At Long Last

by Shirlee Busbee

  Sighing, she waited for Mary's entrance and the first words out of her stepmother's mouth told her that she had guessed correctly the reason for the unexpected call.

  Rushing into the room, her lovely features frantic, Mary pulled Arabella against her bosom, and cried, "Oh, Bella, tell me it is not true! Tell me that you have not taken up with that man again!"

  Gently disengaging herself from Mary's convulsive embrace, Arabella sent her a small smile and said, "I see that your brother wasted no time in telling you that he had seen Tony and me together in Natchez."

  "Then it's true?" Mary demanded, dismay and horror written all over her lovely face. "Bella! How could you? After what he did to you?"

  Arabella opened her mouth but shut it with a snap when Agatha Rutledge trod majestically into the room. Spying Arabella, she shook a finger forcefully at Arabella and said in her carrying voice, "For shame! Look at how you have upset your sweet step mama. Why she has been beside herself since dear Richard first brought us the news yesterday afternoon. It was all I could do to persuade her not to leap instantly into the carriage that very moment and fly to your side. The poor angel hardly slept a wink last night—and it is your fault."

  Standing nearly six feet tall, Agatha was an impressive figure of womanhood. She had the beautiful Kingsley blue eyes, although hers were a trifle protuberant, a strong nose, a wide mouth, and a determined chin. Surprisingly, her features all fit very well together and with a shapely form, elegant carriage, and fair locks, in her youth she had been considered quite a handsome girl. Now approaching sixty, she was still a striking woman. The years had added some flesh to her already Amazonian size, and the once-blond locks contained a silvery hue; but her features had stood the test of time, her chin and jawline still firm and her eyes still bright and lively.

  Arabella had always wanted to like Agatha. Honestly. But they could not be in each other's company five minutes before they were ready to pitch bricks at each other. This morning was a typical example, and Arabella could feel her hackles rise and a scathing retort was already forming on her lips when something occurred to her: Agatha wasn't angry with her for having been with the notorious Tony Daggett, but because she had upset Mary.... It was a stunning revelation. And realizing that if Agatha had been the one to cause Mary the distress her stepmother was obviously feeling that she would be equally angry, Arabella tried a different approach.

  Weakly, she said, "Good morning, Cousin Agatha. I see that you have arrived safely." Taking a deep breath, she added, "I am sorry that my actions have created such an unpleasant disturbance for you so soon after your arrival."

  Clearly expecting an angry reply, Agatha stared at her as if she had suddenly sprouted a second head. Arabella held her breath as Agatha regarded her suspiciously for a long moment. Then apparently deciding to accept the olive branch, Agatha snorted, and said, "You know how Mary frets about you. You should take better care not to cause her pain. Selfishness is not a desirable trait—as you should know at your age."

  With an effort, Arabella kept a smile on her face, but her hands curled into little fists hidden by the folds of her skirt.

  Tidmore entered the room, bearing a large tray of refreshments and, following Arabella's directions, set it down on a low mahogany table that stood in front of the sofa. The ladies were silent until he had left the room.

  As the door closed behind him, Mary sank down into a chair covered in straw-striped silk. "Bella," she asked reproachfully, "is it true? You really were in Natchez with Tony Daggett yesterday?"

  Gesturing politely for Agatha to be seated, Arabella poured tall glasses of lemonade for her guests.

  Keeping her gaze on the task at hand, she said with far more calm than she felt, "Yes. I was with Tony yesterday in Natchez."

  Mary gave a wounded cry. "Oh, darling! You are not going to allow that monster to break your heart again, are you?"

  "He is not a monster," Arabella said coolly, serving both ladies.

  "Oh, I knew it! I knew his return would cause no end of trouble. See! He has already cast his spell over you—you are defending him once again. And after all the pain and scandal he created for you last time. I cannot believe that you would be so... so..."

  "Stupid? Foolish?" Arabella supplied with a twisted smile.

  "Yes!"

  "Perhaps," Agatha said unexpectedly, "before you fret yourself into a decline, my dear, you ought to hear what Arabella has to say. There could have been a good reason why she was with this man yesterday."

  Arabella and Mary both regarded her with open-mouthed astonishment. Never in memory had Agatha spoken up in Arabella's favor. Looking a bit flustered, Agatha took a fortifying sip of her lemonade, and muttered, "Just a notion."

  Mary blinked, and, looking at Arabella, asked, "Well? Was there a good reason?"

  Arabella found herself debating how much to tell Mary. Her visits on Tuesday afternoon to Leyton and Tony, for obvious reasons, could not be mentioned, and that included the attempted robbery by the highwayman as she had traveled home that same evening. But she could think of no good excuse not to tell of the attack on Wednesday night—the Tidmores and too many other people knew about it, and she knew that it was only a matter of time until the incident reached Mary's ears.

  Reluctantly, she began, "I discovered a prowler with a knife in my room on Wednesday night."

  Mary gasped, her blue eyes wide in horror. Agatha merely appeared interested.

  "No one was hurt," Arabella added hastily, "but I was rather unnerved after finding him in my bedroom."

  "A thief?" Mary cried. "A thief actually broke into the house while you were here? And he accosted you? Oh, my dear, weren't you terrified absolutely to death?"

  Arabella smiled. "No, in fact, I was furious!"

  Agatha nodded. "Exactly as I would have felt. Bold, pushing varmints!" She eyed Arabella expectantly. "I trust that you taught him a lesson?"

  Further revising her opinion of Agatha, Arabella said grimly, "Indeed, I did. He got away, but not before I struck him a blow on the head with a pitcher." With satisfaction, she added, "When Tidmore and I and the others returned to my room, from which I had fled, he had vanished, but the pitcher had blood on it so we know that I wounded him."

  "Arabella!" exclaimed Mary, clearly aghast at such savage behavior by her stepdaughter. "You actually fought with this felon?"

  "Good gel!" boomed Agatha. "By gad, that is precisely what I would have done! Can't let these fellows think they can frighten innocent God-fearing women in their own homes. Just encourages them."

  "Well, yes," Mary said a bit more calmly, now that she had thought about it, "but weren't you frightened at all?"

  "At first," Arabella admitted. "But then I got so angry, that all I could think about was, how dare he do this to me!" Ruefully she added, "You know my temper—you have lectured me enough about it in the past."

  Mary smiled fondly at her. "Well, this is one time that I think perhaps your temper stood you in good stead." She frowned. "But what does your intruder have to do with going to Natchez with Tony Daggett?"

  "Uh, well, I was uneasy after the event, as you can well imagine." Hastily improvising as she went along, she continued gamely, "And, uh, on Friday I needed to drive into Natchez to see Mr. Haight. I was not looking forward to the drive as I was still somewhat, er, nervous after what had occurred and Tony just happened to call and learned of my journey. When he offered to escort me, I accepted and was most relieved."

  Having not a suspicious bone in her body, Mary nodded in complete understanding. From her point of view it made perfect sense—she would never stir from the house without some sort of escort, preferably male. But Agatha was made of sterner stuff, and the look she bent upon Arabella revealed that she knew a Banbury tale when she heard one. She raised a brow, sniffed, but said nothing.

  "I see how it must have been," Mary finally said. "And under the circumstances, I think you had good reason to accept his company." Her expression troubled, she asked
, "But Bella, you are not going to allow him back into your life again, are you?"

  It was not Arabella's nature to lie. She would not willingly hurt Mary, nor cause her pain, but she had no choice in this matter. The events of yesterday had shown her that Tony was not going to allow her to shove him into the shadows whenever it suited her—and she was ashamed that she had ever thought that she could. Tony, deceiving wretch that he was, didn't deserve to be treated like a dirty secret, and while she wasn't about to trumpet their intimate liaison from the rooftops of Natchez, she was not going to pretend that she would have nothing to do with the infamous Mr. Daggett.

  Arabella took a deep breath. "I do not intend to let him into my heart again," she said quietly, "but I shall neither avoid him nor snub him if we meet in public."

  "Oh, Bella, no! Never say so!" cried Mary, her distress acute.

  "She doesn't have any choice," said Agatha calmly. "Plain as the nose on your face that the gel is still in love with him!"

  Chapter 12

  The look of absolute horror on Mary's face almost made Arabella laugh. Almost. The situation was too serious for humor, though, and Arabella faced an uncomfortable dilemma: Did she lie or tell the truth?

  Spilling out her feelings for Tony to her stepmother, or anyone else for that matter, was not something that she had ever considered doing. What was in her heart was her business and no one else's. Unfortunately, Agatha's blunt words forced the issue. Arabella sighed. It would be easier to lie, to let Mary think that Tony Daggett meant nothing to her, but something deep inside her rebelled at that idea. Was she ashamed of her love for him? Her lips twisted. No, but she couldn't deny that her life would be so much simpler if she didn't love him.

  Arabella took a deep steadying breath, and, meeting Mary's gaze, she said softly, "She's right, you know. I do still love him."

  "But you can't! He's an awful man! People think he killed both of his wives. How can you love him?"

  It was an argument she had heard often enough from both Mary and her father five years ago, and she still could not explain how or why it was that Tony Daggett held her heart so completely. She only knew that he did and she feared that he always would.

  Ruefully she admitted, "In my mind I agree with every sentiment you have expressed, but in my heart..." Her voice trailed away, and her face softened. "My heart," she finally said, "doesn't always listen to my head where Tony is concerned."

  Of course, Mary promptly had hysterics, crying and sobbing that Arabella was ruining her life. That Tony would make a terrible husband—look at his past—and if she persisted in this foolishness, Tony would no doubt murder her and then where would they all be?

  Mary's first gusty outburst gradually gave way to heart-wrenching sobs, which made Arabella's own heart ache—even more so, because she knew that it was only love for her that motivated her stepmother. She could hardly be angry with Mary for having her best interests at heart, but at the same time, she was irritated with her stepmother's reaction. It wasn't as if she were an innocent young girl throwing away her future on an irredeemable wastrel, Arabella thought wearily, even if Mary held exactly that view.

  Arabella was in a difficult position, and it didn't help matters to have Agatha on the other side of her scolding and lecturing about how unhappy she was making Mary. Feeling like a doe running before the hounds, Arabella tried to calm Mary and at the same time not let Agatha's criticism make her lose her temper. It was not easy.

  She was thoroughly exhausted and holding on to her temper by a thread by the time the worst of Mary's tears had dried.

  With some semblance of normality, Arabella escorted them back to the carriage and waved them away, although her heart ached at Mary's drawn, unhappy face. Hurting those she loved was the last thing she wanted to do, but she also had to be true to herself. Sighing heavily, she walked up the steps slowly and entered the house. The headache that had been building all during Mary and Agatha's emotional visit finally burst forth, making her pale and dizzy from the blasting pain in her temples. Gone were any thoughts of going through the storerooms. Feeling like some silly heroine in a Minerva Press novel, she fled to her room and spent the rest of the afternoon lying limply on her bed.

  * * *

  By the evening, having enjoyed a long soak in the bath that Martha had ordered set up in the dressing room adjoining the bedroom, Arabella felt somewhat restored. After a light supper, eaten in solitary splendor in the large dining room at the side of the house, she took a stroll outside. It was not yet dark, and there was a soft breeze wafting up from the river that carried on it the haunting perfume of magnolia blossoms.

  She didn't want to think about Tony or the unpleasant scene with Mary and Agatha, but her thoughts had a mind of their own. Since she had already admitted to herself that it was foolish and unwise to love Tony, Mary's arguments had not changed anything. If anything, they had clarified her emotions. God help her, she did still love Tony Daggett.

  Because she loved him, it didn't mean that she was blind to his faults. He had betrayed her once, and she wasn't about to let him do it again. She might love him, but she would rather die than give him the slightest clue that he still held her heart. To do so would be compounding an already great folly.

  It was probably for the best that Richard had tattled to Mary about seeing her and Tony together in Natchez, she decided resignedly. For all its diversity, Natchez was a tight-knit community, and if Richard had not told Mary, someone else would have. Her mouth quirked. Probably Mr. Haight.

  The buzz of mosquitoes whirling around her prompted her return to the relative protection of the house. Having dismissed the Tidmores and Martha for the night, she wandered idly throughout the rooms, halfway considering the changes she would make in the future.

  Her heart was not in it, however, and she went upstairs to seek out her bed at a much earlier hour than normal. After changing into her nightwear, she picked up a book of poems by the English poet, William Wordsworth, and settled comfortably in her bed to read. Within the hour, she was nodding over descriptive flights of scenes in Italy and France and put the book away. Blowing out the candle by her bed, she pulled up the covers and fell asleep with little trouble.

  She dreamed of Tony—of his mouth brushing teasingly against her ear as he murmured soft endearments and his hands traveling tantalizingly over her body. It was such a wonderful dream, so real that she twisted wildly in her bed, arching up to meet those caressing hands as they moved over her, her body tingling in a most pleasurable way. When his lips began to nibble at the corner of her mouth, she sighed blissfully, the delight she felt so real, so intense that she was certain she could not be dreaming. She wasn't.

  "Wake up, Elf," Tony said softly, as his, lips continued to travel here and there over her face. "I don't want to make love to you while you are asleep."

  Her eyes flew open. In the darkness she could see nothing, but she could feel him, his long, lean body lying close beside hers on the bed, his hands gently, caressing her and his lips brushing against her cheek.

  "T-T-Tony?" she asked stupidly, still half-asleep, as she reached blindly for him.

  His hand closed around hers, and, lifting her fingers to his mouth, he tenderly kissed each one.

  "You were, perhaps, expecting someone else?" he murmured against her fingertips.

  Wide-awake finally, Arabella sat up, pushing him away. She fumbled to light the candle by her bedside and once it was lit, turned to stare incredulously at the man lying so confidently in her bed.

  He was there. In her bedroom. On her bed. His black hair attractively tousled as he casually rested his head on one of her lace-edged pillows, he was wearing only a white-linen shirt carelessly opened at the throat and a pair of breeches. His feet were bare.

  She blinked, certain she must be dreaming. Her wondering gaze fell upon his jacket thrown over the chair near the opened French doors and the black boots placed neatly nearby.

  She looked at him again. He was still there. Grinni
ng at her, amusement dancing in his indigo blue eyes.

  "H-H-How? How did you—" She stopped, frowning. "There are men patrolling the grounds," she said slowly, becoming more awake by the minute. "How did you get in?"

  Tony smiled. "It would take more than those four brutes to keep me from you," he murmured, his fingers moving lazily up and down her arm.

  "Tony," she warned.

  "It wasn't so very hard, sweetheart," he said dryly. "You forget; I knew they were there. After a careful reconnoiter, it wasn't difficult to time my arrival between their patrols." His voice grew even dryer. "Anyone could have slipped in here."

  Arabella swallowed, unease crossing her face.

  Annoyed with himself for frightening her, Tony said quickly, "Which is precisely why I am here—to test the efficiency of your precautions. They don't seem to be working very well."

  "And I am to be grateful to you for pointing this out to me by crawling into my bed?" she asked tartly.

  Tony merely smiled, his gaze lingering on the fiery halo of tumbled hair that fell around her face and shoulders before traveling leisurely down to the rise and fall of her unfettered bosom. The fabric of her night garment was delicately spun cotton, so fine it was almost transparent, and the outline of her rosy nipples could be seen clearly beneath it. As he stared, that voluptuous bosom of hers began to move up and down more rapidly.

  Tearing his eyes away from her breasts, he glanced up at her face. Her lips were half-parted, her cheeks flushed, and her eyes were brilliant, almost gold. The desire that had been simmering within him burst into clawing need. Cupping her jaw, he brought her lips to his.

  Huskily, he said, "If you want to call it gratitude, you may do so, but it is, my sweet, something much more elemental."

  He kissed her, his mouth moving gently, persuasively over hers, and Arabella shuddered at the sweetness. Giving a helpless little moan, her arms closed around him, and she gave him the access he wanted, her lips parting to allow him to kiss her deeply, thoroughly.