His hat clutched in her red hands, Elsa peered at Dorothy.
“Place it on the table, Elsa. That will do nicely,” Dorothy suggested, wincing as Elsa’s fingers crushed the brim.
The maid did as she was told, glanced once more at Lord Arundell, gazed at Dorothy, and then, as if fearful of being asked to perform any additional difficult tasks, she skittered away down the hallway.
Dorothy smiled as she caught Lord Arundell’s amused gaze. “I apologize, my lord. Elsa is very busy these days.”
The excuse was actually quite accurate. Her uncle still had not hired a butler, and the lack of either a butler or footman grew more noticeable each day. Mrs. Jolly simply refused to go anywhere near the front door any more in a subtle attempt to force her employers to hire the required servant. So far, her strategy had failed to gain the desired effect.
Stepping to one side, Dorothy gestured to the sweeping staircase. “Do you wish to visit my aunt? I believe she is in the drawing room on the first floor.”
A clattering footstep sounded from the staircase.
Cecilia stood on the first floor landing, looking like a pale ghost hovering in the grainy gray light. When she caught Dorothy’s gaze, she turned and fled into the shadows. Her footsteps grew fainter as she raced upstairs, presumably back to her bedchamber on the second floor.
Lord Arundell’s brows rose. He cleared his throat.
“I was just going to speak to Aunt Mary,” Dorothy said, draping her light shawl through the crook of her left arm and pretending Cecilia had never appeared. “Would you care to join us?”
“You appear to be about to go for a walk,” he commented as he followed her to the staircase.
She laughed. “I’m unforgivably fickle, I’m afraid. I changed my mind in the two minutes it took me to come down the stairs. I was just going to hand Elsa my shawl when you knocked.”
His lopsided smile indicated that he saw right through her flimsy lie, but in opposition to Cecilia’s unfair assessment, he was kind enough to make no acerbic comment.
When they reached the drawing room, Dorothy was disconcerted to find that her aunt was not alone. Aunt Mary was industriously working on her sewing near the window, but right next to her sat Uncle Cyril, reading a book.
Uncle Cyril glanced up when Dorothy ushered Lord Arundell through the doorway. He frowned and shut his book. His frown deepened as he turned to stare at his wife.
As if sensing his gaze, Aunt Mary looked at him and then at the door.
“Dorothy! Oh, is that Lord Arundell?” Aunt Mary stood, placing her sewing on the small oval table next to her chair. “Do come in and sit, my lord! It is such a pleasure to see you. Dorothy, ring for Elsa to bring us some tea—there’s a good girl.”
Dorothy did as requested. After Elsa went to fetch the tea, Dorothy hesitated near the door, unsure if she should stay or leave.
Her aunt settled the matter, however, with alarming firmness. She ordered Dorothy to drag yet another chair over to the group by the window and sit down. With the flash of his familiar lopsided grin, Lord Arundell rose and stepped between Dorothy and the chair. He picked it up and positioned it near his own before gesturing for Dorothy to sit.
“Thank you,” she murmured. She was just seating herself when she caught her uncle’s frown. She gripped the arms of the chair, nearly standing again.
Black brows lowered, Uncle Cyril’s mouth thinned. His hands squeezed his book more tightly. His mouth opened and then shut, his jaw muscles bulging. Clearly, he would have preferred for her to leave, but he remained silent—even if it was a silence simmering with irritation.
Dorothy glanced at her aunt, fearing she might change her mind in view of her husband’s disapproval.
Aunt Mary smiled back at her and nodded. “This is excellent! I am so pleased that we have both of you here.” Aunt Mary’s bright eyes flickered from Dorothy to Lord Arundell. “So exciting!” She leaned forward to touch the arm of Dorothy’s chair.
“Mary!” Uncle Cyril said in a low voice portentous with warning. He scowled at his wife.
Aunt Mary ignored him. “Lord Arundell is doing our family such a great honor, Dorothy, and he has such an important question to ask you.” She sat back abruptly and covered her mouth with her hand in a dramatic gesture. Her eyes widened. “Oh, dear.” Laughing, she shook her head. “I could never keep a secret—I am so sorry, dearest Dorothy—I meant for Lord Arundell to tell you, himself. Or rather, ask you.”
Dorothy glanced from her aunt to Lord Arundell, her icy hands stiff in her lap.
Waves of frustration and anger rolled off of her uncle, though he remained silent. He glowered at his wife, his knuckles whitening as he gripped his book.
“May I tell her, Lord Arundell?” Aunt Mary clasped her hands in an exaggeratedly imploring gesture.
“I wish you would,” he replied in a dry voice.
Aunt Mary flashed a triumphant smile at her husband before leaning forward again. She grabbed the arm of Dorothy’s chair. “Lord Arundell has requested your hand in marriage, Dorothy! Say yes—oh, do, say yes!”
Numbness settled over Dorothy. Her thoughts scattered like elusive mice in a field. She didn’t know how she felt, despite knowing that this question might be coming. Or fearing that she might be asked.
“Dorothy, it is quite unnecessary to answer now, if you would rather not,” Uncle Cyril announced. Flicking a grim look at his wife, he added, “And we shall all quite understand if you wish to decline. No one would blame you—no one at all.”
She glanced at him, surprised and touched by his support. “No—yes,” she whispered at last, startled at her own response. At least Cecilia would be relieved. And there would be no question of Grace sacrificing herself, instead. Or Cecilia, for that matter. It was the right thing to do. Her heart pounded. In a firmer voice, she repeated, “Yes, I would be honored, my lord.”
Uncle Cyril stood up abruptly, surprising them all. He slammed his book down on top of Aunt Mary’s sewing. “I had not expected such a poor—that is, such an answer. Well, the matter is settled then. I trust it will be to everyone’s satisfaction.” He made the statement sound as if satisfaction was the last thing everyone would eventually feel. Clearly, his wife had outmaneuvered him in the selection of Lord Arundell’s bride. His compressed mouth and wrinkled brow revealed his bitterness over his defeat all too clearly. “Now, if you will excuse me, I have other matters to which I must attend.”
Glowing with a broad smile, Aunt Mary nodded. “Of course, my dear. I am sure we can do without you for an hour or so. Is that not so, my lord?” When her husband had gone, she settled back in her chair. “You will want a quick, private wedding, of course, my lord. Our dear Miss Stainton is in mourning—she so recently lost her father, after all. But despite her grief, I am sure that being settled will be a marvelous relief for her. Her future is assured, now, and there is nothing more to worry over.” She leaned over and patted Dorothy’s arm. “Is there, my dear?”
“Is there not?” One of Lord Arundell’s dark brows rose. He exchanged glances with Dorothy and gave her an imperceptible shrug.
“Of course not. Although she has been extraordinarily brave, I am sure she must admit that it is never the best of circumstances when one is dependent upon the goodwill of others—even if those others are family. Is that not so, Dorothy?” Aunt Mary asked with a complacent smile.
“I suppose so,” Dorothy replied, feeling ill. A quick wedding? How quick? I barely know him!
Her heart thudded against her ribs. Doubts swirled around her now that she’d given her answer. What had she done? What if Cecilia’s fears were not entirely groundless?
After all, what did she really know of him?
“Not that we wish to lose you so soon, Dorothy. However, I’m persuaded that you understand our situation quite well. Three girls on the threshold of coming out…” Aunt Mary heaved a sigh. “It would be excessively awkward to almost double that number to five. And you shall be of such great assistance to your c
ousins as Lady Arundell.”
Great assistance? Arundell would believe they were all dreadful social climbers if Aunt Mary didn’t stop! Dorothy’s gaze caught Lord Arundell’s cynical glance. She winced.
He looked away, his face unreadable as he stood.
Both ladies leapt to their feet.
“I noticed when I arrived that Miss Stainton was preparing to go for a walk. Perhaps she would allow me to escort her?” Lord Arundell asked, just as if he’d sensed her need to escape from her aunt’s triumphant glance.
Or perhaps he truly was cruel as Cecilia feared and after sensing Dorothy’s nervousness, decided to enjoy her discomfort.
“Of course—you are betrothed, after all,” Aunt Mary gushed. Then with a giggle she said, “Though we must still observe the proprieties, of course. Take Elsa with you. Or Cecilia. Or any of the girls, for that matter.” She waved a hand. “You have so much to discuss, after all.”
“Thank you.” Dorothy moved toward the door on numb limbs, her mind whirling like an autumn leaf on the wind. Why couldn’t she think? She simply couldn’t seem to bring order to her thoughts, especially when the knot tightening her stomach warned of approaching disaster.
Polite habit saved her from making a fool of herself, however. Murmuring her thanks, she accepted her bonnet, gloves, and a light shawl from Elsa. She moved without clear thought and didn’t resist when Lord Arundell took her arm and led her down the front steps.
His forearm felt like a bar of iron beneath her hand. Her stomach fluttered, and she had a moment of panic as she stumbled through a few of his polite questions. If she were asked what words she had uttered after she spoke, she couldn’t have answered.
She hoped he wouldn’t conclude that she was nothing short of an idiot.
She couldn’t stop worrying, however. Why the rush to marry? Why did he agree to Aunt Mary’s suggestion? Was he really so desperate for his five thousand pounds and the possibility of an heir? Was it true that part of his inheritance depended upon his begetting a son? Had what she’d overheard been true, after all?
Suddenly, Cecilia’s fears seemed real enough to make Dorothy’s double in a flood of heart-pounding horror. Her fingers felt icy despite her gloves. Perhaps Lord Arundell truly did murder his older brother to gain the title and now needed the money to go with it. If so, what could she reasonably expect from him?
Many wives simply disappeared into the depths of the country, never to be seen again. And if she vanished, who would protest? Grace and Martha might be concerned, but after all, what could they do but write a few letters? Eventually, they would assume that she was angry at them for some obscure reason and give up.
She flicked a sideways glance at him from under the brim of her bonnet. Her pace slowed. His free hand pressed her fingers more firmly into the crook of his arm, as if aware of her sudden impulse to run back to the Polkinghorne townhouse and amused by it. He might be undeniably handsome, but could she trust him? There were many handsome scoundrels. A square chin might be described as a hard, stubborn one under the right circumstances. A charming exterior could hide the devil’s own temper. Cecilia had commented more than once that he was a difficult man who seemed impatient with fools.
But everyone played the fool at one time or another, and Dorothy was no exception. Sooner or later, that steel core that even she had sensed in him would reveal itself. Perhaps that is what had happened to his brother. The previous Lord Arundell might have angered his brother and paid the price.
“You are very quiet, Miss Stainton,” Lord Arundell remarked as they waited at a corner for a curricle, driven by a weedy, weak-chinned young man, to rattle past them.
“I am sorry, my lord. I am distracted…”
His arm tightened momentarily before he stepped off the curb and guided her into the busy street. “No doubt. The offer of marriage must have seemed sudden.”
“Extremely sudden,” she agreed as she lifted her skirts to step up to the crowded walkway.
The passersby buffeted them. Speaking loudly to be heard, fashionable ladies and gentlemen negotiated the street, many of them appearing to be heading in the same direction as Dorothy and Lord Arundell. The hour for promenading in Hyde Park—to see and be seen by the bon ton—was fast approaching. Dorothy’s back ached with tension. Noise echoed from every corner. Snatches of conversation, laughter, hawkers selling their wares, and the clatter of horses and carriages bounced off the brick buildings and increased in volume until her ears rang.
She couldn’t think for the cacophony. She desperately wanted to be alone to consider—surely it was not too late to say no. If it were a simple matter of the five thousand pounds Aunt Mary owed to Lord Arundell, well, then he could have her portion and be done with it. She’d never expected to inherit anything, and in fact, didn’t know if she truly was going to inherit anything. Her uncle had not said a word about it.
This entire plan might be one of Aunt Mary’s schemes to get out of her debt of honor.
“Miss Stainton, are you quite well?” Lord Arundell asked as they strolled into the park. “Or did you find my comments too impertinent to deserve a reply?”
When she glanced up, amusement glittered in his brown eyes. “Comments?” she asked before she realized it revealed that she had not been listening to him.
“You seem distracted.” He guided her to a bench, whisked his handkerchief over the wooden seat, and gestured for her to sit down. “If you wish to share your concerns, I am happy to listen.” His mouth twitched. “Though I cannot promise you that my replies will be helpful ones.”
She sat down gratefully, gripping the ends of her shawl between her hands. The soft fabric tightened over her shoulders like a warm embrace, returning a small measure of confidence to her.
“I—well, this was rather sudden, my lord,” she said, flicking a quick look at him as he sat down beside her.
“You must wonder why, when we hardly know one another.”
“It does seem… odd. Although one knows, of course, that an earl has a duty to marry, after all.”
“Yes. After all.” The words, although spoken mildly, sounded bitter.
“You must have been here for the Season. Surely, there were other women more appropriate…?” Her question dropped off into a vague mutter as she tried to find a delicate way to state her doubts.
“You do not believe we will suit?” he asked abruptly, slicing through her concerns to the heart of the matter.
“I—I do not know, my lord.”
“You seem sensible enough. I thought we should deal admirably together.”
Sensible? That was hardly flattering. Did he even find her attractive? A wistful longing for a compliment, no matter how small, that wasn’t also applicable to a pair of shoes stole over her before she could control it.
This was a business arrangement for him, after all. The repayment of a debt, not a love match. Still, a little affection would have been nice.
Her chin rose. “I had not previously considered marriage as a mere business contract, my lord. Time might allow me to accustom myself to the notion.” She eyed him, her hands tightening around the ends of her shawl. Then in a sudden burst of ingenuity, she said, “My aunt’s decision for us to wed quietly and quickly may expose the arrangement to gossip about the necessity for such rapid nuptials. Surely, that argues for at least a small delay. Such chatter may not concern you, but I am not as sanguine about the possible loss of my good reputation, and there is my younger sister to consider. I would not have her exposed to ridicule or disdain when she comes out.”
She glanced up at him. Her stomach twisted.
A lack of expression, except possibly a faint look of boredom, covered Lord Arundell’s face. His gaze rested on the path ahead of them. If her words concerned him, he gave no sign of it. She stood up abruptly, anticipating that he might wish to leave. The toe of her shoe caught in her hem, but he reached up and kept her from falling. Thankfully, there was no accompanying sound of fabric ripping, but her
cheeks felt heated as she resumed her seat next to him.
“Given your reasoning, I am curious as to why you accepted my proposal at all,” he said at last in a tired drawl. He flicked a glance at her, one brow rising. “Unless you are fascinated by the notion of becoming Lady Arundell. You had not struck me as one of those debutantes set on obtaining a title at any cost.”
Flushing more deeply, she clenched her jaw and remained silent until the surge of anger inside her subsided. “If you will remember, Lord Arundell, I have not been presented to Society, yet. I am therefore no debutante, nor am I interested in your title.”
“Is it my title in particular that fails to excite you, or any title at all?”
She looked up at him sharply, but his gaze remained fixed on the path ahead. “Any title at all.”
“Well, that is too bad, then, since I cannot simply return the honor to our monarch without insulting him.”
“Cannot, or will not?”
His mouth twitched. “Whichever you prefer, Miss Stainton. The results are the same.”
“Is that intended to convey to me that you will allow no delay, either?”
“I do not see how a delay will help either of us.” The tired note returned to his voice.
“A delay may not help your reputation, but I am sure it will do much to sustain mine.”
“My reputation?” His silky tone did nothing to disguise the steely edge in his question.
She tried to laugh, but the sound came out as a strangled, breathless noise. “Yes, well, Cousin Cecilia—” She stopped speaking in horror, pressing a hand over her mouth.
Unfortunately, she hadn’t halted soon enough. An ominous silence settled around them, although the earl continued to gaze forward, his polite mask once more turning his features to stone.
“That is…” Her words stumbled over themselves. She pressed her lips together. Anything she said would only make matters worse. She took a deep breath.
“That is… What? What has your dear cousin Cecilia been saying?”
“Nothing.” She choked out a laugh. “What could she say?”
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