever,” she murmured just before he kissed her.
Want to find out if the Marquess of Ripley killed his cousin? And if Phoebe can heal the hole in his heart? Don’t miss the next book in The Spitfire Society series, A DUKE IS NEVER ENOUGH, coming in February 2020.
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Thank you so much for reading Never Have I Ever with a Duke. It’s the first book in The Spitfire Society series. I hope you enjoyed it!
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