“Oh, my.”
He kept his gaze on the stone path upon which they were walking. “He was found innocent, only a few days after he’d been executed for it.”
“Oh, Mr. Conolly—that’s dreadful.” She was gripping his arm, tightly.
“It was then that I determined to become a barrister—so that I could fight for those who were unable to defend themselves.”
“But…you work with gentlemen to settle their affairs,” she pointed out.
“Touché, My Lady.” He cleared his throat. “Life doesn’t always go according to plan. I helped Lord Danbury resolve an estate matter about four years ago. On the strength of his recommendation, I have been assisting the ton with their affairs ever since.”
“Do you like it?” she asked.
“I do. I really do. I’ve been fortunate, while my father was not. The Constabulary gave my mother funds to ensure that I was properly brought up and educated, despite not having a father.”
“I’m so sorry,” she said, her fingers squeezing his arm. Before he really thought of it, he placed his hand on top of hers.
“Thank you, My Lady.”
Their eyes met. She smiled up at him. It wasn’t with pity, as was the usual reaction. It was as though they’d shared a moment, one which had put her, instead, on his side, just like when he’d shared the same information with Arthur.
“Over here,” she said, waving to him. “Do you see this?”
She pointed to a flower. It was bright red, with petals, bursting wide open. Somehow, he knew that it meant far more to her than a rose ever would.
“This is my favorite. Do you know why?”
“No. Why?” He didn’t even know what it was. He knew, though that she was sharing it with him, in an exchange of sorts.
“It’s an amaryllis. Its name comes from a shepherdess from Virgil’s Eclogues.”
“She casts a love spell, does she not?” It had been several years since he’d read it, back when he was in school.
“Indeed.”
“What does that have to do with you?”
“What power she had,” she replied. “To take one’s own future in her hands, and cast a spell.”
“I see,” he said.
“Do you?”
“Yes. Not to worry, My Lady. Your secret is safe with me.”
“What secret is that?” The corners of her mouth quirked upwards.
To the Devil with the Duke and his opinions.
“You’re an enchantress,” he replied.
Roses bloomed in her cheeks as she blushed. She laughed. “Mr. Conolly, accusing me of witchcraft!”
“My Lady—you’re used to feeling as though you have power—here on the grounds of your father’s estate,” he said. “Out there—in society—because you are a Lady, you do not have the same power that you would if you were born a gentleman.”
“True enough.” The smile had fled.
“Upon your father’s death, you will lose all of this. Your home,” he went on, keeping his tone gentle. “Thus, you must marry, and marry well, in order to have a home.”
She regarded him, closely. “What do you think I should do?”
“I think you should do what it takes to ensure your happiness,” he replied. “You deserve to be happy, My Lady.”
She was silent. He wondered what she was thinking. She was at times so talkative, and then at others so quiet and thoughtful. They walked to the end of the garden, and turned back toward the house.
“Mr. Conolly, I can’t help but notice that your demeanor changed last night,” she said.
“I was tired, My Lady.”
“Come now, Mr. Conolly. No secrets between us.”
He looked deep into her brown eyes. “I was reminded of my place, My Lady.”
She licked her lips, before she whispered. “What if your place was by my side?”
“That I should be so lucky,” he replied, sadly. “Come. Let me walk you back to the house.”
After walking through the gardens with Mr. Conolly, Arabella went in search of her mother. She found her in the withdrawing room, working on some embroidery.
“Good morning, Mamma.”
“Good morning, love,” the Duchess said, beaming at her only child. She finished pulling a bit of silk thread through the square of fabric that was in the hoop. She then set it aside.
Arabella peered at her mother’s work. It was, as always, incredibly detailed. It was of a bouquet of yellow primroses, tied with a blue ribbon, laid out on top of a simple wooden chair. Behind the chair, there was a window set into the wall. Outside of the window, there was a blue sky, hanging over a field of primroses.
“That’s beautiful, Mamma.” Arabella sat down beside her.
“Thank you, my dear. I thought I’d give myself a bit of a tricky thing to do,” the Duchess said. She looked up from her handiwork. “Have you come to discuss last night’s ball?”
“Certainly,” Arabella replied, dutifully. “Did you see Lady Danbury’s new gown?” Lady Danbury had been particularly excited about it. It was a black silk gown, with a gold lace overlay on the front of the bodice, as well as on the tiers of the skirt. The effect was stunning.
“The gold lace was to die for!” the Duchess said, placing her hand on her chest. “I saw that you were out on the dance floor as often than not.”
“I nearly wore out my slippers,” Arabella replied.
“Any of the gentlemen catch your eye?”
“Perhaps,” Arabella said.
“Tell me! Who is it? Do I know him?”
“You do, Mamma.”
“Arabella! I’m so pleased to hear!” her mother gushed. “You won’t say—” Arabella shook her head. “You’re such a sly thing. Very well. Keep your secrets.”
“I want to be absolutely sure before I say,” she replied. Her heart was knocking about in her chest. She had come very close to telling her mother that it was Mr. Conolly who had caught her eye.
“Very well,” her mother said. “I can wait, but not long. You know how bad I am with secrets.”
Arabella smiled. Her mother, as sweet as she was—was one of the biggest gossipmongers in the ton. “I do know, Mamma. That’s why I want to be sure before I say.”
“I understand. But I’m so, so very excited. Is he eligible?”
“He’s a bachelor, if that’s what you’re asking.” Her mind was full of what he’d said, out in the garden—that I should be so lucky. As though he believed that he wasn’t good enough. Surely her father would see that they were in love—or soon to be.
“Good, good. Is he handsome?” her mother asked.
“Extremely.”
“And does he dance well?”
“He does, indeed,” she replied, watching her mother squint as she tried to recall every gentleman that her daughter had danced with. The only relief to Arabella was that the one name she sought was not on her dance card.
Charles spent most of the day in the gloom of the Duke’s study. As he worked, his mind was continually returning to the garden, his talk with Lady Arabella.
What if your place is by my side?
His heart had nearly stopped. He had never met anyone like her. She was bold, but it was one of the things that he adored about her.
He finished all of the required documents, spreading sand over them to dry the ink. The Duke looked up from the ledger, where he was counting up sums.
“All finished?” he asked.
“I am, indeed,” Charles confirmed. “Here, Your Grace.” Charles brushed away the sand, then slid them over toward the Duke. “Read these over and then sign them. I will file them as soon as I return to London.”
“Excellent,” the Duke said. “You will stay with us a few days more?”
“I really should return to the city.” He was in grave danger of falling for Lady Arabella. He needed to put some space in between them, or else he was going to lose the Duke of Tiverwell as a client.
“At least stay a few more days
,” the Duke urged. “You’ve worked so hard on this. A rest is what you’re owed, Mr. Conolly.”
“A barrister’s work is never done, Your Grace.”
“Mr. Conolly! When was the last time that you took some time to relax and enjoy yourself?” It was one of the foibles of the ton—believing that you were owed time to relax.
“I was ill the last time that I had a day’s rest,” he admitted.
“Then I insist! You’ve helped me, so thoroughly,” the Duke said. “And…and I may have need of you on some other matters…”
As he trailed off, Charles realized that the Duke was referring to what he had alluded to, the other day. He got the feeling that it was worrying him, but he had waited until Charles had finished with the estate first.
The Duke leaned forward. “Mr. Conolly, it would be a help if you could look over what I need to show you.”
Charles nodded. “A few more days,” he agreed. Even though instinct told him not to. How quickly would he be expelled from Tiverwell Manor, should the Duke find out about his feelings for his daughter, which may or may not be reciprocated?
“Take tomorrow off. Lady Arabella is going riding with Lord Drysdale. You should be of the party.”
“You won’t need me tomorrow?”
“Let me have a day to gather my thoughts,” the Duke replied. Charles nodded. He was curious to know what it might be. A letter, as he had intimated the other day? Several letters? Something else?
The Duke merely began to read through the documents, clearly having said as much as he planned to, for that day, at least.
Chapter Seven
Charles and Lord Drysdale met out in front of the stables the next day. The Viscount smiled at him. He was dressed impeccably, in a bright red riding jacket with gold buttons, which appeared to have been made of a wool and silk blend.
Charles himself wore another of his dark blue wool frock coats—he had several. None of which were specifically for riding, but would do, nonetheless. He’d purchased them for their simplicity.
“The Duke doesn’t have need of your services today?” Lord Drysdale asked, tugging on his kid riding gloves.
“Not today,” Charles said, pulling his own riding gloves out. “It sounds like I’ll be hard at work again tomorrow, though.”
“So you’ll be staying a bit longer?” the Viscount asked.
“It appears so,” Charles confirmed, surprised at how solicitous the Viscount was being.
“I wonder—would you be able to help me with something later on?”
“Of course,” Charles replied, having his suspicions confirmed. Usually, the gentlemen of the ton were only interested in him when they needed something.
Lady Arabella arrived then, wearing a pair of breeches, along with a pale grey frock coat, which had a yellow bow adorning it. On her head, she wore a top hat, and her dark boots came up to her knees. She cut a smart figure, Charles noted. Annette, her lady’s maid, was dressed in a simple riding habit. She trailed after Arabella silently.
“My Lady!” Lord Drysdale exclaimed, utterly scandalized. “You do not mean to ride astride!”
“I assure you, I mean to,” she replied, pulling her kid riding gloves on. “I always have. I don’t know why all and sundry expect me to start riding sidesaddle, merely because I have debuted!”
“When you marry, your husband will likely direct you to wear a riding habit and use a side saddle,” Lord Drysdale commented. Rage flickered over the lady’s features.
“If that is what my husband will order me to do, then I don’t think I’ll be marrying him to begin with,” she stated flatly.
“There’s simply no purpose for it.” Lord Drysdale, it seemed, was still trying to win her over, but was doing so in the worst way possible. She was clearly offended.
“There’s no purpose for a side-saddle,” she replied. “It makes jumping difficult.”
“Ladies are most certainly not meant to jump.” Lord Drysdale had forgotten Charles entirely. Arabella, meanwhile, looked right at him.
“I mean to,” she said, clearly expecting Charles to say something.
“Oh, look—our horses,” Charles commented, mostly to get them both to stop quarrelling. The grooms were leading them over. He was mildly surprised when Arabella was handed the reins to a spirited black Thoroughbred.
Charles, meanwhile, was given a large, yet even-tempered gelding. Charles eyed Arabella, who stared back at him, as though daring him to tell her otherwise.
“He’s a beautiful horse,” he said, watching her face light up with evident pride. She, like her horse, was clearly hot-tempered.
“Black Jack is my pride and joy,” she replied, appeased.
“He’s dangerous, for a lady,” Lord Drysdale muttered.
“Are you going to argue, or can we get to it?” Charles asked, pretending to be bored with the exchange.
“Mr. Conolly—you cannot support this?” Lord Drysdale asked.
“It’s not up to you, and it’s certainly not up to me,” he stated. “It’s between Lady Arabella and His Grace.”
Lady Arabella glanced over at him, a small smile spreading across her face. She nodded toward him. He smiled at her. As a barrister, Charles was used to solving arguments. He climbed up onto his horse’s back.
When Charles glanced over at Annette, she blinked at him. He was well aware that she saw and heard everything, then reserved her judgments for later, when she was alone with Lady Arabella. Of anyone, Charles felt like he related to her the most—after all, they were both there because the Duke of Tiverwell had hired them.
They all rode off, as a group, the lady’s maid and the grooms following after them, as chaperones. It was a brilliantly sunny day. The perfect day for a ride. In the city, sunny days just meant that the streets baked in the sun, causing a rather unpleasant smell.
In the country, it meant something else entirely. The air smelled fresh. Charles was immediately planning to purchase himself a home in the country. Nothing too elaborate. Just somewhere to go, when he needed a break from the city.
He had enough, after all. The ton paid him well for his services. He worked, tirelessly, all year. Why shouldn’t he take a break, sometimes? He watched as a flock of birds, wheeled through the sky.
Arabella rode confidently. Black Jack tossed his head. He was a large horse, but she had never lost control of him before. His gait was like a dream—smooth and even. Her anger with Lord Drysdale began to subside as she rode. She led the group. Mr. Conolly maneuvered his horse to ride beside her.
“Are you enjoying the view, Mr. Conolly?” she asked wryly.
He speared her with his gaze, raising his eyebrow. He had caught her double entendre. “Very much, My Lady. The view in the city is not at all the same.” There he went again—taking all of the fire out of her words. It was slightly infuriating.
“I see,” she said archly. She would get him to repartee.
“I do not often come out to the country,” he replied, still not taking her bait. Drysdale would. He was such a stick in the mud that he always objected to everything that she did.
“How about we take the path at a bit of a faster pace?” she suggested. “We’re almost to the picnic spot.”
“As you wish.”
She turned back toward the others. “We’re going to pick up the pace,” she said. They all nodded. She touched her heels to Black Jack’s sides. He sprung forward into a canter at the slightest touch.
She could hear the thundering of the others’ horses. Arabella loved the lope of her horse. He was spirited, like her. Beside her, Mr. Conolly rode his horse, she grinned at him. He returned the smile.
She felt indomitable—as though nothing could touch her. Up there, on the back of her large, fast horse—riding at Mr. Conolly’s side—nothing could touch her.
As they came around the bend in the road, a flock of birds were spooked, all of them lifting into the air from the depths of a gorse bush.
Black Jack startled, rearing
back. Arabella clung on, wrapping her fingers into his mane. He began to buck, throwing her from the saddle. She fell, landing on the ground. Black Jack ran off. She watched, stunned. It had all happened so quickly.
“My Lady?” Mr. Conolly had dismounted, and was kneeling down beside her. Arabella was watching one of the grooms ride off, in pursuit of her horse.
Forbidden Desires of a Seductive Duchess: A Steamy Historical Regency Romance Novel Page 5