“A nice haul, my clever virgin,” Lord Sculthorpe murmured, indicating Arabella’s basket of freshly picked nuts with a wave of a cigar-laden hand, as their party tramped through the woods.
And Arabella felt nothing but smug satisfaction and serene superiority.
Indeed, in the week since Lord Sculthorpe had joined the house party at Vindale Court, ahead of their betrothal ball and wedding, not one word or act from him had bothered her in the slightest.
With her desperate, dangerous, immoral deed, she had claimed herself first. She had calmed that unknown part of herself. She had won.
And if thoughts of Guy whirled inside her like a howling gale, that hardly signified. During the day, the multitude of guests kept her busy, and at night, when the memories crowded her— Well, it concerned no one but herself, what she did alone in her bed.
“Yet I fear Miss Treadgold has outdone you,” he added.
Matilda Treadgold had outdone everyone. Arabella was impressed, not because Miss Treadgold’s basket held so many nuts, but because she had not picked a single one herself. The quartet of visiting gentlemen who had joined their nutting expedition—a pair of German ornithologists, a botany student from Sierra Leone, and someone’s distant cousin—had all dedicated themselves to her service. Petite Miss Treadgold had only to gaze longingly at a nut for them to rush to pick it. Throughout it all, she remained unfailingly amiable and warm-hearted, the kind of lady who brightened a room with her presence and whom everyone enjoyed having near.
Exactly what Guy would seek in his bride.
Freddie’s basket was full too, but her treasures included stones, a feather, and an orange mushroom. Arabella’s neighbors and friends, Mrs. Cassandra DeWitt and Miss Juno Bell, had apparently abandoned nutting in favor of blackberries. Both were caught in the brambles, helpless with laughter as they tried to free each other, only to get further ensnared.
Past them, little Ursula’s nanny stayed busy trying to stop the toddler from putting things in her mouth, and Miss Norton, the efficient young governess supervising three children from other visiting families, did an admirable job of keeping her charges entertained.
“Miss Treadgold is welcome to the prize,” Arabella said to Sculthorpe.
“You do not compete?”
“Why should I compete when I have already won?”
He preened because he thought she meant him. Now she no longer feared him, he was even easier to manage than she had hoped.
Then a squeal came from Miss Treadgold.
“Oh, it’s dead! How horrific!” she cried, poking a dead squirrel with a stick.
Belatedly, she dropped the stick and jumped backward, mouth covered, eyes wide. Her retinue nobly gathered close.
“You poor girl, how do you tolerate staying in Vindale Court?” asked one of the ornithologists. “Mr. Larke’s stuffed birds are mounted everywhere.”
“Oh, they are hideous, those dead birds! They give me such nightmares.” Miss Treadgold shuddered dramatically, and the men soothed her with meaningless words.
Freddie had drifted over to peer at the dead squirrel. The children clamored to get near, but their governess held them back.
At Arabella’s side, Sculthorpe laughed indulgently. She studied him carefully, but there was nothing untoward in his expression when he looked at Freddie and Miss Treadgold, so no call to protect them from him; only Arabella merited his secret smiles and leers.
But as she watched, his gaze shifted. That repellent light entered his eyes, and his lips twisted in a scornful but hungry curl. Arabella followed his gaze.
He was looking at the governess.
His nostrils flared slightly, and he audibly blew out a spiral of smoke. Then he glanced at the sky, sucked on his cigar, and, avuncular smile back in place, returned his attention to the group.
It was over in a few heartbeats; Arabella was thankful to have witnessed it.
“I must say,” she said casually, “Miss Norton excels at managing those young tearaways.”
“Who?” He glanced at the governess, looked away. “Oh, the governess.”
Arabella adopted a light tone as she continued her secret interrogation. “I imagine you must have been such a young tearaway yourself once. A torment to your governess.”
Something flashed in his eyes but he laughed in his charmingly self-deprecating manner. “I’ll own she was a torment to me. My sister’s governess, that is.”
“Was she very terrible?”
“On the contrary. She was sheer perfection and I was infatuated.” He shook his head. “I daresay I am not the first boy to decide I am madly in love with a governess, pining over her prim dress and bossy manner.”
“I suppose if you were to meet her now, you’d see she is merely another woman and the shine would come off her.”
He made a derisive sound. “The shine came off long ago, when I learned the truth about her. I— You will forgive me for speaking plainly.”
“Always, my lord.”
“Indeed. We understand each other. The truth is, my elder brother seduced her. I saw them in the act in her bedroom.”
Sculthorpe did not explain why he had been spying on the governess in her bedroom, and Arabella did not waste her breath asking.
“But that was Kenneth for you,” he went on. “The heir, the eldest, who already had everything. He knew about my infatuation but he took her anyway. She was mine and he took her. He never cared how much that hurt me.” His expression hardened, followed by another self-mocking laugh. “Such are the foolish, futile passions of a boy. But we never do forget our first.” He glanced at her. “It is inappropriate to tell you such things, but you are a practical lady and we are shortly to be wed.”
“I am glad you tell me these things,” Arabella said honestly. “Very, very glad.”
Because now she was prepared to protect her future employees too. When the time came to hire a governess, she must select one who had been widowed three times, could chop wood with her bare hands, and would help Arabella hide a corpse.
Sculthorpe’s look was lingering. “You still don’t smile. On our wedding night, you will smile for me.”
“Of course I shall.”
Hopefully, she would remember to do so at the appropriate point. Perhaps she should practice smiling, the way she practiced producing a smear of blood for her second deflowering.
Freddie’s voice intruded. “We should burn it,” she said, her eyes on the dead squirrel.
Sculthorpe moved away. “Your wish is my command, Lady Frederica.”
Using the side of his boot, Sculthorpe piled dead leaves over the little cadaver and dropped the smoldering end of his cigar onto them. A wisp of smoke curled over the leaves.
Arabella took the opportunity to walk on alone. How she loved these woods in autumn. In spring, winter, summer. How she would miss the seasons and the people who had been the fabric of her life.
No need to be maudlin, she scolded herself. One day, she would live here again. In the meantime, her marital home sounded perfectly pleasant. The Sculthorpe seat was in Norfolk, by the sea. Arabella thought she might enjoy living by the sea. All those cliffs for her husband to fall off.
Before long, the sun-dappled path left her at the edge of the roadway, across from a field that was half gold with stubble, half brown from the plow. She lingered, breathing in the crisp autumn air, the smell of freshly turned soil.