by Golden Angel
Hartford sighed. "I've thought of it, but they won't be as much fun as you. We would have had a good time of it."
"Some of it," Arabella admitted. "I would have ended up clawing someone's hair out eventually though. I fear I'm much more possessive than I realized. In that regards, we wouldn't have suited at all."
"For you, I could have compromised." He eyed her. "I still could. You could have pity on me, rather than condemning me back to the petticoat line. We could shock everyone and take off to Gretna Green. I'll even carry you out over my shoulder if you truly want to cause a scene."
Arabella laughed, full-throated and gleeful at the image his words painted. She could even imagine the look on everyone’s faces. Lord, as a married couple they would have caused such scenes and had the ton's tongues wagging for days... but it was better this way. While she delighted in toeing the line, she also enjoyed being considered an Original and not a woman to avoid. It would have been very easy to become the latter married to Hartford, especially if she'd had to tolerate more evenings like last night.
Hair pulling might have been the least of it.
Besides, thinking of last night… perhaps marriage to Thomas wouldn’t be completely miserable. She wasn’t going to give him an easy go of it, of course, if only to prove to him that he had as little control over her behavior as her siblings, but there was definitely passion between them. Attraction, and not just on her side. While the foundation for their marriage might be their families’ friendships, and the inciting incident had been scandalous, passion gave them something else to work with as well.
She’d expected he would do his duty, but to be frank she hadn’t anticipated he’d be so enthusiastic about it. While she’d learned enough from Gabrielle and Cynthia to have a general idea of what to expect in the marital bed, she hadn’t actually known what passion felt like until he’d kissed her. Even the kiss she’d used to trap him hadn’t had the same effect on her, probably because her motivations had had nothing to do with desire.
Sighing again at her laughter, Hartford shook his head. “You’re right, it will never work. Your fiancé is already glaring daggers at me; if I attempted to carry you off I’d likely find myself engaged in yet another duel.”
“He is?” Arabella asked, perking up slightly, turning her head to see. Sure enough, Thomas was staring at them, his dark eyes intense even across the ballroom. His expression was blank, nothing the gossips could complain of, but she could read the tension in every line of his body. How interesting. Then the rest of what Hartford had said impinged on her consciousness. She mock-glared at him. “Are you saying I wouldn’t be worth a duel? Well, sirrah, now you know why I flung you over.”
Chuckling, Hartford turned her again as the closing notes of the song played. “I won’t duel a man over a woman who prefers him to me.”
“I…” Arabella’s voice trailed off and the music ended.
“Don’t worry, minx,” he said, winking at her as he bowed. “I won’t tell him your feelings. It’s much more entertaining to watch him turn green.”
A jealous Thomas. Arabella had her doubts but…
Wouldn’t that be interesting?
******
“Hartford,” Thomas said, immediately reclaiming his fiancée from the other man while giving the Marquess a nod of acknowledgement.
“Hood,” Hartford responded cheerfully. Far too cheerfully. Thomas wasn't particularly enamored of the way Arabella smiled up at her former suitor either.
Still, she was marrying him and not Hartford, and the Marquess was being very gentlemanly about being thrown over. Thomas drew himself up and tried to put a more genial expression on his face. A few moments of amiable conversation between the three of them after Hartford and Arabella's dance would quell any gossip the malicious might want to indulge in.
Those present would observe and report, and Society would soon turn its fickle attention elsewhere.
Fortunately, Arabella didn't seem at all bothered by being passed from Hartford back to himself. She smiled genially at both of them as Thomas inquired after the stunning bay pair he'd heard Hartford had recently purchased for his curricle. While Thomas still didn't know whether or not he could truly believe Isaac's claim that Arabella had a preference for him, he certainly felt reassured that Lydia had been correct in saying Arabella did not have a true attachment to Hartford.
Which allowed him to relax after a few moments.
"Thank you for coming, my lord," Arabella said when Hartford excused himself, saying he had another commitment that evening, giving him a dazzling smile. Thomas struggled again with momentary jealousy—she never smiled at him like that—but pushed it away.
One day, he vowed internally, he'd see her direct that dazzling smile his way. It wasn't due to him as her husband but... he wanted it. And he didn't particularly want to see it directed at anyone else.
The men exchanged farewells and then Hartford disappeared into the crowd headed towards... wherever he was going that evening. Thomas had certainly never occupied the same haunts.
Turning his attention back to his betrothed, he was gratified to see that Arabella was not watching her former suitor depart. She'd refocused back on the dance floor.
"Would you like to dance?" he asked, placing his hand over hers.
Blinking in surprise, she looked up at him. "With you? But we've already danced once this evening."
As the hosts, they would be expected to dance more with others and really Thomas should find someone else but... right now he found himself wanting to dance with Arabella again and for once he didn't particularly care that Society might frown on it. After all, his friends usually danced with their own wives multiple times throughout the evening and he doubted tonight would be any different.
"Then this will make twice," he said, stepping forward to lead her out onto the floor.
He was rewarded with a dazzling smile of his own, near-cousin to the one she'd bestowed upon Hartford. A feeling of warmth spread through his chest as he smiled down at her through the steps of the dance.
For the rest of the evening, Arabella's behavior was nothing but perfection and Thomas finally felt his suspicious anxieties flow away. The only conclusion he could come to was that she'd decided to turn over a new leaf, perhaps due to his warning of how he'd react to her usual antics, in anticipation of their wedding.
An event he was looking forward to more and more. Indeed, he could scarcely believe his good fortune. On his own he never would have thought to aim as high as a duke's sister, no matter how sincere Isaac had appeared to be, and he certainly wouldn't have thought Arabella would fulfill all the requirements he had in mind for a wife. Tonight she was proving him wrong.
The future looked more promising than he could have predicted.
Chapter 6
A stag night with a large group of gentlemen who were unfashionably devoted to their wives was exactly Thomas' speed. Rather than dragging him to one of the bawdy houses or worse, they'd begun their evening at White's for dinner and a few drinks before moving to Spencer House for billiards and brandy. Sadly, a fair number of their friends were still out of town—traveling or staying in the country for the Season and unable to make it to the wedding on such short notice—but Thomas didn't truly feel the lack.
Both of his brothers were present, of course, as well as Arabella's brothers, and the Earl of Spencer.
As the conversation began to take a distinctly bawdy turn, mostly courtesy of Wesley, the roguish Earl of Spencer, both of Arabella's brothers began to look distinctly uncomfortable. Isaac suggested a game of billiards to Felix, who was kind enough to take him up on it. Benedict seemed determined to hold on longer, at least until the discussion devolved even further.
"That's my sister you're talking about," Benedict said hotly, when Wesley asked if Thomas was going to join their Spanking Husbands Club.
Said 'Club' was what Wesley called the married gentlemen in their group of friends who spanked their wives. Which, currentl
y, was all of them.
"Then go knock some balls about with your brother," Wesley said, waving his hand as if to shoo Benedict away. "You're ruining stag night. I want to hear Thomas' plans for your delightfully luscious sister."
"Ah!" Benedict covered his ears at the description of Arabella—a rather flattering one when Wesley himself was married to one of the most lusciously curved women in Society—and retreated to the billiards table where Isaac and Felix were currently involved in a game.
It only took a quick word between himself and Felix before Thomas' younger brother thrust the stick at Benedict and hurried over to join the conversation, which had stalled as they watched Benedict's reaction with amusement. While Thomas could understand why her brother wouldn't want to hear any details, he couldn't help but be entertained. After many more glasses of brandy than he normally indulged in, Thomas was in a very mellow, happy mood.
After all, he had achieved his goal. He was marrying before the Season ended. Arabella was well acquitted to be his wife and her behavior since their engagement had been exemplary. Certainly his concerns over the flaws he'd often listed for her brother had abated completely. The duke's family had welcomed him with open arms. And although they hadn't had another opportunity to be alone so he could try another kiss, Thomas was in no danger of forgetting the passion which had flared between them.
Doing his duty and begetting an heir was looking to be a very pleasurable enterprise indeed.
"So?" Felix prodded, sending an arch look across the rug at his older brother. "I hear we're talking about Wesley's Club."
"It's not just my club," Wesley argued, sounding slightly disgruntled. "We're all in it."
"Not by choice," Walter pointed out, chuckling. "You just declared them all members and ignore their protests."
Wesley grinned. "They keep showing up for meetings."
"If by meetings you mean evenings when you feed us and ply us with expensive brandy, then yes, we do keep showing up," Felix said dryly. "I'm sure the excellent meal and spirits have nothing to do with our presence."
"You enjoy the conversation as well," Wesley retorted. "Do not feign otherwise."
"Well if you can convince my brother to disclose anything about his bedroom play, then I will certainly enjoy this conversation," Felix said with a laugh. "Thomas is notoriously close-lipped."
"A gentleman doesn't kiss and tell," Thomas said primly. He felt prim saying it too.
"Who says we're gentlemen?" Wesley asked with a rakish grin. The expression made him look even more piratical than usual, especially because of the way he was slumped in his chair, his clothing slightly disheveled. "Besides, it's only fair considering how often you've been allowed to listen in on our conversations. Share and share alike and all that."
Despite not officially being part of Wesley's vaunted 'club', his friends were very free in how they spoke around him. Yet he'd never heard a hint of gossip about them or their wives, which meant they all kept each other's secrets. With Arabella's brothers determinedly not listening, knowing that these men (even those currently absent) would be a constant source of information, tricks, and fellow-feeling, the desire to shock his brothers... in Thomas' current relaxed state it was practically irresistible not to speak up.
"Where's my wedding present?" he asked. Wesley jumped up immediately, looking thrilled. The wedding present was something he'd presented to each of his friends in turn; little things he'd brought back from his travels abroad, especially India, which aided in both the disciplining and pleasuring of a woman.
Felix chortled, looking highly amused. "Ha! I knew it!" He cast a fond look Thomas' way. "You're not nearly as much a stuffed-shirt as you like to pretend."
Thomas wanted to protest, because he took pride in being proper, but 'yes I am' didn't exactly recommend itself as a stellar rebuttal.
"So what about you, Walter?" Wesley asked, turning to the middle Hood brother. Darkly handsome, always fashionably dressed, Walter was the biggest rake of all of them.
"Me? Oh no," Walter said, shaking his head firmly. "Thomas has to wed, but Felix took any of the pressure off of me to marry as well. Mother will have to be content with the two sons wedded off. I plan to live my life unencumbered in that area."
"A wife isn't an encumbrance," Thomas protested. At least, the right wife wasn't. There were plenty of women in the ton who might be so, but Arabella wasn't and none of their friends seemed to feel particularly encumbered.
Wesley snorted derisively and shared a look with Felix. "Of course they are," he said, using placating, gentle tones as if sharing a hard truth Thomas would soon learn for himself. "They just come with benefits as well."
******
With her brothers out on the town for her fiancé’s stag night, Arabella had certainly not been left alone. Lydia was at home with her of course, and she'd also invited Amy, Christina, and Cynthia to join them for dinner and to keep Arabella company. A tactic guaranteed to keep Arabella distracted from the upcoming events on the morrow as well as ensure she didn't get into any trouble on the last night before her wedding.
Not that she would have. She'd been the perfect wife-to-be all week (she'd even been too tired from all the planning and social rounds to indulge in her usual early morning gallop), but neither her brothers nor sisters-in-law knew why her behavior had changed yet again. They were just appreciative that she seemed to have reverted back to her exemplary behavior from earlier in the Season but they couldn't forget how she'd returned to her usual antics more recently either. Arabella didn't bother to reassure them, since she was planning on giving Thomas the same trouble she had them as soon as they were wed.
That would pop the pompous belief of his that her siblings were unable to curb her behavior!
Once he realized she would do as she pleased, when she pleased, they would either rub along well after that or be perpetually at odds. Either way, she'd been on her best behavior so the contrast would be stark after they were wed. Besides, she didn't want to give him any reason to back out before the wedding.
She didn't think he would, no matter how awful she behaved, but there was no reason to tempt fate either. Only when the vows had been said, the marriage consummated, and he was well and truly trapped was she going to throw off the mantle of proper primness she'd donned.
They'd gathered in the parlor, where the couches and chairs were most comfortable and the windows were thrown open to let in the evening's summer breeze. Rather than doing themselves up, they were all dressed quite comfortably in light cotton dresses so they could lounge about comfortably. The only two who didn't seem entirely comfortable were Gabrielle—who was kept rubbing her lower stomach and grimacing—and Cynthia, who appeared to be sulking for some unknown reason.
She'd been unusually quiet and had snapped at Christina who had dared to inquire if she was well, so they'd let her be until she was ready to reveal the reason for her current temper.
Arabella was sitting on one couch, in between Gabrielle and Lydia, with Amy and Christina across from them on the other couch. Cynthia had settled into one of the chairs between the couches, facing the low table where tea and biscuits were laid out for nibbling as they chatted.
Conversation had begun with the wedding, but as the plans were already set and really had already been discussed ad nauseum during the past week, Arabella had moved to turn the focus to what she wanted. Namely, the wedding night.
While Gabrielle and Cynthia had always spoken very freely in front of her, the other three were patently a bit shocked at her obvious interest and desire to discuss the subject now. Amy bit her lip and shot a sidelong look at her older sister as soon as she realized which way the conversation was headed. Although she didn't seem surprised at Arabella's direction, Lydia was definitely a bit exasperated.
"Are you sure you wish to discuss this now?" Lydia asked, appearing a bit at a loss.
Playing the innocent, because she was quite sure Lydia didn't realize exactly how knowledgeable Arabella already was an
d she was curious how Lydia would approach the subject, Arabella widened her eyes, playing with her sister-in-law for her amusement. "Well yes, of course. Isn't it best to speak of it with as many married ladies present as possible? That way I'll have the largest well of information possible. While we've talked in general, you've never been very specific about the details of what happens. I should prefer not to be unprepared."
Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Cynthia's expression become even more disgruntled, which was surprising. Cynthia was usually the most talkative on the subject, and her own sense of mischief should have lent itself to being entertained by Lydia's position and reticence. Arabella was becoming worried that something was seriously wrong with her friend, possibly even with Cynthia and Wesley’s relationship... but until Cynthia was ready to talk about it, pressing her wasn't going to get them anywhere.
Maybe seeing Lydia squirm would put her in a better mood.
"Well... I suppose that's true..." Lydia blushed, but she glanced at the others and did seem a bit heartened by the idea of having support, even if she was embarrassed by having to speak with such an audience. Her grey-eyed gaze settled on Cynthia. Although Cynthia's expression was rather mutinous, Lydia obviously weighed whether or not to call on her and then decided it was worth a try. "Cynthia... you did such a lovely job of explaining things to me before my wedding to Isaac, would you like to start us off? The rest of us can add in our advice as needed."
Suddenly sitting up very straight, her expression fierce, Cynthia nodded decisively.
"Yes, I have some advice," she said, her tone almost foreboding. Lydia looked slightly alarmed, and as though she was regretting having asked her, but before she could interrupt, Cynthia was already speaking again. Her dark eyes flashed furiously as she leaned forward, hands on the arms of her chair, expression dire. "Don't let him put his cock anywhere near your quim! Make him use your mouth or your bottom!"