He took her hand. She twitched, then settled. He longed to pull her close and push her far away, this impossible woman whose hand felt so right in his. This was not his fight, but he could not leave her to fight alone in a battle he wasn’t sure even she fully understood.
Larke was talking about their unborn children. “I’ve waited years for another boy. If you two marry now, I could have a grandson by spring.”
“Summer,” Guy corrected absently.
Lady Belinda pressed two fingers to her forehead, as if she had a headache coming on.
Larke frowned. “Is there a problem with that?”
“Regardless of the wedding date, there can be no son before early summer,” Guy said. “Arabella is highly accomplished, but even she cannot produce a child in less than the usual time. Not that I would object if we started early, but even—”
Guy’s words were interrupted by a well-timed coughing fit from Lady Belinda.
Beside him, Arabella smoothed out her frown and adopted an expression of reason. “Papa, I fear a wedding so soon cannot be convenient for his lordship. He has important lordship business in London. He was just now telling me that the Prince Regent wishes to see him,” she lied.
Guy squeezed her hand, willing her not to quarrel.
“The Prince Regent can wait another three weeks,” Larke said. “Or invite him to the wedding.”
“But Papa—”
“Curse you, girl! You’ll not argue with me on this.” Larke looked from one to the other, squinting with suspicion. “Why are you two so set on dragging your feet?”
Arabella fought because she was used to fighting. It was simply her nature to command, but she was an unmarried woman, so the world refused to obey. Still she kept fighting, battling on alone.
“Papa—”
“Your father makes a good point, Arabella.”
Guy squeezed her hand, harder this time. She dug her nails into his palm.
“He does?” she said.
“It would not do for the Prince Regent to think I am at his beck and call.”
“You are at his beck and call. He is the ruler of the land.”
“And you are the ruler of my heart.”
“Oh, good grief.”
Guy grinned. “Besides, you are prettier than he is, and only slightly more tyrannical.”
This bit of nonsense made Lady Belinda smile and Larke chuckle, and Guy chuckled too as Arabella looked around in uncharacteristic confusion, as if someone had redesigned the world when she wasn’t looking.
Between them, he and Arabella could make this work, to ensure she did not lose everything, while also avoiding a marriage that neither of them wanted. Guy had no solution yet, but Arabella would surely think of something.
“Let us discuss the paperwork shortly, Larke,” Guy said. “For now, my betrothed and I shall take a turn by the lake to discuss our future.”
That seemed to satisfy her parents, but while Arabella left to dress for the outdoors, someone entered who was definitely not satisfied: Sir Walter, looking cross.
He’d be even more cross when he learned of the letter Guy had sent that morning.
“What are you all so happy about?” Sir Walter asked.
Mr. Larke released another broad grin. “More celebration, for my daughter’s wedding will take place in sixteen days.”
Sir Walter’s mouth pinched sourly. “You were here to court our Matilda, my lord.”
“I’m afraid I got distracted.”
“After the care I have taken of your sisters, this is the thanks I get?”
“Oh my dear, dear Sir Walter,” Guy said. “I promise, you will shortly get all the thanks you deserve.”
“Easy now, Sir Walter.” Mr. Larke slapped that man’s shoulder. The movement upset his parrot, who muttered her complaint. “Lord Hardbury was promised to my daughter when he was still in petticoats. Your Matilda is a fine girl, but she doesn’t offer what we can. Put that aside and join us in celebration.”
Sir Walter wriggled away from his host’s arm. “I shall seek my refreshments at the village inn,” he grizzled. “The company is better there.”
Chapter 14
Ten thousand times Arabella had walked the path toward the lake, but this was the time she’d remember: when her life unraveled, when her half-baked plan crumbled.
Beside her, Guy was restless, like a horse on a windy day. He shoved his gloves into his pockets and, with his bare hands, tore a branch from a tree, stripped off its twigs and leaves, and whacked at things as they walked.
“You wanted me to be silent,” she said.
“It’s clear you and your father don’t get along, and arguing only makes matters worse. You were trying to take control and for you that means starting a quarrel.”
Arabella had no response to that. Guy knew things about her now that he had not known before.
“Do you always attempt everything on your own?” he asked. “You’re really not used to having someone on your side, are you?”
She had a sudden memory of herself and Oliver hiding from their tutor, smothering their giggles as they huddled together under Papa’s desk. As soon as the chance came, they had burst out into the garden and run away—only to run right into Papa. But he hadn’t been cross. When they confessed their naughtiness, he had laughed, then taken them each by the hand and guided them through the garden to show them an owl’s nest.
Papa laughing and taking her by the hand? Impossible. That memory must be fabricated too.
Guy did not seem to expect an answer, and he did not speak again until they turned onto the white gravel path that circled the lake.
Well?” he demanded. “What is your clever scheme?”
“What makes you think I have a scheme?”
“You always have a scheme.”
“I always have a plan, which is an entirely different matter.”
He whacked a shrub and kept walking. He would have to end this now. If only they could suspend the decision and simply take a stroll together as two people without a history, not as two people with decades of being forced together against their will.
“But I suppose my plans don’t matter,” she said. “As we shall have to end the engagement.”
He said nothing.
“If that’s what you want,” she added.
“Is that what you want?”
“I asked if that’s what you want.”
“And I asked if that’s what you want.”
“What I want is to…”
Alongside them, the lake’s surface was choppy. A leaf tumbled through the air, tossed and turned by the wind, which dropped it onto the lake to be tossed and turned by the water.
“To stop feeling like that,” Arabella finished, pointing at the leaf.
Guy reached out his stick to snare it, but the wind rippled along the surface and the leaf skittered away.
Walking on, they turned onto a straight stretch of path, sheltered by a towering hedge and lined with statues of Greek gods.
“This is not what you agreed to,” she said, as they passed Poseidon with his beard and trident. “It was kind of you to step in, but this is hardly fair.”
“You said you are no martyr.”