“You exaggerate. Your father would never disinherit you.”
“It’s already done,” she said softly. When she turned back to him, her expression was unreadable. “Almost. His new will has only to be signed and notarized. And as for my famous dowry, which has fortune hunters across the world drooling… Well.” She waved her hand dismissively. “Do you think I am leaving tomorrow because my grandmother wants company? I am being cast out. I stand here only because Papa wanted me to face my shame at my betrothal ball. Pride goeth and all that.”
Guy steadied himself with a hand on the balustrade, the stone cold through his glove. He stared at the gardens until the lights from the hanging lanterns blurred.
Arabella’s position had seemed as stable and enduring as this stately family home in which they stood. She claimed her place in the world with such self-assurance that he had never even considered it might be precarious.
Clare had been right: Arabella had indeed become the defining symbol of Guy’s struggle to free himself from his father’s control. Then, what with Mr. Larke writing to insist Guy marry her, and Arabella bribing the jesters to force Guy into conversation…
He had made assumptions and leaped to conclusions, unable to hear her message over his own determination to never do anyone’s bidding again. He had failed to see how she was being controlled too.
This explained— He rubbed his temples. Still the pieces did not add up. Marriage to Sculthorpe would have secured her future. Why the devil would she have risked everything by coming to Guy that night in London? And why insist that same night that Guy get engaged to her, when she was already betrothed? What the hell had Sculthorpe done?
Before he could ask, her eyes skewered him once more. “Vindale Court is my birthright, as Roth Hall and the marquessate are yours. Had my brother survived, it would have been his. But he did not survive, and I am tired of being punished for that.” She briefly considered her broken fan before continuing. “There is no legal reason I should not inherit, and Papa intended to bequeath me everything, so the family legacy would pass to his grandsons. But now I am old and he is desperate, and he would rather leave the estate to a stranger than to his own daughter.” She shook her head. “Of course you think I exaggerate. When you fight with your father and disappear for eight years, you can resume your position as if nothing ever happened, because your birthright is enshrined in law. You cannot imagine knowing that you might lose everything simply because you are not as they think you ought to be. Yes, I have behaved badly,” Arabella added. “But when the alternative is being pushed around like a pawn? I may be ‘unscrupulous’ and ‘power hungry,’ but curse you, I am no one’s martyr.”
He had no idea what she saw in his face, but she must have misread it because she looked almost disgusted.
“Oh for heaven’s sake, Guy, don’t you dare feel sorry for me now. It is none of your concern. And never fear, I’ll not importune you again. I can manage by myself. I always have and I always will.”
She whirled about, only to pause in the door to the ballroom. Her shoulders rose and fell as she took a deep, slow breath. Then she glided into the ballroom. Something fearsome must have shown in her demeanor, for everyone moved aside to let her through.
Guy kept staring long after the crowd had swallowed her, still seeing the angle of her jaw, the set of those shoulders, the tilt of her head.
He had never seen anyone look so alone.
When Guy’s feet finally carried him back into the ballroom, the crowd parted for him too. As if they were all co-conspirators, they parted to lead him right to where Arabella stood, on the edges of a conversation between Mrs. DeWitt and Miss Bell, as elegantly aloof as if nothing had happened and nothing was amiss.
Everything was amiss.
Guy planted himself in front of her and held out his hand.
“Come, Miss Larke,” he said loudly. “We must tell your father of our engagement.”
Her face went blank, and she stared at his outstretched hand as if she had never seen anything like it before in her life. He looked at his hand too: It appeared foreign in its white glove but was mercifully steady. He did not feel steady. What he felt was the floor beneath his feet and his blood galloping under his skin and a million eyes watching the show.
Still she didn’t move and a thought struck him: that she might take her revenge and publicly spurn him as he had spurned her. What an impulsive fool he was, yet again duped by sentiment and desire.
But then he looked at her face, and her eyes traveled up to meet his.
And something wondrous happened.
Arabella Larke smiled.
The smile started with a gentle curve of her lips, but it grew to take over her whole face, her whole body, the whole world.
It was a moment of splendor, a moment of hope. The moment in a gloomy cathedral when the sun broke through the stained-glass windows and lit up the cold stone with a thousand dancing colors and patterns, a carnival of light that dazzled the eye and emboldened the heart.
She had been so taut and tired. He had thought that was simply her nature, but she had carried a weight, which he had lifted.
And so dazzling was the effect of her smile that when she placed her gloved hand in his, he entwined his fingers with hers.
Guy ignored the eyes following them, as did Arabella, and hand in hand they walked through the over-loud murmurs and the over-bright candlelight and the over-scented air.
Arabella’s parents stood together near the supper table, and turned to watch their approach. When they came to a stop, Guy released Arabella’s hand and bowed.
“Mr. Larke, Lady Belinda. Miss Larke and I are engaged to be married. I trust we have your blessing.”
Lady Belinda smiled graciously, held out her hand in congratulations. Larke looked from one to the other, features twisted with suspicion.
“What’s going on, Hardbury?” he said. “You said you wouldn’t have her.”
“You seem to be under the impression this is a discussion. It is not.”
“And you’ll marry her soon?”
“Plan the wedding for London in the springtime, that every lord, lady, and gentleman in the country might bear witness.” Guy could feel Arabella vibrating beside him but he didn’t look at her. “Now seems as good a time as any to make the announcement,” he continued. “Would you like to do it, Mr. Larke, or shall I?”
Larke grinned. “You’ve realized what a gem Vindale Court is, eh?”
“Your estate is of little interest to me.”
“What’s your reason for the betrothal, then?”
Guy laughed. This was almost too absurd for words.
“Because we are in love,” he said. “What other reason could there possibly be?”
Chapter 13
Yellow wagtail. Short-eared owl. Red macaw.
Arabella drummed her fingers on the smooth oak of the massive library table as she considered Juno’s illustrations, laid out in rows as if she were playing a game of Patience.
Patience? Absurd name for a solitary card game, given she had absolutely none.
The illustrated birds might have been alive, the way they flittered under her hands. Or perhaps in the excitement of the impromptu betrothal celebrations last night, which had offered no opportunity to speak privately to Guy, her brain had been replaced with that of a goldfinch. It was certainly chattering like a goldfinch—like a whole charm of goldfinches: Need a plan. Must talk to Guy. Why did Guy do it? Doesn’t matter. Don’t care. Must make a plan. Guy doesn’t even like me. What was he thinking? Doesn’t matter. Don’t care. Need a plan. Must talk to—