“I have to go to London anyway, deal with this matter in Chancery.” He shoved his hands back into his pockets. “If others make demands on my time, an invitation from a peer, perhaps an order from the Crown, the weather could turn. Staying away is not unreasonable. We’ll call your father’s bluff. He cannot truly mean to will his estate away from his direct line, when there’s still a chance of a grandson.”
Side by side, they watched the waterfowl.
“We shall proceed like this,” Guy said. “Over the next week or so, we do whatever is necessary to make everyone believe this engagement is real, and that we are indeed in love, and if that sometimes means…” He glanced at her mouth, shook his head with a rueful smile, and looked away. “We are sensible adults, in full control of ourselves.”
“Indeed.”
She thought of Mama, caught in this decades-long struggle between Arabella and her father. She thought of herself being cast out. “I wish I didn’t have to do this,” she said.
“No, but I cannot stand by and allow an injustice, when I might help put it right. I’ve come through trickier situations.”
In silence, they walked back along the path. Guy retrieved his hat from the statue’s head and pulled his gloves back on.
As they neared the lawn, a quartet of workers’ boys dashed past, yelling greetings, clutching little boats.
Guy paused to watch them run. “I remember Oliver designed the fastest boats. He was something of a prodigy.”
“Yes, I suppose he was.”
“Do you ever think about him?”
“We were very young and it was all so long ago.”
“I still think of my brother sometimes, though of course he was older than Oliver when we lost him.”
How easily he spoke of loss and love, and he didn’t collapse in a heap or cause the sky to fall on their heads. Perhaps she should try it.
“I think of Oliver sometimes, I suppose,” she ventured.
He nodded. “They never quite go away, though, do they?”
No. Oliver would never leave her, always an empty space at her side, a palpable void in their house.
By the water, the boys finished negotiating the rules of racing and lowered their boats.
“The tall boy is John, grandson of our head gardener,” Arabella said. “John won a purse in the midsummer footraces this year, and he gave it to his sister Eliza, so she could marry the baker’s boy and set up house. His little brother there, Paul, he adores dogs, but the head gardener has been feuding with the kennel master since last century, so I must help him sneak into the kennels in secret.”
“They matter to you.” His words came out like an accusation. “It’s not simply about besting your father or getting an inheritance. The people here matter.”
The wind devoured her rueful laugh. “You have a very poor opinion of me, don’t you?”
“Honestly, Arabella, I have no idea what to think of you. You hide behind that aloof façade, and make outrageously arrogant statements that you do not mean, and you never defend yourself from accusations, yet your schemes are as undeniable as your ruthlessness in carrying them out.” He stepped closer, his eyes intent, as he brushed a hand over her jaw, to rest on her shoulder as lightly as a bird. “Yet you fight for others’ well-being, and use your cleverness to help and protect them, and your splendor… Your splendor cannot be denied.”
Her heart leaped at his words, at his light, reassuring touch as his fingers skimmed down her arm to catch her hand.
Voices carried toward them on the wind. Papa and the ornithologists were crossing the lawn.
“You’re standing very close.” She didn’t move away.
“I am only holding your hand. We’ll do nothing to harm your reputation, while convincing everyone we like each other.” He flashed one of his smiles. She wondered if his cheer served to conceal his true thoughts. “I’ll flirt with you madly, pay lavish compliments, and every chance I get, I shall…” His eyes dropped, lingered on her lips. “I shall make you blush.”
“I don’t blush.”
“We’ll see about that.”
His gaze was warm and intent, a lover’s bold gaze, to go with his flattery and easy smiles. They were only pretending, for the sake of the witnesses, but it unsettled her nonetheless.
“You’re very good at it,” she managed to say. “But I don’t know how to flirt.”
“Then heaven help me if you ever learn.”
With a shake of his head, he released her hand and turned aside.
You could teach me, she wanted to say.
But her mouth was dry and her throat was tight, and besides, he had already strolled away.
Chapter 16
Sunday being fine, several of the remaining guests decided to walk the mile to church. The small party was mingling on the front steps when Arabella emerged, bonnet in hand, unfamiliar tightness in her chest.
Today, in church, the vicar would call the first banns.
Her eyes went straight to Guy, towering over a chatty, bright-eyed Miss Treadgold. The sun lit the tips of his hair under his hat, and the brass buttons on his blue coat, and the shiny pink ribbons on Miss Treadgold’s bonnet.
Look at me and smile, Arabella willed him, as if the mere sight of me brings you joy.
But instead, when he saw her, he spread his arms wide in a parody of delight.
“Miss Larke, good morning!” he called. Silence fell, heads swiveled. “I trust you slept well?”
In his eyes lurked a knowing glint, as if he knew she had lain awake half the night, her body heated with the persistent memory of their kiss, and her mind racing to find the words to put things right, before remembering there was no right. She had lost his good opinion before she even realized it mattered.
“I had pleasant dreams,” she replied.
“So did I, for they were all of you.”
Everyone laughed like they were actors in a comedy at Drury Lane, and Arabella had to perform her role, though it felt wrong to perform in a play where someone else wrote the script.
To make matters worse, Guy crossed to take her hand and lifted her knuckles to his lips.
“A touch excessive, wouldn’t you say, Hardbury?” she muttered.
“Not nearly enough,” he murmured, then added, more loudly, “Let me help you with your bonnet, oh wondrous fair.”
As if this was all they had been waiting for, the group moved off down the laneway in the haphazard manner of such groups, while Guy took her bonnet and positioned it on her head.
“I am perfectly capable of dressing myself,” she said, and did not step away.
“I don’t doubt it.” He tilted his head, frowning, as if the task of positioning her bonnet were a grave responsibility. “But to convince the world that we are besotted, I must offer assistance and you must accept it.”
“You mean, I pretend to be weak and helpless to allow you to feel important.”
“If you wish, though asking for help does not make one helpless.”
“It’s only a bonnet, Hardbury.”
“And a lovely bonnet it is too.”
He took his time tying the ribbons, carelessly brushing her throat and jaw, and when he stepped back to admire his handiwork, she immediately missed his summery scent. She touched her bonnet: perfectly straight.