by Regina Darcy
“I shall confide in you, if you confide in me, my lord,” she said.
Lord Daven raised an eyebrow.
“I will tell you what is troubling me if you will tell me what those portraits were all about.”
She lifted her chin as his face grew dark, his eyebrows knotting together.
“I had not taken you for a schemer, Miss Cartwright,” he muttered. “Those portraits are none of your concern.”
Arabella gave an affected sigh.
“Then, it seems we have nothing to discuss,” she replied defiantly.
Turning away from him, she looked out across the gardens, drinking in the view. She was not about to bare her soul to a man she barely knew, even if he both confused and excited her in equal measure.
Were she honest, the burning of the portraits had left her wondering what demons he was trying to exorcize. , but she had never imagined she would have the opportunity to find out.
“You are a wily one,” she heard Lord Daven mutter, but still she remained resiliently silent. Lord Daven was not about to get the truth from her without giving something up of his own.
“Very well,” he muttered eventually.
Brimming with satisfaction, Arabella turned around to face him with a bright smile on her face. “How wonderful,” she smiled, calmly. “Now, why don’t you begin?”
For a long moment, she thought he was going to argue, but instead, he sighed, leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees and placed his head in his hands.
“Those portraits were of someone I both loved and loathed for many years,” he said, his voice muffled. “I chose to burn them all in an attempt to forget her.”
Arabella took in his hunched figure, suddenly feeling incredibly empathic to the underlying pain she could hear in his voice.
“Who was she?”
“It does not matter,” Lord Daven replied abruptly.
“Why did you hate her?”
He glanced up at Arabella, his eyes filled with pain. “You do not give up, do you, Miss Cartwright?” When she didn’t answer, he sighed heavily. “I will not tell you her name, nor what she was to me, only that she did me a grievous wrong, something almost unforgivable.”
“But you loved her still?” Arabella asked, gently. “That is why you painted her likeness over and over again?” Her heart filled with sympathy, surprised at just how faithful he had been to a woman who had done him such wrongs, although she did not know what they were.
He shook his head, sitting up to look at her.
“I do not know what I felt,” he whispered, so quietly that Arabella had to strain to hear him. “There was love, I am quite sure, but eventually my paintings became a way to remember her how she had been, once. What she had been to me.”
Arabella did not know what to say in response, aware of just how much he’d revealed to her. She had not expected him to be so truthful. The pain etched on his face, and the heaviness of his voice made her believe he was being completely frank with her.
Peter did not know what had come over him, having not intended to speak so candidly to Miss Cartwright. In truth, he had not spoken to a single person about his feelings and struggles over Eleanor, not in many years. Instead, he’d kept his emotions bottled up, drowning them with liquor when they became too much to deal with. To his surprise, he felt lighter, having shared some of his burden with his brother’s governess.
“Now,” he began, clearing his throat. “I believe you were to tell me what was troubling you so?”
Arabella sighed. “It is probably nothing, and I do not wish to malign your soon to be sister-in-law, but—”
“Lady Bentley?” he interrupted, instantly alert. “You need not pretend to be kind to her in my presence, Miss Cartwright. I have very little time for the woman, I must confess.”
He saw Miss Cartwright’s features crinkle in confusion.
“My brother’s wife died a little over a year ago, as he might have mentioned,” he explained. “I believe it is too soon for him to be marrying again, especially when it was—from the looks of it at least—a love match. However, he seems determined to marry the woman, despite my concerns. Not that he has ever listened to me, that is.” He settled his shoulders, trying to keep the pain from his voice.
“Now, what is it that troubles you about Miss Bentley?”
“You must promise me that you will not go storming into the house, after I tell you,” Arabella warned.
Peter frowned. “Come now, Lord Daven, you must know you have not exactly hidden your dislike of the woman from anyone in the household! I must be able to trust you not to compromise my position at Warrington Abbey.”
Her words rushed over him like ice water. How long had it been since a woman had sought his trust? Eleanor had said much the same thing, a long time ago, and he had promised her his faithfulness and trust immediately. Now, he was much more careful.
“I cannot promise you that,” he said, firmly. “Whatever it is, you tell me, then I will act.”
The light in Miss Cartwright’s eyes dimmed, as though he had extinguished a flame.
“Then I will not tell you,” she replied, with just a hint of sadness. Getting to her feet, she shook out her skirts, straightening them.
“That is unfair of you Miss Cartwright,” Peter returned, his tone icy. “You said that you would reveal the truth to me if I told you why I burned those portraits.”
She gave him a rebellious look. “And just as you have only told me some of your reasons, I will respond in kind. I heard Lady Bentley say something to your brother that I found greatly concerning, which is why I appeared so worried.”
“What was it?” he demanded, getting to his feet. “You must tell me.”
Shaking her head, Miss Cartwright gave him a sad smile.
“Not until I can be assured that you will not immediately react, Lord Daven. What would happen then, my lord? They would surmise that it was I who overheard them, and I would be thrown from the house in disgrace!”
“I could say that I overheard them.”
Arabella let out a harsh laugh.
“I doubt you would, my lord. Given your behaviour towards the lady up until this point, I do not think protecting me would even cross your mind! No, I shall not tell you the truth in its entirety. Not until I can trust you.”
“You minx—”
“Goodnight, Lord Daven,” she said, bravely cutting him off. “Perhaps we might talk again soon.”
Turning around, she walked quickly back to the house, giving him no opportunity to catch her. Should he attempt to do so, they would be within earshot of the occupants of the house, and he could not risk anyone hearing what it was they were discussing.
Frustrated beyond measure, Peter sank back down onto the bench.
“Frustrating, woman!” he muttered.
Peter’s temper slowly cooled as he breathed in great lungsful of the chilly evening air. As much as he hated to admit it, Miss Cartwright was quite within her rights not to disclose to him what she had heard. She was quite correct; he would have reacted immediately if what she’d told him were of grave concern. That was exactly what Peter was like, someone whose temper dictated their every move. He sighed deeply.
Putting his head in his hands, Peter calmed down completely. He acknowledged to himself that he had not reached the measure of a gentleman in recent years. Miss Cartwright was right to be apprehensive. Her very position at the estate could be jeopardized by misplaced trust.
If Lady Bentley did have an attachment with his brother, as everyone thought, then she would easily turn him against the governess and even Peter. Whatever was transpiring between the couple, Ainsley was not about to share. Peter realised he would have to comply with Miss Cartwright’s demands.
Why did he struggle so to allow himself to trust her? Why did he refuse to reassure her of his own trustworthiness? Had Eleanor’s behaviour left such a stain on him that he no longer had any to offer?
His heart grew heavy as he sat in
the gardens, the darkness slowly closing in on him. He was being forced to study himself, to see the kind of man he had become. In light of Miss Cartwright’s honesty and kindness—for her tender heart was obvious in the way she cared for the children—he felt as if he were a beggar, covered in the dirt and grime of the past. He did not know how to rid himself of it, how to start again.
Perhaps being honest with Miss Cartwright and telling her the truth about Eleanor would be a start but was he prepared to put himself through the inevitable pain the truth would bring?
ELEVEN
During the following days, Arabella threw herself into her role, pushing Lord Daven from her mind. Elizabeth and David were such delightful children that she found herself thoroughly enjoying her day-to-day routine.
The only cloud hanging over her head was that of Lady Bentley. Arabella did not know what she was blackmailing the Duke with, but she was certainly concerned. No one should be forced into matrimony, for any reason.
Why had she not told Lord Daven? A wry smile crossed her face. She knew very well why. It was because she had not forgiven him for his earlier behaviour when he had both kissed her and threatened her, even though that was weeks ago now. Since then, he had turned into something of a gentleman, even if she knew he was not exactly as good as all that.
Sighing heavily, Arabella glanced over at the man, who had his nose thoroughly stuck in his newspaper, as he did every afternoon.
The children were busy playing with their father and grandmother, leaving her with very little to occupy herself with. Arabella sat quietly, looking about her and wondering if she should perhaps pick up a book or practice some other useful accomplishment.
“Miss Cartwright, is it?”
Arabella looked up in surprise, noticing Lady Bentley was standing over her with a simpering smile. Scrambling to her feet, she gave a quick curtsy. “Yes, my lady.”
“Mmm.” The lady studied her for a moment, taking Arabella in for what seemed to be the first time. “You are quite young, are you not?”
Shifting uncomfortably, Arabella tried to smile.
“Yes, I believe I am. When one has such a passion for educating little ones, one must find employment as soon as possible.”
“I see,” the lady murmured, sniffing a little disdainfully.
“And you intend to be here long term?”
“I have no intentions as regards the length of my service,” Arabella replied quickly, immediately wary. “It will be whatever the Duke sees fit, although I do believe he has found my work acceptable thus far.”
The lady turned away, leaving Arabella wondering whether she had said the right thing. It appeared very much as though the lady did not like her, although Arabella had done nothing to invoke such a reaction.
A strong hand suddenly grasped her wrist.
“Come with me,” Lord Daven said, tugging her beside him.
“I cannot,” Arabella protested weakly. “The children—”
“Have only just started their hour with their father,” he insisted. “We will not be long. Please, I insist. If you find yourself in trouble with the Duke on account of your absence, I will take the blame, I assure you. I will say I sent you on an errand.”
“My reputation,” she murmured, glancing at the Duke.
Lord Daven grinned at her, his hand never leaving her wrist.
“I can assure you that no one will see us,” he promised.
“And we will return separately. I would not dream of tainting your pristine reputation, Miss Cartwright.”
Arabella looked into his eyes, seeing only sincerity there. She hesitated, before sighing and following him to the door.
“Where are we going?” she asked, softly.
He turned his head and grinned back at her, his green eyes laughing. “Why, don’t you trust me?”
“No,” Arabella replied, fervently. “No, I certainly do not.”
A slight chuckle came from him.
“Very wise, my dear Miss Cartwright,” he replied, over his shoulder. “Still, I believe this will be something you will wish to hear.”
Now thoroughly confused, Arabella allowed Lord Daven to take her along a small corridor. She took a deep breath and tried to pretend she did not notice the way her pulse quickened at his touch. His hand still held her wrist, although a lot more gently than before. The warmth of his fingers seemed to burn their way through her skin to the very core of her.
Lord Daven walked into a small room, adjacent to the drawing room, then lead them both to an ornately decorated wall.
“We appear to be facing a—”
“Hush,” he interrupted, pressing one finger to her lips.
“Can’t you tell that I am a man full of surprises?”
Arabella caught her breath, staring into his face. For a moment, they stood perfectly still, simply looking at each other. Time slowed and, for an instant, Arabella wanted to lean forward, simply to see what he would do.
Clearing his throat, Lord Daven dropped his hand, turned back to face the wall, and ran his fingers over the decorative wallpaper. Attempting to regain her sense of poise, Arabella watched him with a slight frown, wondering what on earth it was he could be doing.
“You see?” he murmured, pressing something she couldn’t quite see.
Arabella was about to retort that no, she could not see, when part of the wall swung away in front of her eyes.
“Good gracious!” she gasped, peering into the gloom. “What is it?”
Leaning casually against the wall, he lifted his eyebrows. “You are interested now, I presume?”
“Indeed,” she replied at once. “Where does it lead?”
“This is one of a great many secret corridors,” he explained, walking forward. “It takes us through the house, and I believe one of the paths leads near the stables somewhere!” He grinned at her expression, before continuing. “However, it will allow us to hear exactly what is being said in the drawing room.”
Frowning, Arabella lifted her eyes from the door back towards Lord Daven. “The drawing room?” she asked, unable to understand his reasons for wanting her to hear the Duke’s private conversation.
He nodded. “Of course! Or don’t you want to listen to what the future Duchess has planned for you?”
Arabella stared at him, slowly realising what he meant. Lady Bentley certainly did not seem to have even a kind word for her, and suddenly her future loomed like a dark cloud on the horizon. If she were to lose her position here, she would have no other alternative than to return home in disgrace.
Her thoughts of finding a suitor or husband would die the moment she left the Abbey, although it seemed that, in recent days, Arabella had quite forgotten about her plans to catch a husband. Especially when Lord Daven was looking at her like that.
“Very well,” she murmured, seeing the immediate twinkle in his eyes. “Lead the way, my lord.”
He gave her a slight bow. “It is quite dark,” he warned, ducking into the open door. “Perhaps you might…?” He held out his hand to her, and Arabella took it without a moment’s hesitation. There was something about the way her hand fit into his that simply felt right, despite the completely inappropriate position she currently found herself in.
“This way, Miss Cartwright,” Lord Daven murmured, tugging her after him.
Ducking her head, Arabella followed him into the darkness, gasping with surprise as the door swung closed after them. She clutched his arm, suddenly afraid.
“Now, now,” he laughed, settling one hand around her waist. “I know these passageways like the back of my hand, Miss Cartwright. Have no fear.”
“I am not afraid,” Arabella replied, stoutly, wishing her heart was not fluttering so. “I was simply surprised, that is all.”
He chuckled again, the sound echoing around them.
“This way,” he said, a little more quietly. “And you may wish not to breathe so loudly.”
Arabella wanted to give him a stinging retort but instead kep
t her mouth closed and attempted to breathe through her nose. To be frank, she was not quite sure what was making her heart beat faster—whether it was his sudden closeness, ensconced in the dark or whether it was the surprise of the door closing behind her. Stumbling forward, she felt Lord Daven’s arm tighten around her waist, moving carefully until they came to a small beam of light coming from somewhere above them.
“It is said,” Lord Daven whispered, as the sound of voices began to drift towards them. “That our forefathers used this to spy on those they had invited to their home, in order to discover which of their guests they could truly call friends and allies. It helped them to weed out potential enemies.”
“I see,” Arabella murmured, wondering if he was drawing attention to his dislike of Lady Bentley. The urge to tell him what she had overheard grew stronger.
“Right here, I think,” came his whisper. “We should be able to hear them quite well.”
Arabella stood with her back pressed against the wall, trying hard to focus on the voices instead of how close Lord Daven was to her. The passageway was quite narrow, and she could feel his breath on her cheek as he stood facing her, instead of standing beside her as would be appropriate. Heat flooded her cheeks as she stood silently in the dark, listening to Lord Daven breathe.
TWELVE
“What do you intend to do with that governess?” Lady Bentley’s voice floated down towards them, making Arabella stiffen.
“I intend to do nothing,” came the Duke’s voice, apparently unconcerned. “She is doing a wonderful job; the children adore her, and I find I cannot fault her. You cannot be thinking that I should remove her from her post?”
“No, of course not,” came Lady Bentley’s wheedling voice. “It is just that she is quite young, Your Grace.”
“I think she is delightful,” came the voice of the Dowager Duchess. “Elizabeth, in particular, adores her.”