by Regina Darcy
This was proving a challenge as he was behaving like an almost entirely different man from the one she had met a week prior. Arabella was usually quite sure of her first impressions, but Lord Daven puzzled her exceedingly. Instead of being condescending, he was polite and amicable, smiling down at David with a fondness in his eyes she had not expected. Clearly, he cared for the children.
As much as she hated to admit it, she had not been able to get Lord Daven’s kiss from her mind. She would find herself touching her lips, thinking of how he had pressed his mouth to them. It had been both shocking and delightful.
However, then the reality of the situation would ring in her ears. Had the Duke discovered them ensconced together, she would have been sent from his home at once, with nothing to show for her time except sheer disgrace. Of course, then her sisters would have laughed and nodded knowingly, given that they had expected such a thing.
No, she would not, could not, allow such a thing to happen again, even if she could not erase the memory from her mind.
EIGHT
“Peter!” Ainsley boomed, making Peter wince. “Where have you been all day?”
Given that Peter had spent most of his morning in bed, recovering from an overabundance of liquor the night before, followed by an afternoon with the delightful governess and his niece and nephew, Peter was not quite sure how to answer.
“I’ve been busy,” he murmured, returning his attention to the paper.
It held all the latest pieces of gossip from London and, while he was not particularly interested in such things, it was certainly preferable to listening to his brother’s prattle. Especially when it involved his soon-to-be fiancée, Lady Bentley. Peter had absolutely no intention to get to know her better since he disapproved entirely of the match.
Peter considered himself fairly sensible, and even when he did drink too much, it was always with the knowledge that he would wake up feeling terribly ill the following morning. The alcohol kept Eleanor from his mind when his thoughts tormented him so badly he felt he could take no more. It was always a thought-out decision. Nothing like his brother’s hasty choices, which were apparently based on whatever emotion he felt at the time.
“I have wonderful news,” his brother continued, sitting down opposite him. “My dear Lady Bentley is to visit us.”
“Mmph,” Peter muttered, entirely disinterested. “I shall be avoiding her, then.”
“Peter,” his mother chided. “You must not be so disinclined to meet your future sister-in-law.”
“He has not asked her yet, mother,” Peter retorted, dropping his newspaper to scowl at his brother. “And how else am I to show my disapproval?”
The Duke snorted. “And why should your disapproval matter, Peter?”
Peter did not know how to answer. He was well aware that his brother cared very little for what he thought but was entirely unable to consider the idea of going along with him just for peace’s sake.
“Come now, Peter,” Ainsley continued, a little more softly. “Can you not put aside the past and greet Lady Bentley?”
Sighing heavily, Peter dropped his newspaper again and fixed his brother with a stare. “Do you wish to know what concerns me, Ainsley? Or are you simply going to rebuff my attempts to share my worries with you?”
“I should like to hear them,” his mother interrupted, rising to her feet with grace and coming over to join them.
“Whenever I have been in the room, all you do is talk over one another, and it gives me such a headache. Perhaps, Ainsley, you might remain silent whilst your brother shares his concerns with you? Whether you agree with them or not.”
To Peter’s surprise, his brother agreed almost at once. He had expected him to argue, or to tell their mother that he had heard enough from Peter, but instead, he simply turned his attentions back towards Peter and gestured with his hand for him to begin.
Suddenly, Peter was not quite sure what to say or how to explain himself. A great many feelings swirled within him, to the point that he struggled to define them clearly, even within his own mind.
“Do come on, Peter,” his mother chided, her eyes alive with interest.
“Did you ever love Eleanor?”
The words tumbled from his mouth before he could stop them, falling into the quiet room like heavy stones. The room grew tense, and Peter was on the verge of taking his question back, before noticing his mother looking at Ainsley, obviously interested in his answer. Ainsley, on the other hand, was sitting stony-faced, his eyes boring holes into Peter’s skull.
“How could you think I did not?” he asked, so quietly Peter could barely hear him.
“Because you are set to marry another, only a year after her passing!” Peter exclaimed, his anger suddenly bursting forth. “You took her from my arms, married her, had three beautiful children by her, and now, only a little after the first anniversary of her passing, you are caught up with another?”
“While your love for her still burns fiercely,” Ainsley snarled, mocking him. “Is that what this question is about, Peter? Did you still love my wife, even after she chose me instead of you?”
Peter’s hands curled into fists, his jaw set. He would not give his brother the satisfaction of having a reaction, knowing that was exactly what Ainsley was hoping for. It was the easiest way to avoid Peter’s questions and, up until this point, had always succeeded.
“I will not turn away this time,” Peter said, softly. “Do not think you can push me away with your hurtful, callous remarks, Ainsley. I have fought with my feelings about both you and Eleanor for a long time, and God knows it has taken me years to find the smallest modicum of forgiveness in my heart for what you did, but what you intend to do is folly.”
Ainsley’s shoulders slumped, the fight slowly leaving him. Peter glanced at his mother, aware she was giving his brother something of a surprised look, tinged with disappointment. Did she also feel Ainsley had not truly answered his question?
“For what it is worth, I did love Eleanor,” Ainsley replied, eventually. “But that love died the moment I put her in the cold ground, and my heart is now quite ready for someone new.”
Peter wanted to rip his brother’s head from his body, anger flooding his veins with heat.
“Then you never truly loved her,” he snarled, throwing his paper from his lap and storming to his feet. “It seems you both deserved each other. Both of you were as fickle as the other.”
Even his mother’s pleading for him to come back to discuss things with his brother had no effect. His feelings for Eleanor had torn at him repeatedly, for so many years, but now all he felt was pure unadulterated rage.
Striding towards his art studio, Peter rounded the corner, only to walk straight into the governess. Without saying a word, he grabbed her arm, setting her back on her feet.
“Come with me,” he said, in a tone that allowed no argument. Ignoring the startled look of alarm on her face, he pulled her along after him.
Throwing open the door, he pulled one painting after another from his shelves and easels, handing a pile to Miss Cartwright. Grabbing the tinderbox from the mantelpiece, he stalked from the room, fully expecting the governess to follow him.
Throwing open the French doors of the ballroom, he stacked the portraits of Eleanor on the paved area just outside the house. Her face looked up at him, those beautiful eyes he had so often admired begging him not to do what he intended.
“What—?”
“Quiet, please,” Peter ordered, taking the remaining portraits from Miss Cartwright. “This is something I must do. You may go if you wish.”
Without another word or thought, Peter struck the flint once, twice—and then, the first portrait caught.
The flames licked up the canvases greedily, growing hotter and hotter as each piece caught. Peter heard Miss Cartwright gasp behind him, realising she had not left him after all. Perhaps that was a good thing. This did not feel like a time to be alone.
Looking down at the final canvas�
��a small miniature that he’d kept back from the flames, Peter felt his heart tear anew. How much of his life had he wasted on her when he should have forced her from his heart, any way he could.
A sudden flurry of tears threatened as he pocketed the small painting, but he held them back with a great effort. It was as if he was releasing himself from the bonds that had held him for years, and the sense of freedom that came with it was almost overpowering. He would keep the small miniature back, as a keepsake for his nieces and nephews.
“I swear I shall never love again,” he whispered. “Not for as long as I live.”
NINE
Arabella smiled at the children, bending to give them both a kiss before sending them in to the nurse. Her responsibilities for the day were at an end, which meant she would have dinner in her rooms, followed by an hour or so of reading before the light became too dim.
She was enjoying her new position, although there was a tension that radiated through the house that often left her feeling a little uncomfortable.
“Thank you, Bessie,” she murmured, as the maid brought in her dinner. “Just beside the fire, if you please.”
The maid left quickly, giving Arabella a quick smile before she closed the door.
Arabella took a deep breath, before bowing her head to thank the Lord for the bountiful meal. As she tucked in, she could not help but sigh. There was one thing she was not particularly enjoying about being a governess. That was the lack of company. She was beginning to feel a trifle lonely. She had sent a couple of letters home, but it would take some time before she got a reply.
As she ate, Arabella reflected on the events of the last few days. Lady Bentley, along with her elderly companion and a whole host of maids, had arrived. There had been a great deal of pomp, and the staff had been lined up outside to be introduced to the lady in question. Lady Bentley had not looked on Arabella for more than a moment but had been entirely sweetness and light to the children which Arabella felt was in the lady’s favour.
Since Monday, Arabella and the children had spent an hour each afternoon with the Duke, the Dowager Duchess, and Lady Bentley. It was more than apparent that the Duke intended for the lady to become his bride one day, given the amount of attentions he was bestowing upon her, but Arabella often caught a slight strain around the man’s mouth when he studied Lady Bentley.
At the same time, Lord Daven had either been absent or hovering moodily in a corner. It had been five days since Lady Bentley arrived and, as yet, Arabella had not heard him so much as speak a single word to her. It was most unusual.
Chewing her lamb carefully, Arabella thought back to the end of the previous week, when he had compelled her into carrying those portraits to the back of the house.
She had helped him of course but had been astonished to see so many pictures of the same woman. There had been much more than she had first anticipated, for he had plucked them from a few hiding places dotted around his private quarters.
When he had burned them, she had wanted to protest, but the sound had died on her lips as she saw his shoulders droop and his head slowly bow. This was a farewell.
Who was the lady he had been painting? Why had he needed to burn all them all? Those questions had not been answered, for Arabella had slipped away quietly, thinking perhaps Lord Daven needed some time alone. Ever since that day, she had felt a growing tension fill the house, and it frustrated her to no end that she was not sure of its cause.
Getting to her feet, Arabella quickly placed the dishes back on the tray, before going to look out the small window. It was cool outside, but still quite light, meaning Arabella would have time to take a short walk on the grounds.
Thankfully, the gardener had been amenable to giving Arabella and the children a small patch of earth, although, as yet, there was nothing to show for the children’s efforts. Maybe she might go out to check, in the hope of finding a seedling there. It would certainly bring a smile to Elizabeth’s face, were that the case.
Arabella smiled to herself as she pulled her shawl around her shoulders. Elizabeth had been mighty impatient for those seeds to grow, not even considering Arabella’s explanation that she would need a week to see something germinate.
Creeping down the staircase, Arabella kept to the shadows, hoping she would not be seen. Not that the Duke would mind, of course, but Arabella was more than certain Lady Bentley would not be all that impressed with her presence in the main house.
It was a governess’s lot—being too high to use the servants’ staircase, but too lowly to use the main entrance. Perhaps slipping out of the side door would be an acceptable compromise.
The sound of raised voices caught her interest, especially as she heard the Duke’s harsh tone. It was most unlike her employer to speak in such a way, piquing her interest further.
Arabella knew she should not eavesdrop, but was it her fault the door was slightly ajar… the very door she would have to pass to get to the side entrance? Pressing herself against the wall, she tilted her head slightly to the side, hoping to hear whatever the couple was saying.
“You will propose to me during this visit,” she heard Lady Bentley say. “And I will marry you.”
“I cannot,” the Duke retorted, harshly. “I have had enough of your demands, Lady Bentley! I cannot believe I let myself become entangled in your devious web!”
Startled to hear the Duke’s sharp tone, Arabella tried to keep her breathing calm and steady, forcing herself to stay quiet.
“You will marry me, Your Grace. You know what the consequences will be if you should not.”
There was a long, lingering silence, during which Arabella’s mind began to wander, imagining what it could be that the Duke was being blackmailed with. Sudden footsteps broke into her thoughts, making her realise that she was in danger of being caught.
She flew down the corridor, her soft slippers making very little noise, darted into the ballroom, and ran towards the French doors.
“Whatever is going on?” she asked herself, taking in gulps of air. Worried that someone had heard her, Arabella walked quickly down the stone steps and along through the garden paths, checking over her shoulder now and again.
Finally, after a good few minutes of her quickened pace, Arabella slowed her steps, sat heavily on a stone bench, placed her hands on her knees, and let her head droop forward. Her heart was beating frantically, although whether it was from anxiety or her exertions, she was not quite sure.
She struggled to think of anything else, but could not get Lady Bentley’s words from her mind. The woman appeared to be blackmailing the Duke, obliging him to marry her when he clearly did not wish to do so. What compromising information did she have on him?
“A penny for your thoughts?”
A deep voice startled Arabella, forcing her head up and her eyes to land on the last man she expected to see.
Lord Daven stood looking nonchalant, his eyes firmly fixed on her. Her heart started aching. Internally she admonished herself for her foolish reaction.
“Oh, I beg your pardon, my lord,” she replied, hurriedly.
“I was merely lost in thought.”
He grinned at her, uncharacteristically. “Yes, I can see that.” He tipped his head to one side, studying her further.
“Whatever is the matter, Miss Cartwright?”
Arabella did not know how he knew something was bothering her and, did not want to ask particularly, so instead she simply shrugged.
“The children, this house… there are always things to consider, Lord Daven.”
“And that is no answer at all,” he replied, firmly. Sitting down on the stone bench opposite her, he leant back and crossed his legs at the ankle, the very picture of ease.
“Come now, Miss Cartwright. You are better at fibbing than that, are you not?”
Now it was Arabella’s turn to blush, embarrassed at how easily he’d seen through her.
“Yes, I suppose I am,” she replied, primly. “However, given your previous b
ehaviour, Lord Daven, as well as your warnings over the consequences should I so much as push you away again, I think I would rather keep my thoughts to myself.”
Now it was Lord Daven’s turn to blush red.
“Ah, yes,” he muttered, clearing his throat. “About that, Miss Cartwright. I should not have behaved in such a roguish manner, the other day.”
She lifted an eyebrow, surprised by his admission but not entirely convinced she believed the sincerity of his words.
“No, you should not have, Lord Daven.” Her hands clenched in her lap as she looked past him. “Although I should not have been in your private room without permission.”
A bark of laughter escaped him.
“No, you should not have been,” he agreed. “But regardless, that still does not excuse my behaviour.” He regarded her until she was forced to draw her gaze back towards him. “Shall we call a truce then, Miss Cartwright? Even an uneasy one? I find myself completely without company or friendship and mayhap you might be the answer to both.”
Arabella was not quite sure how to answer. She found the Duke’s brother incredibly difficult to work out and was still not quite sure whether he was jesting with her or not.
“I suppose,” she murmured, softly.
“Wonderful!” he exclaimed, clapping his hands together and making her jump. “Then we can begin our new-found friendship with you telling me what is on your mind.” To her surprise, he lifted his hand and gently traced the frown between her brows. She did not lean back immediately, stunned by his gentleness.
“I do not think it is of much importance,” she managed to stutter, as he dropped his hand.
“Let me be the judge of that,” he interrupted, leaning forward just a smidgen. “Whatever it is that is making you frown, must be important. Why do you hesitate to confide in me?”
TEN
Arabella wanted to tell Lord Daven the truth, but something held her back. She found that she still was not sure of the sincerity of his intentions. He was not like any other man. Thoughts of him and what had happened at the ball, had been haunting her mind. To her shame, Arabella yearned to lean into his strong arms and relive the searing kiss they had shared.