Margaret Moore (20 page)

“I will do what I must.”

With that, Neville left the coffeehouse.

Whatever he thought he was beginning to feel for Arabella, she was destroying his life. First she usurped his inheritance; now she was costing him his friends.

He was alone in the world again, and it was all her fault.

“I think he would be the perfect husband for you, my dear,” Lady Lippet confided as she poured Arabella tea that afternoon, while the earl dozed in a chair near the hearth.

The queen loved the new beverage, and so it was becoming popular among those who emulated the ways of the court, Lady Lippet included.
“He’s a sweet boy, rich as an emperor, and best of all, he’s absolutely smitten with you!”

Arabella girded her loins to both swallow the bitter drink and provide some reason why she could not marry Fozbury Cheddersby.

“Lady Lippet, he is indeed a most gentlemanly young man,” she began, reaching to take the cup of tea and then setting it on the table before her where the scent could not reach her nostrils. “But I fear you overestimate his feelings …”

She let her deferential words trail off in a heavy sigh.

Lady Lippet took a large and audible sip of tea. “Nonsense, my dear,” she replied, setting down her cup with a rattle. “I have never seen a young man more smitten in my life! Still, you should waste no time securing him before he changes his mind.”

“Is Lord Cheddersby not, perhaps,
completely
smitten, then?” she replied, trying not to sound overly hopeful.

“Oh, he’s
madly
in love with you, my dear. Quite besotted, which should content your romantic nature.” She made it clear she thought Arabella’s nature a serious failing on her part. “But men are such fickle creatures!”

“Given my romantic nature, Lady Lippet, I must point out that I do not desire only that
my bridegroom should love me. I must love him in return.”

“Perhaps you also require the crown jewels for a wedding present?” Lady Lippet replied with unexpected bitterness.

As Arabella regarded Lady Lippet with obvious surprise, the older woman took another sip of tea, adjusted her skirt and smiled. “Love will come with time, my dear. Or not, as the case may be. And in that case, a woman would be wise to choose a man who seems … moldable.”

“Moldable?”

“I mean kind and gentle, and not driven to always have his own way with things. Lord Cheddersby may not cut the most dashing of figures, but he will never be a domestic tyrant, either.”

“I cannot disagree,” Arabella confessed. “And yet …”

“And yet, what?”

Arabella shrugged her shoulders. “He is not very … exciting.”

“Exciting?” Lady Lippet exclaimed.

The earl snorted, and both ladies turned to look at him, but he only shifted, still sleeping.

“The earl is in favor of this marriage, I suppose,” Arabella ventured.

Lady Lippet leaned a little closer. “I haven’t told him yet, but I’m sure he would approve.”

“I confess I am surprised you have not mentioned
this to him,” Arabella said, feeling a surge of hope.

“I wanted to know how you felt about it first,” Lady Lippet confessed. “If you were absolutely opposed, I would keep silent.”

“You would?”

Lady Lippet gave a short, decided nod. “Yes, I would. Lord Cheddersby is not the only eligible man in London.”

Arabella thought of Neville Farrington. Then Croesus Belmaris.

“As for the lack of excitement you fear, once you bear your husband a son, there will be plenty of time for excitement.”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

Lady Lippet looked genuinely surprised. “Surely you are not that naive?”

“Apparently I am.”

Lady Lippet took a gulp of her tea, and Arabella wasn’t sure if that explained why her face turned so red or not. “Once you provide a legitimate heir, then it is time to think of yourself and … well, think of yourself.”

Arabella recalled
The Country Cuckold
and the many bits of gossip she had heard since, most of it from Lady Lippet. “Take a lover, you mean?”

“Yes,” Lady Lippet replied with unusual brevity.

“Even if my husband is a lord?”

Lady Lippet colored a little more. “Perhaps
especially under those circumstances, for I dare say he would have a mistress by then anyway.”

“Even a husband as devoted as Lord Cheddersby professes to be?”

“He may be faithful longer than most,” Lady Lippet said eagerly, as if this was a great point in his favor.

Arabella was more inclined to believe that this whole topic proved that no man from the upper class could make her happy. “Surely my husband will be angry if he finds out?”

“It won’t matter as long as the heir is legitimate.”

Arabella gave her companion a sidelong glance. “Did you do that?”

Lady Lippet reached for her tea with very great dignity. “That is not an appropriate question.”

Considering how few questions Lady Lippet thought inappropriate, Arabella believed she had her answer, hard though it was to believe.

Then Lady Lippet glanced at the earl and Arabella nearly spit out her tea. Was it possible that Lady Lippet and Neville’s father—no, surely not! He was so stern, so moral—

He was a nobleman.

Did Neville believe that? Did that explain their mutual hostility?

“Well, should I speak with the earl about Lord Cheddersby?”

“Lady Lippet, this is all coming upon me so suddenly,” Arabella demurred, “and so many exciting things have happened since I arrived in London, would you mind delaying a little?”

Instead of being upset, Lady Lippet grinned slyly. “Other irons may be in the fire, eh?” she whispered with a wink. “Very well. I shall say no more just yet.”

Arabella wasn’t sure what other irons Lady Lippet referred to, whether Lord Belmaris or some other young nobleman at Whitehall; nevertheless, it seemed such possibilities would keep her companion silent on the subject of Lord Cheddersby.

And for that, Arabella was grateful.

Chapter 14

“Y
ou have won again!” the king declared cheerfully.

“I have?” Arabella stared at the playing cards in her hand, then at the gold-embossed cribbage board, the silver markers gleaming in the candlelight illuminating the Banqueting House. Around her, many other people were playing different card games, and with different degrees of success, to judge by the sighs, cries and moans they made.

Smiling, Lady Lippet clapped excitedly, as if she were the winner. “Well done, my dear!”

Arabella smiled wanly, for she had the distinct feeling that the king should not have lost; however, to say more would imply that he had cheated for her benefit.

She looked about again and noted that the earl was still deep in conversation with Lord Cheddersby. Or rather, the earl was holding
forth on his many opinions. The young nobleman didn’t appear to be attentive, for he continually watched
her
while he chewed on the end of his wig.

And Neville was nowhere to be seen.

With a smile, Charles pushed the pile of coins toward her. “Here, now, take your winnings like a good girl.”

“I cannot take the money,” she replied. “You stood me, so you should have it.”

“We only gave you a small sum to start. All the rest you won, and we insist you take it,” the king said, and there was a look in his eye that told her she would not be wise to contradict him.

“Very well, Your Majesty,” she acquiesced, deciding she would give it to charity. “Shall we play another hand?”

In the gallery, court musicians began to play.

The king shook his head, then rose. “We think not, for the music for dancing is begun. We have promised a dance to Frances Stewart.”

Arabella half rose as the king strolled away, then sat again, contemplating how she would carry away her winnings and wondering why Neville was not at Whitehall tonight.

A shadow suddenly loomed over the table, sending a chill down her spine. In the next instant, the Duke of Buckingham insinuated himself into the king’s vacated chair. “Good
evening, Lady Arabella. How lovely you look this evening. That shade of blue is very becoming on you.”

“If you will excuse me, Your Grace,” she said, standing, “I should join the earl.”

“Not yet,” the duke said softly, laying his cool, damp hand over hers. “I wish to speak with you.”

“I—”

“It is very important to you and to Neville Farrington, too, I should think.”

Arabella sat down.

“I am delighted to know you can be reasonable,” the duke said, mercifully taking his hand from hers to shuffle the cards. “We shall play a hand or two, shall we?” He gave her a leering smile. “Winner take all.”

“I would rather not play with you, Your Grace. I am too new to these courtly games.”

“We shall have to change that, won’t we?”

“Your Grace—” she began with a hint of her annoyance.

“Lady Arabella,” he interrupted, his cold, reptilian eyes narrowing, “you would be wise to listen to what I have to say. Surely you cannot be so naive that you do not appreciate the compliment a man’s attention implies. And you have caught the attention of a very important man.”

Arabella knew the duke was vain, but to hear him speak of himself with such arrogant
pride was really too much. “If the man is married, he should keep his attention on his wife.”

“How provincial,” the duke retorted. “We are at court, not some little country village.”

“Should not the court provide the example of morality? Or,” she said, frowning, “do the courtiers mean to lead by providing examples of how
not
to behave? If so, Your Grace, I fear your lessons are quite lost on simple folk like myself.”

The duke scowled. “You have no idea what is being offered to you.”

“Perhaps I have too good an idea—and so must reject it,” she retorted. Then she looked past the duke. “Oh, Your Grace—here is Mrs. Hankerton.”

With a low curse, Villiers turned to look over his shoulder. That whore had no business coming here!

He surveyed the crowd of card players but couldn’t see Mrs. Hankerton.

When he turned back, Arabella Martin was nowhere to be seen.

Some time later, as she made her weary way upstairs in the earl’s townhouse behind Jarvis, Arabella sighed deeply.

It had been a very trying evening, looking for Neville without being obvious, listening to the earl mutter complaints and disparaging remarks about the court and everybody in it, her
growing awareness that Lord Cheddersby seemed to be the husbandly choice of the moment and avoiding the Duke of Buckingham. Now, safely home, she was utterly exhausted and wanted nothing more than to go to bed and sleep. With that in mind, she had dismissed the yawning maid who had awaited her return.

At the threshold of her bedchamber, Jarvis handed her the rushlight, bowed and departed. With another sigh, Arabella entered, set down the light and removed her cloak. She laid it on the chair. As she reached for the laces at the back of her bodice, she saw her bed curtains make a sudden, unexpected movement.

The window was not open; there was no draft.

“Who’s there?” she demanded in a whisper.

Then she saw him.

Neville stood in the shadows of the bed curtains. His hair and clothing were disheveled, and he held a bottle in his right hand. He was not so much in the dark that she could not see his devilishly sinful grin.

Her heart, already racing, seemed to beat even faster. She felt a trickle of perspiration run down her side. “What are you doing here?”

Neville put his finger to his lips.

“Hush, hush, Arabella,” he said in a singsong voice. “No need to be so upset. My father forgot to send some of my belongings, so I
came for them tonight. If you make a hubbub, Jarvis will suffer for allowing me in the house. You wouldn’t want Jarvis to suffer, would you?”

She went to the opposite side of the bed. “That does not explain what you are doing in
my
bedchamber.”

“I made a mistake, and then I saw the light. I didn’t want to have yet another tedious argument with my father, so I sought refuge here.”

“Now your father is safely in his room, so you must leave!” she ordered in a stern whisper, pointing at the door.

“Leave, she orders me,” he muttered. “In my own house, too.”

“It is not your house. It is your father’s. Please get out, or … or …”

“Or what?” he inquired. “Or you’ll call my father?” He gestured widely with the bottle in the direction of the other bedchambers. “Go ahead. Let him toss me into the street. He’ll need Jarvis to help him, though. Or
you.
”

He dropped the bottle, which hit the floor with a dull thud, then splayed his hands on the bed and leaned toward her. “Would you do that, dear, sweet Arabella? Are you so hardhearted a wench you would throw me out into the streets like the contents of a chamber pot?”

“I will if you do not go, and quickly,” she declared firmly.

He climbed on the bed, and she moved back from it as he lay on his side, holding his head in one hand while he smiled at her. “I don’t want to leave.”

“Why do you not visit your friends? They may find your antics amusing.”