‘Sir Ralph Crompton came to see me yesterday. He—he made threats which he will not hesitate in carrying out if I refuse his offer of marriage. I don’t want to marry him, Richard. You must know that.’
Richard paled. ‘What is this? Tell me you didn’t refuse him?’
Arlette shook her head, wishing she could escape her brother-in-law’s questioning, accusing eyes. ‘No—at least not yet. I do not like him and I will not be beholden to a man I cannot honour.’
‘Why are you behaving like this, Arlette? Is it because of Lord Latham? I cannot help but notice the change in you since his return with the King.’
‘My decision has nothing to do with William, Richard. Besides, he is to be married shortly.’ She glanced at Richard. She could tell from his set features that he was not prepared to indulge her. He looked extremely angry. ‘He told me you will suffer if I refuse to marry him. What did he mean, Richard?’
From his seat by the fire, Richard glared at her, his eyes angry and accusing. ‘You have to marry him. How can you not—after all we have done for you? This is not a good time for me. Things are bad—they could not be worse.’
‘I know and I am sorry.’
‘You silly girl. You don’t understand how it’s done.’
His expression sent dread crawling up Arlette’s spine. ‘Then tell me.’
‘I owe Sir Ralph. At the start of the wars I hit some trouble. I failed in a speculation after I married Hester. Sir Ralph helped me out on the understanding that it was a loan. I knew I had to repay him, but times were hard and the interest increased.’
‘And now Sir Ralph has called in the loan,’ she whispered.
‘It is his right. You know there is no dowry and he has even offered to cancel the loan when you become his wife.’
‘I do not like him and I do not want to be his wife.’
‘Sentiment has no place in marriage. You must accept how things are. If you don’t do this, then the consequences of your decision will be immediate. We will lose everything. We will be beggars hoping for alms. He has made the deal clear enough. He will forgo the debt when you become his wife. Do you understand?’
Arlette glanced away, her chest clogged with so many emotions she was having difficulty controlling. She looked back at him. He had always been a dictatorial, opinionated man—she had kept her views to herself all the years she had been living in his house out of consideration to Hester and now she could not think why.
‘I understand perfectly,’ she said tightly.
‘You have lived in this house for nine years, eating the food at my table. I’ve provided for you as my guest and you are brazen, stubborn and without one shred of gratitude. Come, Arlette. Sir Ralph is sober and well respected and prosperous. What more do you want in a husband?’
Arlette sighed. He did not profess concern for her well-being and happiness at all. She could expect nothing less. ‘This deal he has made with you,’ she said in a low voice, ‘is wicked.’
‘I know,’ Richard said heavily.
‘He is buying me with blackmail. How can he want me when I go to him under such a threat to you?’ She turned away. A lump formed in her throat and she felt as if she would never swallow again and her eyes, so strangely dry one moment, stung painfully the next. Walking slowly to the door, she paused and looked back at them. ‘I will give it some thought,’ she said in a quiet voice, deeply distressed as she sought to find some ray of hope in a painfully dark future. It seemed there was no more to say.
* * *
Another few days went by, days in which Arlette felt herself to be in a state of waiting without knowing why. The atmosphere was strained in the Arden household. It was as if the very house was holding its breath, waiting, waiting for her to say she would marry Sir Ralph.
She knew the time would come when William would come to see her and that there would be decisions to make.
* * *
Another few days passed before she saw him. It was during an afternoon. Richard was in the city and Hester had retired to her room for some rest. Arlette was in the parlour. Mary, one of the young maids, was helping her to alter some of Hester’s clothes for when her pregnancy began to expand her waistline. She was also taking the opportunity to make a new gown for herself—the fabric Hester had provided as a sweetener, Arlette thought, as a feeble attempt to ease her own conscience in not standing up to Sir Ralph and Richard on her behalf and hoping it would go some way to make her decision to marry Sir Ralph easier. It was a subtle shade of yellow with a gossamer-fine gold embroidery. After working on it for days now, with just the sleeves to be attached, it was almost complete. The bodice was fitted and decorated with lace. At her small waist was a belt of gold satin.
‘Oh, it is lovely,’ Mary cried when she had fitted it on Arlette. ‘I told you the colour is perfect for you. It suits your colouring and your figure. Go and look in the mirror and tell me what you think. With just the sleeves to stitch on it will soon be ready to wear.’
Arlette padded across the floor in her stockinged feet and her reaction when she saw her reflection was all the maid could have asked for.
‘Yes,’ she gasped, laughing happily, genuinely impressed, allowing herself the luxury of running her hands down the folds of the sumptuous skirt before doing a twirl. It was cool to the touch. ‘It’s perfect, Mary. I feel as though I’ve been dressed in such dour clothes for so long I’ve forgotten I have a feminine side.’
‘I assure you that, considering your evening at the King’s Court, no one else has.’
The deep, masculine voice caused Arlette to spin round to find Willian on the threshold to the parlour, leaning against the doorframe. Her heart gave a traitorous leap at the sight of his darkly handsome face. His crooked smile and the sparkle in his blue eyes almost sapped the strength from her knees. She dropped her lashes in sudden confusion as his voice wound around her senses like a coil of dark silk.
‘William! You take me by surprise. I did not expect you.’ Conscious of the bruises on her upper arm, she half turned from him, but not before he had seen for himself the damaged flesh. A frown puckered his brow, but he made no comment.
‘I thought it was about time I paid you a visit. Forgive me for letting myself in. I couldn’t make anyone hear.’ He glanced about the room. ‘No Hester?’
‘She is in bed, resting.’
‘Not ill, I hope?’
‘No. She is with child.’
He raised his eyebrows. ‘I see. That is good news. Richard and Hester must be very happy.’
‘Yes, they are. They’ve waited so long for this. Please excuse me while I go and change. I should hate to spoil this gown before it’s had an airing.’
‘It’s a lovely dress, although,’ he said, raising an eyebrow, ‘I can’t help questioning its brightness in a Puritan household.’
Arlette laughed. ‘Thankfully Richard is not as devout as some. Besides, knowing he is to be a father at last, he has his head in the clouds just now so he hardly notices what I wear.’ She shot Mary a glance. ‘Would you fetch some refreshment, Mary, and show Lord Latham into the garden?’ She smiled at him. ‘Do you mind? It’s such a lovely day and the garden is a delight.’
Chapter Five
Walking on the grass admiring the flowers, he paused when Arlette entered the garden. He was arrested by the sight of her, by the sheer beauty of the picture she made, with her dove-grey gown falling in soft folds to her feet and surrounded by clambering pink and white roses. With her hair falling in a glorious tumble about her shoulders and her chin tilted with a quiet pride, she seemed alluring and elusive, and lost and lonely and vulnerable.
As she walked towards him, her eyes fixed on his, all her anxieties about what had transpired between them at Whitehall Palace returned. With his white shirt worn beneath his open black doublet, he looked incredibly attractive and, as he strode towards her, she notic
ed his limbs were strong. Despite how hard she struggled against it, each moment she spent with him she grew closer to him emotionally and her mind fiercely warned her to draw back.
William’s eyes looked directly into hers, his expression unreadable, neither warm nor cold. The torment in Arlette’s mind showed on her face and, seeing it, he guessed at the questions there.
‘I confess that I am surprised to see you, William. I thought we’d said all there was to say at Whitehall.’
‘Not quite, Arlette. There will always be something between us no matter how hard we try to deny it. Come and sit down. I want to talk to you.’
‘Have you come by the river?’ Arlette asked when she sat beside him in the flowering confines of an arbour.
‘No, I rode here.’
Mary appeared, carrying a jug of cold lemonade which she placed on a small table in front of them, pouring some into two cups before leaving them to talk.
‘You looked fetching in your new gown, Arlette. You need not have changed.’
‘I had to. It’s not yet complete, but the King’s return calls for a new gown.’
‘I approve of your attitude. Why, you should be dressed in the finest of silks and brocades with lace at your throat and ribbons in your hair, not those dour clothes adopted by the Puritans.’
Flattered by his words, she laughed lightly, knowing full well what Sir Ralph would have to say about that. ‘I agree with you,’ she said, banishing all thoughts of Sir Ralph, ‘and the whole of England should rejoice. Why are you here, William? How—how is Marian?’
He frowned. ‘It is Marian I have come to speak to you about. I’m hoping I can count on your support.’
Arlette looked away, having hoped he had come to see her and not to talk about Marian. ‘Me? But how can I do that when I hardly know her?’
‘I understand that, but she was quite taken with you.’
‘I liked her, too. Indeed, who would not? She is quite charming.’
‘She is young, like a sprite.’ Tilting his head to one side, he looked at Arlette. ‘There are times when she reminds me of you.’
‘Really? Has something happened?’
He sighed. ‘Nothing I can put my finger on, but I’ve observed a change in her of late. Her smile is no longer spontaneous and her laugh, once unselfconscious, sounds artificial. I cannot pretend that I am not disturbed by this change in her. She’s in no hurry to leave for Warwickshire. I feel there is something troubling her.’
‘And why is that, do you think?’
‘I have no idea.’
‘Have you asked her?’
‘No.’
‘Then don’t you think you should? Perhaps if you did then your anxieties and fears may be at an end. Or are you afraid of what she might say?’
‘No, of course not.’
Arlette felt the confusion press around her heart. When she had seen him leaning against the doorframe, the joy of spending time alone with him was indescribable. She had never been happier. But realising he had come to talk about Marian and primarily not to see her, she was hurt and more than a little resentful. She didn’t really know what to do, how to feel or what to say, which was most unlike her since she had always done and said the first thing that came into her head, but her female instinct told her to be careful, not to divulge something that was not her place to do so, to guard her tongue.
She paused a moment, but then drove out the question. ‘William, do you still want to marry her?’
He drew a deep breath and looked at her strangely, his eyes slightly narrowed. For a moment he made no answer and then, softly, he said, ‘As to that I can honestly say I don’t know any more.’
‘Then don’t you think you should think about it before it’s too late?’
‘I’ve done nothing else but think about it,’ he uttered. ‘I would betray her trust if I walked away. I do love her. Perhaps not in the way I should—but I admire her. I love her gentleness, her sense of fun and her purity. We have a mutual respect and understanding. What more is there?’
‘What more indeed? With such qualities as these how could you not love her? I am quite the opposite—so Hester is always telling me—being too impressionable, too difficult for my own good, and as obstinate and stubborn as a thousand mules. She also says that any man who marries me will be welcome to me.’
‘Come now, Hester adores you and you know it.’
Sipping her lemonade, Arlette looked across at him. His eyes were clear and shone with past adventures while his dark hair ruffled in the breeze. For a moment she hated the way he looked, hated the fact that he had come here to talk to her about Marian when she, Arlette, wanted him for herself. How she wished she could dislike her, but she couldn’t.
‘The way I see it, you are under obligation to marry her,’ she said somewhat irrationally, a glitter of anger in her eyes. And then she lifted her head and looked at him directly. ‘You feel that you owe her father a debt of gratitude because he saved your life. He placed you in a difficult position by asking you to marry his daughter. I’m sorry, William, but to my mind that was asking too much of you.’
William’s face hardened. ‘I don’t think so. Lord Stanhope was a good friend of mine. I was happy to do what I could.’
Something in Arlette’s mind stirred at his mention of Lord Stanhope. Hadn’t she heard that name somewhere before? Hadn’t Hester referred to someone by that name in connection with her mother? Giving William no indication of her thoughts and the unease this caused her, she said, ‘Perhaps Marian is having second thoughts about marrying you. Have you not thought of that? Aware of the circumstances that brought you together in the first place, would she really want to spend the rest of her days with somebody who was only there out of obligation?’
‘It isn’t like that.’
‘No? It seems like that to me. Do you think she is having regrets?’
‘No—I don’t.’
‘You sound so sure of that, yet the last time we were together you were so enamoured of me that you quite forgot your promises to Marian.’
‘I apologise for my behaviour on that occasion. I’d hoped I was forgiven,’ he answered stiffly.
Arlette averted her eyes. How could he remain so calm and unconcerned by what had happened between them at Whitehall Palace—something that had meant so much to her? But because he had spoken in such a casual, matter-of-fact way it had confirmed her fears that he cared little for her after all. Since his kiss she had dreamed of little else.
Fearing that he would guess her thoughts, she lowered her eyes, afraid to meet his penetrating gaze lest he should lay bare the hopelessness of the feelings she carried for him in her heart. But she was angry at herself, angry that she could have succumbed so easily to the embrace of this unfeeling man. The kiss had altered everything between them. The agony she had felt when she had left him had receded to a dull numbness. All she wanted to do was to go away and never look back, to forget everything. All her attention must be focused on that, on forgetting that she had ever met William Latham and that she had been foolish and vulnerable enough to fall into his arms like a common strumpet. In control of her feelings once more, she looked across to where he lounged on the bench beside her, watching her like a cat watching a mouse, waiting patiently for her reaction to his question.
‘Having no knowledge of your exploits where ladies are concerned, your behaviour took me by surprise. And as for apologies—well—it is a little late in the day to withdraw what happened, don’t you think? However, you may put your mind at rest. You are forgiven. My memory of the incident is extremely hazy. As far as I am concerned, it never happened.’
William gave a laugh of unbridled amusement, doubting the truth of her statement. ‘Your generosity embarrasses me, Arlette. Indeed it does.’
His amusement irked Arlette somewhat, but she smiled softly. ‘I would not have though
t a man of your phlegmatic character capable of embarrassment,’ she said with a hint of sarcasm.
‘By that I take it to mean that I am not easily excitable, dispassionate, even.’ His eyes narrowed and glittered meaningfully and his voice softened. ‘Come now, after what occurred between us the last time we were together, I think you know me better than that.’
A silence fell between them, broken only by birdsong. William’s blue eyes remained fixed on Arlette’s face with just the trace of a smile. It was she who broke the silence.
‘So, how do you think I can be of help with Marian?’
‘I would like you to go and see her. Talk to her. Will you do that, Arlette?’
Arlette looked into the bright blue eyes and the refusal she’d been about to voice died on her lips. Knowing what she did about Marian and James, it made sense that she should go and see her, and if she could be of help, it was the right thing to do.
‘Very well,’ she said, feeling a weight settle against her chest. ‘I’ll do what I can. Where is she staying?’
‘I’ve installed her in a house off the Strand with a housekeeper to take care of her needs. I have rooms at Whitehall.’
‘Is there no one else you can ask?’
‘She has no one else, Arlette—no one close—no family that she knows of.’
‘I see. Very well. Shall I go there or would you like to bring her here for a visit?’
‘I think you should go and see her. If Hester is agreeable, I will take you there.’
‘She must have been very young when her father took her to France. I recall you saying that you were together fighting in the French wars. Who took care of her?’
‘Her father always made sure she was taken care of.’ William stood up to go. ‘I know I don’t have any right to ask you to do this—’
Reunited at the King's Court Page 11