Chapter Eight
Bella headed for the library, both because she thought it likely she’d find her father there and because she needed to escape. She couldn’t breathe with Rhys so close. She couldn’t think practical thoughts when he was near.
And, mercy, did she need her practical mindset back.
Lamps burned low along the hallway and she noticed a warm glow coming from the half-open door of her father’s study. Drawing closer, she heard him coughing.
“Papa?”
“You’ve found me.” He glanced back at her from his favorite wingback in front of the fireplace. “Why have you left your party?”
She stepped inside and reminded him, “In fairness, you were the first to depart.”
“Shall I return?” He sounded distinctly hopeful she’d tell him not to. “Perhaps I should partner your mother for a dance.”
Her mother would probably enjoy it, but he looked so cozy with his cup of tea and a blanket across his knees that Bella wasn’t about to encourage him to return to the drawing room.
She took the chair next to his, tucking the crinoline skirts of her blue gown around her. “Are you unwell, Papa?”
He’d never admit as much to her. In their family, he was the encourager and Bella’s mother was the worrier.
“I’m well enough, my girl. And you? How are you on the first day of the three and twentieth year of Arabella?” He took a sip of tea and cast her a slanting glance. “Interesting decision to invite the duke. Strategic, I’d say.”
He’d always been able to see through her better than most. Sometimes even better than Rhys.
“I had a plan.”
“You always do.”
“I’m not sure it’s working.” Bella crossed her arms and tapped a finger against her lips. “I have no real notion of what I should do.”
“That’s not quite true, is it?” He smiled but kept his gaze fixed on the fire. “You’ve already decided to refuse them all.”
Bella shot up from her chair and stepped away from the heat. Not that the warmth in her cheeks had anything to do with the coals in the grate. “No proposals have been made, Papa. No refusals have been given.”
“But you don’t want to marry any of them.” He didn’t sound angry or chastising. Just resigned. “Perhaps you still don’t wish to marry at all.”
“I want you and Mama to go to Greece. Please don’t let me be the reason you don’t.” Bella approached and crouched next to his chair, placing a hand on his arm. “Could we not find a chaperone if you’re worried about leaving me on my own?”
Her father patted her hand, set his blanket aside, and stood. She thought he might ignore her question. Was he truly that upset with her?
But he went to his desk, opened a polished wooden box on top, and pulled out a tiny silver chalice. He held it out to her, and Bella stood and stepped forward to take it. She thought at first it was a gift for her birthday, but he’d already presented her with new books.
“Note the inscription.” He gestured toward the slightly tarnished silver cup.
Bella frowned. “Was this from the day you married Mama?”
“A souvenir of the best of days. All that’s worth remembering in my life began on that day.”
“So you believe I should marry, just as Mama does.”
“We don’t distrust you, Bella, or worry overmuch about the propriety of leaving our unmarried daughter on her own.” He glanced toward a portrait of her mother that hung over the fireplace. “Perhaps that is your mother’s concern, but mine is for your future. A man wishes to see his children—” Drawing in a long breath, he cast his glance away from Bella’s before continuing. “A father wishes to see his only child settled. Content.”
“I understand.” Without an heir, the Yardley estate and title would go to a cousin who her father had been estranged from for years.
“When Edgar inherits . . .”
“Hillcrest will no longer be my home.”
“So you must have another.” Concern drew the skin above his brow into lines and his tone turned grim. “Worry for your future is what inspired this house party, my girl.”
“But Mr. Nix thought of me so little that he was prepared to wager for my hand, and Lord Wentworth doesn’t say much but spends most of his time looking at Louisa.”
“Hammersley?” There was a hopeful tinge to his question.
In that moment, Bella realized he was hoping she’d accept one of them.
“I meant what I said, my girl. You needn’t marry any of them.”
“But you’d prefer that I marry, and sooner rather than later.” Now, before she’d even finished her book let alone found publishing success.
“Would I prefer to see you merrily wed? Of course. But that proviso shall always remain. Your choice must make you happy.”
Happy. He spoke that word again and again, and yet Bella was no longer certain what it meant. She’d believed Rhys would make her happy. Of late, working on her book gave her satisfaction and she clung to the hope that she might prove herself by getting her ideas into print. But could marriage to someone like Hammersley produce happiness, whatever it meant?
Her heart, her body, everything in her resounded with an unwavering no.
“You’re right, Papa. I’ve already decided about these men.”
The nod he gave her was accompanied by the flicker of a smile. “Then the one who’ll suit you must be out there still.” He gestured toward the windows and then swept his hand around, as if encompassing the whole room. “Waiting for the day you meet.”
This is where her father always lost her. He believed in fate, but she considered it nonsense. She’d once fancied that fate was why Rhys’s estate bordered theirs. Fate was why they’d met one autumn day and taken an instant liking to each other. But if all of that was fate, then Rhys breaking her heart was meant to be too.
“As long as that day comes after I’ve published my book.”
He offered her a tender smile. “That book is very important to you.”
“It is, Papa. Before I get lost in the duties of marriage, I need to achieve something for myself.”
“Tenacious girl.”
“Mama would say stubborn.”
“I say you possess the determination to have anything you set your heart on.”
If only that were true.
“I should return to the party.” Bella mustered a smile. “I promised a dance to Lord Hammersley.”
He let her go. There was little more to say.
Out in the hallway, a shadow emerged from a darkened corner and she nearly jumped out of her boots.
“Bella?” Rhys approached hesitantly.
He wasn’t at all sure she’d wish to speak to him. For all he knew Lord Yardley had directed her to see him out altogether, though he couldn’t imagine that from a man who sometimes called him son as a sign of affection.
“You needn’t sneak up on me.” She’d jolted when he called her name, and now she glanced both ways down the hall, as if to ensure that none would see them speaking alone.
“Forgive me. I was waiting until you’d finished speaking to your father.” He didn’t bloody care who saw them. The party was over as far as he was concerned. “We need to talk.”