Secret Heiress (9 page)

For several days, Arabella waited for Jeremy to return. He did not come, although Lord Warriner was a frequent visitor. A widower of some forty years. Lord Warriner was wealthy enough to meet with the approbation of the Chedworths. Unfortunately for his chances with Arabella, he was also portly and balding and frequently smelled of wine. He smiled knowingly at Arabella, patted her hand, and said she made him feel young again. Arabella always smiled politely, but she could not like it. He was neither romantic nor handsome, and Arabella could not imagine him writing a poem. She wished he would not come again.

A week after her come-out, on a morning when no one had called, she decided to go shopping with her maid. They were just starting out the door when Jeremy Tarkington appeared, to Arabella's delight. She looked at him and thought, “How much like a poet he is,” although if one had asked her what that was, she could not have said. He certainly cut a romantic figure to an impressionable young female, with his dark, disheveled locks carefully arranged à la Byron, his cravat artfully draped, and an air of carefully cultivated languor which belied his pleasure at seeing her.

“You've come back!” she exclaimed. “I knew you would.” Maria, her maid, walked discreetly ahead.

“I wanted to come the very next day, but my father wished me to accompany him to Buckinghamshire. I had no choice! How can I, totally dependent upon them, refuse to do as they say, even as I wish for nothing but to see you again,” he declaimed as he artfully struck a pose, being careful not to disturb his appearance.

Arabella blushed fiercely. “I cannot talk now, for the carriage is waiting,” she said. “Tomorrow, I shall walk in the Park with Maria at eleven. Now, I must go!” As she stepped into the carriage, she turned and waved to him.

The wait was interminable for Arabella. How could the time pass so slowly until the next day? During dinner, she looked at the clock so often that her father asked her teasingly if she were expecting someone.

“Oh, no, Papa, whom would I be expecting?”

“Seems to me Lord Warriner is around here a lot,” said her father.

“Lord Warriner has been a frequent visitor,” said Mrs. Chedworth with a quick glance at her daughter. “He admires Arabella a great deal.”

“Mama, Lord Warriner is old enough to be my father,” said Arabella. “I do not wish him to admire me.”

“Any young lady in her first Season should be honored to have such a man of the world as Lord Warriner show an interest in her,” said Mrs. Chedworth reprovingly. “It is quite a feather in your cap, my love. A man of wealth, in the first stare of consequence; a girl would be foolish to abjure such a suitor.”

“But I don't want wealth or consequence!” said Arabella, getting up from the table. “I want someone I can love!” She sobbed as she ran from the room.

“I believe your daughter has been reading novels from the lending library, my dear,” said Mr. Chedworth.

“Indeed!” said Mrs. Chedworth. “I can tell you, sir, that I did not put such foolishness in her head! It is to be expected that a young girl would not initially be attracted to a man such as Lord Warriner. However, I am certain she will, upon reflection, realize that love has nothing to do with marriage.”

“Were the situation different . . .” said Mr. Chedworth. “Had I not suffered such ill luck . . .”

“But we cannot change the facts,” said Mrs. Chedworth. “We are desperate, Mr. Chedworth. You know the cost of Arabella's come-out. If it does not result in a wealthy husband, it will have been for nothing. And what of the other girls?”

“Do you think Warriner will offer for Arabella?” asked Mr. Chedworth.

“I am convinced of it,” answered his wife.

“But if she is opposed to it . . .” said Mr. Chedworth.

“I am certain that Arabella will do just as she ought,” replied Mrs. Chedworth. “This phase will pass. I was concerned, at first, that she had conceived a tendre for one of Lord Tarkington's sons. A schoolboy! I have made inquiries, discreet, of course, and have ascertained that he has no expectations. He fancies himself a poet! However, he has not been heard from again, and no doubt Arabella has forgotten him.”

“I hope you are right, my dear,” said Mr. Chedworth.

Of course, Arabella had not forgotten him. As she lay on her bed, she thought of what it would be like to marry Lord Warriner instead of Jeremy. It was too terrible to think about, and when her mother came in to see how she was, she found her daughter fast asleep in her clothes,

The next morning, Arabella asked her mother if she could go for a walk in the Park with Maria.

“I would like some fresh air. Mama,” she said.

“Of course, my love,” said Mrs. Chedworth, preoccupied with some fabrics which had just arrived.

Arabella slipped on her pelisse before her mother had a chance to change her mind. She and Maria walked to the Park and found Jeremy waiting at the fountain. Maria, sympathetic to the romantic spirit of her young mistress, walked away. Jeremy led Arabella to a secluded bench and held her hand.

“I had to see you before I returned to Cambridge,” he declared.

“I wanted to see you, too,” said Arabella. “I wanted to thank you for the poem. It was so beautiful.”

“A poet needs inspiration,” said Jeremy.

“When must you return to school?” asked Arabella.

“In two days,” replied Jeremy.

“Two days!” exclaimed Arabella, in despair. “But we shall have no time together.”

“I know,” said Jeremy, “but I must return. My father would cut me off if I did not.”

“I care nothing for money!” cried Arabella.

“I, too, care nothing for money,” said Jeremy. “It is so sordid. I despise having to accept it from my father. But how else can I continue to write my poems? If I did not accept my allowance, I would be forced to seek employment.”

“Oh, no,” replied Arabella. “That would be horrid. You must be able to write.”

“You do understand,” said Jeremy, squeezing her hand. “I knew you would. From the moment I saw you, I knew you had a soul.” He pressed her hand to his lips. “Oh, Arabella, we belong together.”

Arabella blushed again. “Oh, Jeremy,” she whispered. They looked at each other for a moment. Then, Arabella turned away.

“It is so hopeless,” she said. “I shall never be allowed to wait until you finish school. I shall be forced to marry Lord Warriner, and I shall be lost to you!”

“Lord Warriner!” exclaimed Jeremy. “Every thought revolts! Why, he is quite old! He cannot be allowed to claim you as his!”

“I know,” said Arabella. “But he has a fortune, and that is all that my parents care about. I have nothing to say in the matter.”

“If only I had a fortune. I could leave school—defy my parents—and we could be together! Lord Warriner would never have you!”

“In only I were clever. I could sew or teach pianoforte and Italian,” said Arabella. “Then, you would not have to work and could spend your time writing.”

“How noble of you, to sacrifice yourself for me,” said Jeremy. “But, alas, it can never be. I must return to school.”

“And I shall never see you again!” cried Arabella. “You will not be able to write to me, for they will see your letters. It is monstrously unfair!” She put her head in her hands and began to weep.

Just then, Maria approached.

“Excuse me, Miss Arabella,” she said timidly. “And sir,” she added.

“What is it?” asked Arabella, wiping her eyes, for she did not wish them to become too red.

“It is getting late, and the mistress will wonder where you are.”

“Then I must go,” she replied. She turned to Jeremy. “Please, do not forget me.”

“I could not,” he answered, kissing her hand again.

Arabella stood up. “Good-bye, then,” she said, as she turned away. Behind her Maria followed, dabbing at her eyes.

Several days after his contretemps with Caroline, Giles reported to his family's physician in Harley Street. He'd been feeling so much better, he was certain that he would be able to return to Lord Walsingham soon. Dr. Keene examined him closely, only an occasional “Ah” giving Giles any indication of his findings.

“Well, my boy,” he said finally, “you're doing quite well.”

“Then, I may return to Vienna?” asked Giles eagerly.

“In due course,” said Dr. Keene.

“Due course!” exclaimed Giles. “What the devil does that mean?”

“Don't lose your temper with me, Giles Kendal,” said the doctor. “I've known you since you were in short pants. You're a sensible man. You're still quite thin. You don't want to go racketing about and find yourself back in bed. You've had a rough time and a close call, and there's no point in rushing things. After all, it's only been two months. You may consider yourself fortunate it wasn't six. Another month or so, and we'll see. If you like, I'll send a note along to Lord Walsingham with my opinion.”

“Thank you, no,” replied Giles stiffly. “I'll write to him myself.” He began to put on his coat.

“As you wish,” said Dr. Keene. “Giles, I know this is a disappointment to you, but, believe me, it is the only prudent course.”

“I know, sir,” said Giles reluctantly. “I'm sorry I lost my temper with you. I am just eager to return to duty.”

“Is London so flat, then?” asked the doctor with a chuckle. “An unattached young man at the height of the Season: you must be out of sorts if that holds no attraction!”

“Flat it is not,” replied Giles. He held out his hand. “Thank you, sir,” he said. “I'll see you in a month.”

“My compliments to your parents,” said the doctor. “By the by, how is your brother's knee? The last time I saw him, he was limping badly.”

“It still hurts him quite a bit,” replied Giles.

“He was getting a bit thick around the middle,” said the doctor. “That won't help the knee. But, then, if patients listened to their doctors, we'd all be out of business.” He chuckled again.

“Yes, sir,” said Giles with a grin. He left, having almost forgotten that it would be at least a month before he could return to Vienna.

When Giles entered the hallway of his parents' home, he heard the sound of his mother's voice. She was entertaining unidentified guests in the parlor. He tried to escape upstairs unnoticed, but Arabella Chedworth emerged from the parlor before he could get away.

“Oh, I am so glad it is you,” she whispered. “I must speak to you, but I cannot do so here. I told Mama and Aunt Henrietta that I thought I had lost my glove so that I could come out here. Can you call tomorrow morning? Mama will be out. I am desperate. Please do not fail me!” She turned and walked back into the room.

“How silly of me,” he heard her say. “My glove was in my reticule all the time!”

Giles, slightly stunned by Arabella's speech, continued upstairs. His life, he reflected, was beginning to resemble the novels to which ladies of the ton seemed addicted. He had no idea what was troubling Arabella, but he supposed he had better go to see her; otherwise, she might do something foolish.

“And the doctor wondered if London was flat,” he said aloud. “There seems to be more intrigue here than in Vienna.” And then, because the whole situation struck him as slightly absurd, he laughed.

The next morning, Giles dutifully presented himself at Berkeley Square. He was greeted by the butler, who recognized his name.

“Miss Chedworth will be down presently,” he said as he ushered Giles into the parlor. He had barely nodded and left the room when Arabella hurried in.

“Oh, thank goodness you have come!” she exclaimed. “I am so distressed!” She pulled out a handkerchief and began sobbing.

“My dear Arabella, what has happened? Come, pull yourself together. I cannot help you if you do not tell me what the trouble is!”

Arabella lifted her face from the handkerchief and sniffed. “It is so horrid!” she said.

“What is so horrid?” asked Giles patiently.

“Mama!” Arabella exclaimed.

“Your mama is horrid?” asked Giles, confused.

“No,” wailed Arabella. “You don't understand. It is Lord Warriner who is horrid.”

“What have you to do with Lord Warriner?” asked Giles.

“Marriage!” said Arabella, tragically. “I know Lord Warriner is going to offer for me, and Mama wishes me to accept!”

“Lord Warriner?” said Giles in some surprise.

“He is so fat!” said Arabella. She began to sob again. “And so old. I care nothing for his money and his title. He pats my hand in such an odd way and calls me his pretty. Oh, Giles, he frightens me. And,” she added, raising her head, “I love another who is young and handsome and writes poetry.”

She buried her face in her handkerchief.

“Please, Arabella,” said Giles desperately. “Please, do not cry. If you do not wish to marry Lord Warriner, then I'm certain you need not. These are not medieval times. No one can compel you to marry someone you do not like. If you love someone else who is suitable, I am certain that your parents will consent to such a match.”

“But Mama says I must accept Lord Warriner,” said Arabella, dabbing at her eyes.

“Why?” asked Giles.

“Because he is fabulously wealthy, and our fortune is not what it was. There are my sisters to be established. Mama is certain he will be most generous.”

“I should think he would be,” said Giles, checking himself as he spoke.

“I know they will never let me marry Jeremy,” said Arabella.

“Jeremy?” asked Giles.

“Jeremy Tarkington,” replied Arabella. “He is the one I love.”

Oh, no, thought Giles. That will never do. Aloud, he said, noncommittally, “I will see what I can do.”

“Please, Giles, you must help me,” entreated Arabella. “I cannot marry Lord Warriner. If you do not help me, I don't know what I shall do!”

“You mustn't worry,” replied Giles. “I am certain that you will not be forced to do something you do not wish to do. I promise you that.”

“But what will you do?” asked Arabella.

“I don't know yet,” replied Giles. “But I shall think of something.”

“Thank you, oh, thank you,” said Arabella, clinging to him. “I knew I could depend on you.”

Giles disengaged himself quickly, promising to return when he had reached some solution. As he walked down the street, he began to see that he would have to deal carefully with the impulsive Miss Chedworth. Lord Warriner might not be an eligible parti, but neither was young

Tarkington. He was still wet behind the ears. And a poet, no less. As if Byron were not enough! He would have to tread carefully. He would also have to be careful in how he approached the Chedworths.

It is certainly a good thing that my training is in diplomacy, he thought. Walsingham would be proud!