Piercing silence reinforced Lord Michael’s perspective, because Anthony could form no rebuke, and it was not for lack of trying. When he sought some sign of support from his comrades, they offered naught but sheepish grins. Yet, he would wager their reactions would be quite different were it their heads on the connubial chopping block. Still, from every angle he approached the disconcerting stance, he could contrive no decent rebuttal, and he excelled at counterattacks.
“Lord Michael is right.” Beaulieu smacked his lips and glowered. “Well, that leaves a foul taste in the mouth.”
“Very funny.” Lord Michael rolled his eyes, even as the tension abated. “I’m trying to make a point, and you are making jokes.”
“And making sense.” Anthony could not believe what he was about to proclaim, but he had nothing to lose and, if Lord Michael was right, everything to gain. With renewed interest, Anthony eased back in his chair and revisited the memory of that kiss. “Just what do you propose?”
*
It was late in the afternoon when Arabella hosted Patience for tea in the back parlor. While she tried to present an attentive posture, she could not stop thinking about last night, when she kissed her fiancé, in Papa’s study. What had she been thinking, behaving in such a brazen manner? Of course, Anthony voiced no complaints when she ravished him. Rather, he encouraged her, as he—
“That is enough.” Patience folded her arms, and Arabella snapped to attention. “What happened with the gorgeous but tortured Lord Rockingham, because you have not stopped blushing since I got here, and I will have a full account.”
“It was nothing.” That was partly true, because it was nothing like Arabella had ever experienced. “I provided comfort, because he was tormented by his war service. Beyond that, there is naught more to tell.”
“And pigs fly.” Arching a brow, Patience frowned. “Now, give over, else I am not your friend, because you do not trust me with your deepest, darkest secrets.”
“Oh, all right.” Again, Arabella’s cheeks burned. “We kissed.”
“I knew it.” Bouncing, Patience squealed. “And?”
“And that is all.” Given the intimacy of the exchange, Arabella struggled to form the words to describe what she felt. And, oh, what she felt in his embrace. “Really, it was over before it began and hardly worth note.”
“And if you tell yourself that enough, you just might convince yourself, but you could never fool me.” As always, Patience exhibited profuse amounts of the trait for which she was named. “What was it like? I once heard that a good kiss could curl your toes. Did he curl your toes?”
“In truth, he curled everything.” Reliving the moment, Arabella collapsed amid the throw pillows and sighed. “And then…and then…” She pressed a palm to her forehead and closed her eyes. “And then I returned the favor.”
“You did what?” At Patience’s outburst, Arabella started. “You kissed him?”
“Yes.” Arabella lurched upright. “Believe me, I am just as shocked by the revelation. Bless my soul, I know not what came over me, but I could not help myself.” In her mind, she replayed the events and sighed. “There we were, alone, in Papa’s study. It was dark, save the light from the hearth, and Anthony was distraught. He was emotionally charged with a ferocity that could rival the sun, and I could not resist him. Indeed, I didn’t want to resist him, but I found myself leading the charge, to my unutterable amazement, and I savored it.”
“And that surprises you?” Patience tittered. “Given your propensity for exploration is well known, and the fact that Lord Rockingham poses new, fertile territory for inspection, I wonder what took you so long to venture forth, my friend.”
“Trust me, I found my feet, given I am rather more than seven, but that is not the end of the rendezvous.” Arabella glanced over her shoulder, to ensure she enjoyed the privacy of the back parlor. Then she leaned forward and whispered, “He caressed my breast, and I allowed it.”
“You didn’t.” Patience blinked, as Arabella nodded. “Upon my word, you quite take my breath away.”
“Believe me, it had the same effect on me.” Exhaling, Arabella reflected on the sweet memory. “Even though he fondled me through my gown and my chemise, I swear his touch scorched my flesh, and I am in a quandary.”
“How so, because I would think your tryst mollified your concerns?” Patience grinned. “Clearly, you two are compatible. Have we not always said that if we are to wed, we will do it right and marry for love?”
“We have, but we both know physical attraction does not equate love.” And that nagging distinction kept Arabella from celebrating her impending union, given Anthony’s protestations.
“But it is a very important start.” Ever the strategist, Patience always identified the advantage of any given situation. “And it is not as if you have any choice, because you must take a husband. As I remarked, last night, you would do well to opt for the candidate who relies on you, and that is Lord Rockingham, in spades.”
Even Arabella could not deny her friend’s position.
Just then, Mama rushed into the room.
“Arabella, you have callers, and I put them in the drawing room, but I am meeting with the cook, concerning the menu for your wedding breakfast.” To Patience, Mama said, “Miss Wallace, do you mind acting as chaperone, in my stead?”
“It would be my pleasure.” Patience stood, and Arabella followed suit.
“Who is it, Mama?” Arabella smoothed the skirts of her pale blue morning dress. In the mirror, she adjusted the fichu about her bodice, which preserved her modesty. “As I am anticipating no other guests.”
“I gather they are acquaintances of your fiancé.” Mama snapped her fingers. “Now, don’t dawdle, because I taught you better.”
“Yes, Mama.” In the hall, Arabella glanced at Patience. “This is a curious development. I wonder who it is and what they want?”
“Only one way to find out.” Patience claimed Arabella’s hand, and they veered left, in the foyer, to arrive at the double-door entry of the drawing room.
What they confronted bore more than a passing resemblance to a comedy of errors, because a group of imposing men she recognized from last night’s receiving line argued amongst themselves.
“I cannot believe I let you talk me into this hair-brained scheme.” One estimable specimen scowled. “We promised Rockingham our support. We said naught of enacting a plot to bring him to the altar.”
That comment captured her attention.
“I must concur with Warrington.” Another complained. “While I am more than willing to help Rockingham, I am no machinating mama, and I refuse to reduce myself to such humiliation, because there is only so much indignity a man can endure.”
While the fascinating collective, some featuring obvious war injuries, squabbled, Arabella elbowed Patience. “What are we to make of this development?”
“I am not sure.” Patience snickered. “But it appears our presence is not required, because they have not even acknowledged us, yet I would know the purpose of their visit, given their heated debate. At the very least, they put on a good show and are quite entertaining.”
“Gentlemen, it is absolutely necessary, and he would do the same for us, were we in his predicament.” A tall, blond Adonis, sporting a patch over his left eye, made an impassioned plea and then turned his gaze on Arabella. “Ah, the ladies are here.” His demeanor transformed into something somewhat dangerous, as he bowed and favored her with a smile she didn’t trust for a minute. “Lady Arabella, I am Rawden Durrant, Earl of Beaulieu.”
“Yes, I remember, given we were formally introduced at my father’s impromptu dinner, although we didn’t speak beyond the customary greeting.” To her recollection, Anthony considered Beaulieu a close friend, although they appeared to avoid each other at the event. Then again, nothing went as expected after His Grace announced the engagement, so she understood her fiancé’s unusual behavior. With Patience firmly anchored alongside, Arabella led her friend
to the chaise. “Please, be seated.”
“Thank you.” He perched at the edge of the sofa. “Allow me to present Lord Michael Donithorn, Hunter Lee, earl of Greyson, and Arthur James, earl of Warrington.”
“Welcome.” Arabella curtseyed. “Permit me to introduce my dearest companion, Miss Patience Wallace.” Beneath the weight of their stares, she fidgeted with the lace trim of her sleeve. “Pray, to what do I owe this impressive gathering?”
“Wallace?” Lord Beaulieu arched a brow. “Are you any relation to General Wallace?”
“Yes, he is my father.” Patience scooted closer to Arabella. “Did you serve with him at Waterloo?”
“Indeed, we all fought beside him at the great battle.” Lord Beaulieu again smiled, which did nothing to inspire confidence. “Along with our mutual friend, Lord Rockingham, and he is why we seek an audience.”
“Oh?” Arabella braced. “I am curious, my lord. What can I do for you, because any friend of my fiancé is a friend of mine?”
“Actually, it is what we would do for you that brings us here.” At Lord Beaulieu’s pronouncement, images of havoc flitted through her mind, though she knew not why. “To be specific, we would help you bring Lord Rockingham to the altar, given his reticence.”
Beaulieu could have knocked her over with a feather.
“Fascinating.” Patience tapped her chin. “Especially since Lady Arabella shares his reservations.”
“Really?” Lord Beaulieu’s gaze widened. “I thought all ladies lived for the auspicious occasion.”
“Just as not all men are the same, we are not like all ladies, my lord.” Patience cast a smug smile. “You would do well to remember that, Lord Beaulieu.”
“Well then, I suppose that settles it.” Lord Greyson stood. “What say we make for White’s, because I am in serious need of a drink?”
“Not so fast.” When Arabella expected Lord Beaulieu to cede the field, he stayed his friend with an upraised palm. “Apologies if I offended your delicate sensibilities, Miss Wallace.” No doubt his unveiled condescension grated Patience’s last nerve, and Arabella stifled a gurgle of mirth, because he knew just how to counter her friend. “But we are here to extend our assistance to Lady Arabella, that we might bring her hesitant beau to the church, on time, because Lord Rockingham is the best of men.”
“I could not agree more.” Curious, Arabella pondered his outrageous statement. Whoever heard of male matchmakers? “However, even the noblest of intentions cannot vanquish the trepidation of an ambivalent groom, and that is putting it mildly, because Lord Rockingham made it clear, in no uncertain terms, he does not wish to marry me. Given the delicacy of the matter, I require the utmost discretion.”
“That goes without saying, Lady Arabella. It might interest you to know that Lord Rockingham has had a change of heart.” Lord Michael huffed a breath and frowned, and his declaration echoed in her ears. “The question we face, in this moment, is whether or not you wish to marry Lord Rockingham.”
How simple his query sounded, when her answer would shape the rest of her life. Perched on the precipice of her own Rubicon, her options were few. Given the kiss she could not ignore, she owed it to herself to contemplate the positive aspects of a union. She could support Anthony in his previous position and end up with someone far worse, or she could fight for him. Yet, everything came down to one incontrovertible truth. She liked Anthony. Her instincts, which she trusted, told her that, despite his sporadic peculiar behavior. He was a good man, but there was something else she could not deny.
As Patience so aptly pointed out, whether or not Anthony realized it, he already relied on Arabella. The tryst in Papa’s study proved beyond all doubt that he needed her, and in some respects, she needed him. It was a rare opportunity to gain a husband who looked to his wife for strength, and theirs would function as a true partnership. Anthony was a man broken by the horrors of battle and still fighting a private war with himself, and she longed to help him. Not because she intended to rule him, but because she had developed tender feelings for the tormented soldier.
And then there was that kiss.
“Lord Beaulieu, just what do you propose?” Praying she was doing the right thing, in that instant, Arabella twined her fingers in Patience’s. “I am amenable to your offer of assistance, provided I know the extent of our collaboration, although I am not entirely convinced we will succeed.”
“Our aim is to act as matchmakers, of a sort.” Lord Beaulieu compressed his lips, and the other three gentlemen groaned, in unison. “After all, who knows better how to attract a man than a man?”
“Is that so?” Patience remarked with a hint of sarcasm in her tone. “Have you any previous experience in such matters, Lord Beaulieu?”
“No, I do not.” Beaulieu stared down his nose. “How difficult can it be, given women do it all the time?”
Arabella knew not how to respond. Then she peered at Patience. In concert, they burst into laughter.
“That does it.” Lord Greyson stood. “I knew your plan was one of sheer lunacy, and I cannot believe I let you talk me into it.”
“Wait, please.” Arabella jumped to her feet. “I apologize, my lord, and I meant no offense, but you must admit the scheme is rather startling in its uniqueness, because never have I heard of such an enterprise undertaken by your sex.”
“Of course, it is unheard of, and I know of no one who would embark on such insanity, present lunatic company excepted.” Lord Greyson shrugged. “Society already believes we are adrift in a jolly boat sans an oar. Mark my words, they will call us the Mad Matchmakers of Waterloo.”
“Surely, you jest.” Just like that, Arabella gained four less than graceful but nonetheless chivalrous co-conspirators. “But, if all else fails, the name has a nice ring to it.”
Chapter Five
Garbed for dinner, Anthony descended the grand staircase. In the foyer, he turned right and strolled into the drawing room, where his mother lingered. “Where is Father?”
“He dines out, tonight.” The firm set of her jaw betrayed her air of serenity, belying the fact that she knew her husband spent the evening with his mistress. His father’s propensity to keep a courtesan always confused Anthony, because he considered his mother a beautiful woman. Indeed, she was the envy of many society ladies, yet she spent much of her time alone. Even at Ainsworth’s dinner, she kept to herself. “Would you care for a glass of sherry?”
“No, thank you, Mama.” Sitting on the sofa, he adjusted the sleeve pinned to his lapel. “May I ask you a question?”
“Of course, my dear.” Ever the lady, she glided to a chair and perched as if posing for a portrait, as was her way, and he admired her delicate features. “What troubles you? I gather it has something to do with your impending nuptials?”
“Am I that obvious?” When she nodded, he chuckled. “Mama, my objection to the union has naught to do with Lady Arabella, because she is a very fine woman. Rather, it is my physical fitness that is at issue.”
“And you struggle with memories of the war.” It should not have surprised him that she saw through his semblance of calm. With perfect posture, she clasped her hands in her lap. “How often I think of John and his carefree nature. I suspect, had he survived, he would have come home and resumed his life, inasmuch as he left it. Yet, owing to his brash behavior, his demise did not so much shock as it saddened me. In some respects, I expected the regrettable news. But you, well, you were always a different sort. Whereas John was a boisterous, temperamental child, you were quiet and thoughtful, and I never doubted you would return to England.”
“Do you believe I should marry Lady Arabella?” Yes, he still had reservations, despite his friends’ encouragement. “Can I make her happy?”
“That you raise the question provides the answer.” Hers was not the response he anticipated, and he scooted to the edge of his seat. “While I loved your brother, God rest him, I can admit, in all honesty, that John would not have made a devoted spouse. But you?
You will care for her, as proven by your concerns for her welfare even now. You honor your commitments, and it is my hope you will also find love, although there are no guarantees, which you well know.”
“Love?” His gut roiled at the suggestion. “I know naught of that emotion beyond the filial sort, Mama.”
“But you will respect the vows, because such constancy of character is embedded in your disposition.” Inclining her head, she smiled. “And love exists within you, whether or not you appreciate it, and it knows you. Yet, your steadfast heart is but one of the many reasons I love you, and you will make Lady Arabella a most loyal mate.”
To his chagrin, he realized, too late, that he hurt his mother, because he forced her to confront all that she never enjoyed. Indeed, he promised he would never treat Arabella with the indifference to which his father subjected Mama, and he would never take a mistress.
“Why did you stay with him?” Anthony reflected on the past, on the years she spent nurturing her sons, only to be ignored for her efforts. “Why are you still here?”
“Because, like you, I keep my word. And where would I go?” Mama stood and strolled to the hearth, where she stared at the flames. Tall and slender, with a touch of grey in the hair about her temples, she personified elegance. “While I was but five and ten when I wed His Grace, my mother explained to me, in detail, what my new position involved and my part to play, and I obeyed. And there have been compensations, you and your brother. For good or ill, I am Her Grace, the Duchess of Swanborough, and I shall take the rank to my grave, because I earned it a thousand times over the years. In regard to your father’s predilection for less than gracious company with the manners of a feral cat, I never had any illusions of fidelity when it came to His Grace, and he took no pains to disappoint me.”
The Accidental Duke (The Mad Matchmaking Men of Waterloo Book 1) Page 7