by Eva Shepherd
It was exactly what her father wanted. He could now boast that he was about to become related to a family with a country estate that had been in their family since before the time America was first settled.
Joining ‘old money’ was something he had desired for a long time. Despite being born in poverty, he now had more than enough money to gain entry to New York’s highest social echelons. But Arabella was aware that, despite his money and his power, he was still looked down upon by those members of society who had been born to wealth and privilege. Now, through his daughter’s marriage, he finally expected to gain the status that being part of such a long-established family would bring him.
And he didn’t care that his daughter had to be sacrificed to achieve his dream.
While her father had walked round the estate with a self-satisfied air, Arabella had found herself somewhat overawed by the grandeur of the enormous four-storey house, with its maze of expansive rooms.
She had been raised in a luxurious mansion on Washington Square, which her father had spared no expense when it came to decorating, but Oliver’s estate almost made their home seem humble. With its thousands of acres of land and countless rooms decorated with priceless objects and paintings acquired over many generations, it was impossible to ignore the fact that the Huntsbury family had been fabulously wealthy going back hundreds of years.
Under normal circumstances spending the weekend at such a grand stately home would have been a delight, particularly as the view from her room was so picturesque, with its outlook on to formal gardens, green rolling parklands, and woodland areas. But as the weekend had progressed her anxiety had only grown. Particularly as, despite the size of the house, it had been virtually impossible to avoid Oliver.
Every time she had been in his company, her nerves had taken another shredding, until she was now exhausted and just counting off the hours until the engagement party was over and she could put this all behind her.
She would have much preferred to have spent the weekend in London, doing what she loved. But instead she had been forced to get the understudy to take her part so she could take on a different acting role, that of a woman who was happy to be engaged to a man she knew little about, except that he was not the sort of man any woman in her right mind would want to be married to.
Standing at the top of the tiled steps that led down to the garden, she paused and looked out over the sweeping lawns in front of the house.
It was a pleasant summer’s day, so the engagement party was being held outside. Linen-covered tables, laden with food and drink, had been set up on the grassed area beside the lake. An army of liveried servants were lined up, ready to serve the guests with as much food and drink as they required, and maids were at the waiting, to clean away dishes as soon as they emptied and keep the sumptuous banquet replenished.
It was a perfect day for an engagement party. The sun was shining brightly in a blue sky, dotted with fluffy white clouds. There was even a gentle breeze, so the guests would not get too hot. But this day was far from perfect.
Arabella’s gaze moved to her fiancé, who was talking to his auburn-haired mother. Arabella had been introduced to Oliver’s mother when she first arrived and had been surprised that the woman was so happy and carefree. Arabella had expected the wife of a man who had died in the arms of four women to be bitter and cynical. Instead his mother gave every appearance of being someone who had never been exposed to any of life’s harsher lessons. And she was still an attractive woman, even though she was now in her early fifties. She must have been quite stunning as a young woman, but even that had not been enough to keep her husband from straying.
Oliver’s affection for his mother was obvious. He treated her as if he was the parent and she the child, a delicate young child who needed to be protected and cherished.
Oliver turned and looked at Arabella and her breath caught in her throat. She wished that wouldn’t happen every time they made eye contact. It was so hard to pretend she wasn’t affected by how handsome he was when it was difficult to breathe and when her cheeks were glowing as if she’d caught too much sun.
Rosie gave her arm a small squeeze of reassurance as Oliver excused himself from his mother and walked towards them. Arabella tried to get her breathing under control and still her racing heartbeat, but she was fighting a losing battle. Every time she saw him, her heart responded in this inappropriate manner. And today was no exception. But then, he was looking particularly handsome, dressed in a cream three-piece suit with a waistcoat embroidered with silver thread. His perfectly cut jacket showed off the breadth of his shoulders, the tailored trousers draped around his lean hips, and she could see the faint outline of firm muscles under the fabric as he walked towards her.
Why did he always have to look so damn handsome?
As he crossed the lawn, those laughing brown eyes were fixed on her. Arabella couldn’t ignore how mischievous he always looked, like a young boy who had just committed a prank that he knew his elders would thoroughly disapprove of.
When he reached the bottom of the steps those full, highly kissable lips smiled in welcome.
‘Darling,’ he said, amusement sparking in his eyes. ‘You look beautiful.’
The term of endearment might be a joke, but the way his gaze swept up and down her body was nothing to laugh at. Nor was Arabella’s reaction. Her body came alive under his gaze as if every inch of her skin was being caressed.
She coughed to clear her throat and to give herself time to get her traitorous reactions under control. ‘May I present my friend, Rosie, the Duchess of Knightsbrook. Rosie, this is Oliver, the Duke of Somerfeld. Rosie is my closest friend and she knows all about this sham.’ She waved her hand in a circle to encompass the entire engagement party.
Oliver was standing two steps below Arabella and Rosie, but his six-foot-something height meant he was at eye level with the two women. He took Rosie’s hand and bowed formally.
‘It’s a pleasure to meet you, Duchess.’ Releasing her hand, he turned to Arabella. ‘And I believe if we’re to maintain our charade it might be more appropriate if you called me Oliver, or darling, sweetheart, my love, my cherished one, the love of my life, the light of my dreams, or some such,’ he said with a laugh.
Arabella pulled a slight frown of disapproval. ‘All right, Oliver it is, then.’ A statement that caused Oliver to send her another of those heart-stopping mischievous smiles.
The Duke of Knightsbrook joined them, shook hands with Oliver and led his new wife away. Rosie was smiling at him coquettishly, her happiness making her glow.
Oliver’s smile turned from mischievous to warm and tender. ‘You do look beautiful today, Arabella. Only a fool would not want to marry a woman as beautiful as you.’
She gave a false laugh. ‘Then I take it you consider yourself a fool.’
His responding laugh was genuine. ‘I’ve never thought otherwise.’ He held out his arm for her and Arabella fought the temptation to flee back inside the house. It was so hard to maintain a composed demeanour when she was being told she was beautiful by a man who made her pulses race, causing her to gasp for breath as if her corset was laced too tightly.
‘Shall we greet our guests?’
She nodded and joined the receiving line with her father and Oliver’s mother. The guests filed past and had already divided themselves into two groups, Oliver’s friends in one and Arabella’s friends from the theatre in the other. It appeared the two worlds were reluctant to merge, just like the engaged couple themselves.
She exchanged pleasantries with the elegantly dressed men and women, and tried to remember their names, but each one slipped immediately from her mind. All she could focus on was the way the women looked at Oliver. Some sent him looks that suggested they wanted to devour him, others gave him shy but equally inviting smiles, and many looked at Arabella in much the same way that Lord Bufford’s thugs had looked
at Oliver.
While these women were sending silent signals of invitation, the men on their arms seemed oblivious to what was happening. Oliver was seducing their wives right under their noses and the husbands were either completely unaware of it or didn’t care.
Only Lord Bufford showed evidence that he did not trust Oliver with his wife, gripping Lady Bufford’s arm tightly in a proprietary manner and smiling humourlessly, as if he had achieved a great victory over Oliver.
The introductions were no less irritating when they greeted the cast from the Limelight Theatre. Arabella had been pleased when her father had relented and agreed to hold the party on a Sunday which meant the cast were able to attend. But now she was having a small regret about making such a demand. It was obvious that some of the actresses had met Oliver before, but they were respectful enough to not make obvious overtures towards him. Well, not in front of Arabella, anyway.
But why should she be surprised? After all, weren’t the women’s reactions what she had already come to expect? Hadn’t their first encounter been one where he was being pursued by the angry husband of one of his mistresses? And hadn’t a woman blatantly slipped him a note while they were dining together at the Savoy? An invitation which she very much doubted had been one to take tea with a group of maiden aunts.
No, nothing about the women’s reactions should come as a surprise to her. But that didn’t mean it wasn’t annoying.
But there was one person who was thoroughly enjoying the party. Throughout the introductions Oliver’s mother had smiled with unabashed joy. She was obviously pleased that her son was to marry. With a stab of guilt Arabella was shamed that she, too, was now deceiving this kind, trusting woman.
Once the introductions were over Oliver took two glasses of champagne off the tray of a passing footman, handed one to Arabella and they walked slowly around the party.
‘Your mother is lovely, Oliver. Not at all what I expected,’ Arabella said.
‘You probably expected someone who was worn down from years of misery living with my father, did you not?’
‘Mmm.’ That was the politest response Arabella could give. That was exactly what she had expected. Exactly the effect being married to a rake would have on his wife. Exactly the reason why she would never consider a marriage to such a man.
‘My mother managed to stay sweet, despite being married to my father. I believe it’s because on their honeymoon she caught him in a compromising position with a young maid who worked in the Italian hotel in which they were staying. My mother was naturally distraught and my father managed to appease her by vowing she would never catch him with another woman again. And he stayed true to his vow.’
Arabella stopped walking and stared up at him. ‘But I thought...’
‘He stayed true to his vow that she would never catch him doing it again. And she didn’t. He never vowed that he would remain faithful to her. And the trusting woman that my mother is, she thought her husband remained faithful to her from that day onwards.’
Arabella shook her head. ‘But didn’t she hear any of the rumours?’
‘It helps that she rarely leaves the county, can’t abide London and prefers the company of local people rather than society. My father was also a master at keeping rumours from her. Then as I grew into adulthood, I also did everything I could to protect her. Between us, we managed to stop any rumours from reaching her and to save my mother from a great deal of heartache.’
They resumed their slow stroll. Arabella was unsure whether that was a good or a bad thing. It meant he was kind to his mother, a good thing. But it also meant he was well experienced in keeping women in the dark. He was a master of deception. A very bad thing.
A friend of Oliver’s joined them, and Arabella made her excuses so she could join Rosie and her new husband.
She walked across the lawn, wishing this party would finish so she could return to London, back to her life, away from all this emotional confusion. Her progress was halted when Lady Bufford suddenly accosted her. Arabella looked down at the fingers tightly clasping her upper arm, then back up at the woman, waiting for an explanation.
Lady Bufford sent her a false smile that was close to a sneer. ‘So, you’re the actress who managed to capture the Duke of Somerfeld.’ The grip on Arabella’s arm tightened. ‘I wonder what you were able to do for him that no other woman before you has? It must have been quite something, but do you think it will be enough to keep him satisfied?’
The venom in her words sent a cold shudder running up Arabella’s spine and she dragged in a deep, steadying breath. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about, Lady Bufford, but I insist you release my arm. Now.’
Lady Bufford shrugged and released her grip. ‘You may think you’ve caught him, but you certainly won’t be able to keep him.’ She looked Arabella up and down. ‘It won’t be long before he tires of the novelty of being with an actress and wants a woman from his own class. Your father might have money, but I hear his father was some sort of miner. I mean, really? A miner? What was Oliver thinking?’ With a harsh laugh the loathsome woman walked away.
Shaken, Arabella took a moment to compose herself, then put on her sunniest fake smile and continued walking towards her friend.
Lady Bufford was wrong and she had wasted her anger on Arabella. She hadn’t captured him. The only reason she was engaged to Oliver was because of her father’s skulduggery.
No, she meant nothing to Oliver. She might not be like Oliver’s mother, who was completely unaware that her husband was repeatedly cheating on her. Arabella knew that the man she was now engaged to was a complete philanderer, a fact he hadn’t even tried to hide from her. But it was still humiliating to be engaged to a man who wanted just about every woman who came within range of his charming smile.
Her false smile faltered. And hadn’t she been humiliated enough by men in the past?
Arnold Emerson’s rejection had left her shaken and shamed. And now it seemed she was once again being humiliated in public.
She increased her pace. But it was almost over now. Her father had his engagement. Soon she would be able to leave Oliver to women like the poisonous, arm-grabbing Lady Bufford. A woman, who, unlike Arabella, was happy to share him with his multitude of mistresses.
Chapter Seven
It was wrong. So wrong. If Oliver needed further proof that Arabella van Haven was a woman he should not be involved with, the expression on her face during her encounter with Violet Bufford would provide it. Her lovely face had been contorted with an array of emotions, including shock, disdain and contempt.
Oliver had tried to intervene, but the encounter had happened so quickly he had been unable to cross the lawn in time. Now Arabella was in the company of her friends, where she was safe. Safe from him and safe from the likes of Violet Bufford.
Whatever the other woman had said had shaken Arabella. Violet had presumably taken delight in telling Arabella about their relationship and the details of their sexual activities.
But all it had ever been for either of them was a fun diversion. If it was jealousy Violet had been expressing, she had no more right to be jealous of him than he did of Lord Bufford or any of Violet’s other lovers. And he doubted it would be genuine jealousy, but whatever it was, it was completely unacceptable. It was apparent he was going to have to have a discreet word with Violet so Arabella did not have to suffer such an indignity again.
But one thing the encounter had absolutely confirmed to him was that Arabella was unlike any other woman he knew. If Violet Bufford had confronted anyone else he was involved with, she would have merely ignored it, or laughed it off.
But Arabella had been visibly upset. Despite being an actress, which usually equated with a certain degree of worldliness, she had an air of innocence about her. And a man like he most definitely did not deserve the love of a woman who was so uncorrupted.
Not that
Arabella would ever be silly enough to fall in love with him. She was far too sensible and intelligent for that.
But she did deserve to love and to be loved. She deserved a man who appreciated her, who would adore her, who could commit to her and her alone. And it simply was not in him to provide her with those things. She needed to be protected from him, just as his mother had needed to be protected from the knowledge that she was married to a serial adulterer.
He looked over at his mother, deep in conversation with Mr van Haven. To his horror he watched as his mother sent the wealthy American a shy smile and coquettishly rose one shoulder. Was his mother flirting with him? He prayed not. His mother could not fall for that odious man, a man who was using his daughter to further his own ambitions.
It wasn’t inconceivable that his mother would marry again. But to a man like Mr van Haven? After marriage to an inveterate philanderer, surely she wouldn’t now set her sights on a man who put money above people? It was an unfortunate side to his mother’s innocence; she could not see the bad in anyone.
He strode across the lawn, determined to save her from the rapacious Mr van Haven.
‘Mother, I think you’re monopolising Mr van Haven. Perhaps you’d like to circulate,’ he said, ruthlessly interrupting their conversation and taking his mother by the arm. He nodded to the older man as he led his mother away and received a glacial glare back from those cold blue eyes.
‘You seem to be enjoying yourself, Mother. What were you discussing with Mr van Haven?’ Not anything romantic, he hoped. Not marriage. Please, not marriage.
‘Oh, he was very interested in the family’s history. He’s so happy that his daughter is marrying into a family with such a long and distinguished lineage. And so am I, Oliver,’ she smiled at him, her eyes shining with tears of joy. ‘You couldn’t be marrying a more delightful girl. And fancy her being an actress.’ His mother smiled playfully. ‘I always knew you’d marry someone unconventional. You’ve always been such a rascal.’ She looked around at the assembled guests, still smiling. ‘Having these acting people here is causing such a stir.’ She giggled quietly. ‘We’re becoming quite the bohemians, aren’t we?’ She turned back to Oliver. ‘But she really is a beauty and I’m so pleased that you’re marrying her. Your dear father would have been delighted by your choice, I’m sure. He was never a snob and he did admire actresses so much.’