by Jane Feather
Arabella rose to her feet and turned to greet her friend as David hurried past Franklin into the room. “Arabella, my dear girl, what is going on? Is Frederick truly dead?” David asked even as his gaze fixed upon the duke, who had also risen to greet the visitor.
“Yes, I’m afraid so,” Arabella said. “It’s rather a complicated story, David. Will you join us for dinner? Franklin, set a place for the vicar.”
“No . . . no, thank you, Arabella, I didn’t come for dinner,” David said, his eyes still fixed upon the duke. “This gossiping twaddle of Lavinia Alsop’s is on every tongue. I’ve just endured the most offensive half hour with that woman and I’m in no mood to eat.” He stepped closer to the table. “Introduce me, will you?” There was a most unusual edge of hostility in his voice.
Jack spoke up for himself. “Jack Fortescu, sir.” He bowed across the table.
“St. Jules?” David didn’t immediately return the bow.
“The same. I believe our fathers were acquainted.” Jack was relaxed, his calm expression hiding his conviction that of Arabella’s friends, the most important to recruit were Meg Barratt and David Kyle. He needed this man’s support.
“David, do sit down and at least take a glass of wine,” Arabella cajoled, gesturing to Franklin to fill a wine goblet. “Why didn’t Mary come with you?”
“It seemed better if I came alone,” the vicar said, his expression still very dark, his gaze still hostile. “How did Frederick die?”
“Would you like me to explain?” Jack asked Arabella.
“No, I will,” she said. “Won’t you eat with us, David? You know you have a weakness for venison.”
David had a weakness for most of the pleasures of the table, as his rather ample paunch signified. However, for the moment he remained steadfastly on his feet, his gaze steady on the duke, and repeated, “I’m in no mood to eat, Arabella. Now, just what is going on?”
For answer, Arabella gestured towards a chair and reluctantly he sat down and took up the glass that Franklin set at his elbow. Jack and Arabella resumed their seats.
Arabella explained the situation in as few words as she could, thinking that with any luck it was the last time she’d have to go through this. Everyone truly important to her would then have heard the story from her own lips.
David listened without interruption, his gaze moving between the duke and Arabella as she spoke. When she had finished, he sat silently for a minute or two, sipping his wine.
Finally he spoke. “I am sorry for Frederick’s death. You have my condolences, Bella.”
She offered a rather wan smile in answer. David had had no illusions about the earl of Dunston’s character and had remonstrated with him on many occasions over his dissolute behavior and neglect of his tenants. She knew he was offering his condolences as much for the situation to which Frederick had condemned his sister as to the actual fact of the man’s death.
David returned his frowning gaze to the duke, who was spooning parsley sauce over carp as if this conversation had nothing at all to do with him. Suddenly the vicar put his hands on the table and pushed back his chair. “Bella, I would be private with you for a few minutes.”
Promptly Arabella got to her feet. “Let’s go into the library, then. You’ll excuse us, Jack.”
“By all means.” Courteously, he rose from the table and remained on his feet until they had left. Then he resumed his seat and his interrupted dinner with no overt sign of his niggle of unease. He had no desire to make an enemy of David Kyle.
David followed Arabella into the library and closed the door. He began without preamble, “Do you know that man’s reputation?”
“A rake and a rogue, I believe,” she said. “Certainly a gamester.” She alighted on a chaise longue, her damask skirts spreading in a graceful pink cloud around her. “But I need your advice, David. The duke has asked me to marry him.”
David exhaled on a noisy breath. “I didn’t realize you even knew the man.”
She shook her head. “I didn’t, before yesterday.”
“Then what on earth . . . ?” He stared at her in bewilderment. “Why would he propose such a thing?”
“I don’t know,” she said simply. “Meg suggested it may be in reparation. It’s the decent thing to do, perhaps.”
“I would like to believe that of him,” the vicar said, but he sounded incredulous. “You declined, of course.”
She turned her fan between her hands as she chose her words carefully. “Initially, yes . . . no—” She held up a hand as he began to expostulate. “David, let me finish. I’ve spent all afternoon thinking about this. Looking at the alternative. What real alternative do I have?”
“You have friends,” he said. “Friends who would happily give you a home and welcome you into their families.”
She smiled with rueful affection. “I know that, my dear, but I can’t and won’t accept the charity of my friends. I know you would gladly share what little you have, but I could not live with myself.”
“My dear girl, you cannot sacrifice yourself to that man,” he exclaimed, scratching his head beneath his wig in agitation.
“It doesn’t have to be a sacrifice,” she pointed out carefully. “And most particularly when you think of the alternative. My only other choice is to beg charity from my mother’s family. I can’t do that, David. I would rather cut my throat . . . oh, dear,” she said remorsefully, seeing the shock jump in his eyes. “I didn’t mean that exactly. But I can’t live without my independence.”
“And what possible independence would you have married to St. Jules?” he demanded.
“I could insist on some degree of independence,” she said slowly. “Marriage settlements that give me that. I know Jack’s reputation but I don’t really believe he’s the devil incarnate, although he does sometimes encourage that description.”
She fixed her gaze steadily on David. He said nothing for a moment, merely stood in the window embrasure, his hands clasped at his back behind the tails of his black coat. It was one of David’s great strengths, this ability and willingness to step back from his own position and reexamine it.
David, aware that his agitated scratching earlier had turned his curled and powdered wig askew, adjusted it carefully, before saying, “How can you trust a man you don’t even know?”
She gave a tiny shrug. “David, how many women marry men they don’t even know because someone has decided it would be an advantageous match? At least I am deciding for myself that it would be an advantageous match.”
David Kyle, man of the cloth though he was, was also a man of the world. He knew she spoke the truth, and indeed many of these arranged marriages were very successful. And Arabella was no naïve ingenue.
“Maybe,” he conceded.
“And this way I keep my home, my orchids . . . everything, David.”
“Why would he want to marry you?” David demanded bluntly. “Forgive the question, I mean no discourtesy, any man would be lucky to have you as his wife, but you’ll make an unlikely duchess, Bella.”
At that she laughed, and the tension in the room eased. “I know. But I don’t think it matters to Jack.”
“Then what does he want from you?” David’s frown deepened and he looked at her intently.
Arabella sucked in her cheeks before saying, “His reasons are very simple and he’s made no attempt to dress them up. He has a mistress, he wants a wife of impeccable lineage who will give him legitimate heirs. I’m rather conveniently placed to serve that purpose.”
David turned to look out at the now shadowy garden. “I can’t argue with that,” he said eventually. “A woman should have a husband, and children. But I would have liked it better if you had found a man you could like and respect, maybe even love in time.”
“I don’t dislike him,” she said.
“But what about this mistress?”
Arabella shrugged. “It’s hardly unusual, David. Such liaisons are an open secret in Society.”
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��Maybe so,” he said grudgingly. “But what if he makes you unhappy?”
“I don’t think he will,” she said, wondering why she was so certain. “But if he does, I will leave him.”
“That’s not so easy to do,” he pointed out gravely. “A married woman is legally her husband’s possession. Short of murder, he can do what he wishes with her.”
Arabella grimaced. This was an unpalatable truth and one reason why she had resisted marriage for so long. “I intend to insist on generous settlements,” she repeated. “Enough so that I will have some degree of financial independence.”
“Why would he agree to that?” David asked. “You have nothing with which to bargain.”
“Except that for some reason he really wants this marriage. That’s my bargaining chip.”
She slid off the daybed and came over to him. “David, dearest David, I need your support . . . your blessing.”
He put an arm around her and kissed her cheek. “I want to be happy for you, my dear, you know I do. But I couldn’t bear to see you made unhappy.”
“I’m eight and twenty,” she said. “Old enough to make my own mistakes, and certainly old enough to make my own decisions.”
He sighed. “Very well.” And then he smiled somewhat ruefully. “Mary, of course, will think it the height of romance. You may be sure she’ll see nothing but roses in your path.”
“I’ll do my best to avoid the thorns,” she said, returning his hug. “Will you go and explain things to Sir Mark Barratt for me? He won’t be too surprised, and I need his help and advice with settlements and things. And,” she added softly, “I’m relying on him to give me away.”
“I’ll go now. His lawyer, Trevor, is a good man. He’ll draw up settlements that are watertight.” David looked at her, puzzlement and anxiety still in his eyes. “I wish I could feel truly happy about this, Arabella. It just seems so hasty. Are you sure you’ve had time to consider it carefully enough?”
“I have,” she declared. “I assure you I’ve looked at every aspect, and I’ve looked at every alternative. This is what I have to do.” Her own gaze was clear, calm, and resolute, and eventually he nodded.
“I’ll come with Sir Mark and Trevor tomorrow morning. Inform the duke to expect us.” The message was clear. Arabella would be flanked by her friends, and the duke would be under no misconception that she was defenseless and vulnerable.
A tiny smile curved her mouth. “I think I’d better inform the duke first that I’ve decided to accept his flattering offer.”
David threw up his hands. “You haven’t told him?”
She laughed a little. “Not yet. I wanted to test out my reasons on you first. I’d decided that if you couldn’t persuade me that it was the wrong thing to do, then my reasons were sound.”
“If I’d known that, I might have tried harder to persuade you against it,” he said, shaking his head.
“No, you would only have made me even more determined.” She kissed his cheek. “Let me show you out.”
She walked with him to the door. His horse was tethered at the bottom of the front steps and she waited until he’d swung himself rather heavily onto the animal’s back, then waved him away in the gathering dusk before returning to the dining room.
Jack was peeling a pear when she came in. “The good vicar has left?” he inquired with a raised eyebrow. He sliced the pear into quarters.
“Yes,” she said, taking her seat once more. “Not very happily, though.” She rested her elbow on the table, propping her chin in her hand as she regarded him thoughtfully.
“Oh?” His gaze sharpened and his hand stilled. “The usual moral outrage, I suppose?”
“Not quite.” She continued to look at him with that considering air. Now that she had reached this, the most difficult decision of her life, she was rather enjoying playing her little game. It would be over soon enough.
Jack’s eyes narrowed. “Do I have to guess?”
Arabella decided that the game was not really amusing and her heart wasn’t really in it anyway. “He was not entirely happy that I had decided to make you the happiest man in England,” she said, nevertheless managing a light touch. She would at least let him know she didn’t consider the advantages to be all on her side.
Jack said nothing, contenting himself for the moment with placing the quartered pear onto the plate in front of her. He kept his eyes hooded, hiding the sudden flare of satisfaction, the surge of triumph that he had played the game and won. He could now knit up the last stitch of vengeance.
He rose from the table and took her hand. “You have indeed made me the happiest man, and the most honored,” he said, raising her fingers his lips. Now he met her gaze, and there was the faintest hint of question in his eyes. She was up to something, he was convinced of it. Something lay behind this sudden capitulation.
“Thank you, sir,” she murmured in dulcet tones.
Jack released her hand and returned to his seat. “Would you care to set a date, my dear?”
“Not until we’ve drawn up settlements,” she said with a little nod. “David will come back tomorrow with Sir Mark and his lawyer, Trevor, to discuss those and what other arrangements are necessary.”
Jack raised the decanter to refill his goblet as he let this sink in. “Settlements,” he mused.
“They are customary, I believe,” Arabella returned, nibbling at the quartered pear on her plate.
He looked at her over the lip of his glass. “The topic interests me. Satisfy my curiosity?”
“Certainly,” she agreed, taking another piece of fruit. “I’m thinking that I’ll need an allowance of around twelve thousand pounds a year. Does that seem adequate for a lady taking her place in the world of fashion?” She smiled sweetly.
“More than adequate,” he said aridly, reflecting that for sheer brass nerve, Arabella Lacey had no rival. “However, I have it in mind that you will have your bills sent directly to me and I will settle them myself.”
Arabella frowned. “No, that won’t do at all,” she said firmly. “That would leave me with no independence at all. I couldn’t agree to that. I’d be better off in Cornwall.”
“I doubt that.”
“Such a sum won’t discommode you in any way,” she continued in tones of cool reason. “It will be more than covered by revenue from the Lacey estates.”
“Indeed?” He regarded her with something of the fascination of a rabbit for the boa constrictor. “Before I agree to anything, perhaps you should lay out the entire balance sheet. What else will you require?”
“My own carriage and horses. A landaulet, I think. I was reading in a periodical that they are now the height of fashion. And I’ll need a coachman, of course. Also stabling and a groom for Renegade. I would like to have him in London with me.”
Jack raised his eyebrows. “Quite a catalog, my dear. But I should explain that my stables are more than capable of providing you with grooms and stabling. I have a carriage and horses already. They are at present in the stables here. They will convey you to London and be at your disposal there.”
“I’m sure, but I do think I must have my own carriage and horses. It would be very awkward to find them already in use when I desired to go out. Don’t you agree?”
He set down his wineglass. “Just one question . . . why should I agree to any of this, Arabella?”
“Because you seem to think I will make you a suitable wife and a suitable mother for your children. I will promise to do my best to satisfy you on both counts,” she returned with a decisive nod. “But I insist on certain things in exchange.”
He ran a hand reflectively over the white swatch of hair at his temple. “You don’t consider my name to be sufficient? The continued use of your home to be sufficient?”
“No. Not if I’m to lose my independence. I insist on maintaining some degree of it. That, my lord duke, is my price.” Her voice was firm and she hid her nerves well. But in the few silent minutes that greeted her demands, her stomach chu
rned. Had she cast the die and lost?
Jack sipped his wine and embraced resignation. It was a small enough matter in the long run. And he had what he wanted. “So you intend to take your place in the world of fashion?” he asked with some interest.
“It was your own suggestion. And there is another thing. As I recall, you pointed out that I could have a hothouse in London. I presume your property in London is large enough to build an extension, and while it might be difficult to transport them all safely, I don’t see that it need be impossible.”
“Is there anything else?”
“Just one thing more.” Arabella had been wondering whether it would be best to broach this subject after the wedding, but that would smack of deceit and she wanted this bargain to be aboveboard.
“Pray tell.” He twirled the stem of his goblet between finger and thumb watching the sparks of light from the candles caught in the ruby liquid.
“You have a mistress,” she stated.
His fingers tightened on the stem. “Yes,” he agreed without expression.
“And you don’t intend marriage to interfere with that arrangement?” She selected a sugared almond from a chased silver basket and bit into it. The hard sugar cracked sharply between her teeth.
Jack surveyed her, still without expression. “No,” he agreed. “I have no intention of terminating that arrangement.”
Arabella, busy with her almond, didn’t answer until she had chewed and swallowed the last sweet morsel. Then she said, “That’s rather what I thought.”
“I don’t consider this to be a suitable subject for discussion,” he said. “You will find that in the fashionable world any mention of such issues will cause ridicule at best, ostracism at worst.”
“Oh, I have no intention of holding a public discussion,” she said, reaching for the bowl of nuts and selecting a walnut. “Of course I won’t interfere with your private liaisons. Indeed, I’m sure your mistress is a most charming lady and we shall get on extremely well. She is a member of Society, I take it?” She tossed the nut in the palm of her hand.