Joan Smith (14 page)

Sir Giles had an unfortunate combination of cowardice, greed, and hypocrisy in his makeup. Had he been less a coward, he would have stolen Arabella’s fortune by some financial chicanery or forced her to marry his son. If he had been less greedy, he would not have coveted her money. But he wanted it all—his good reputation, her money, and no trouble. It seemed now he had accomplished his aim. William was a biddable fellow. He would do as his father said, about both the girl and the money.

“Object? Why, no one in his right mind would object,” he repeated.

Arabella left in a shower of good wishes and compliments that she ignored completely. Her only pleasure in the betrothal was the pain it would cause Alexander. William was called in and told he was to marry Arabella.

“Did she agree?” he asked doubtfully.

Sir Giles was too well pleased to give voice to any of the sarcastic speeches that sprang to mind. “Certainly she agreed. She is eager to have you. June the tenth is to be the day. You may plan a wedding trip, William. The Lake District or Scotland, whatever she likes.”

“Very well, Papa.”

Next it was Mrs. Meyers, who was called in and told to begin the wedding preparations. This dame was less easily convinced of Arabella’s willingness. Uncertain what she should do, she had discovered the nocturnal visits to the weir and scolded Arabella, but she had not told Sir Giles. There was more romance in her than Arabella suspected. She had watched her charge’s summer blossoming and her winter’s decline with worried eyes. When she went to Arabella’s room to discuss the wedding plans, her charge assured her there was no undue persuasion being used.

“It is my own decision,” Arabella said stiffly. “I only hope William does not dislike it too much.”

“What is to dislike? He would look long and far before finding another such heiress to have him. Dislike it indeed!” She noticed the pillows and books tossed about the room and began picking them up.

A frown settled on her kindly face. “Arabella, this hasn’t anything to do with Raventhorpe, has it?”

“What is he to me?” her charge replied with a toss of her curls. “I haven’t given Raventhorpe a thought since he went to London and turned poet. Next month I shall be sixteen, the age at which my mama married. I have a mind to be getting on with my life, and William will make an unexceptionable husband. Let us discuss my gown, Mrs. Meyers. I want white satin, or do you think lace more dashing?”

Arabella displayed a keen interest in the wedding, but Mrs. Meyers, who had known her for years, sensed the anger and hurt below the surface. It seemed it was not a marriage she wanted, but a lavish wedding. Mrs. Meyers made a few more queries, but they were brushed aside peremptorily. Arabella was growing up. She no longer wanted to be petted and pampered, and spill out her little hurts to her old friend. There was deep hurt there, but with luck, a good marriage would heal it. There would be children soon, and the busy life of a matron. William would make a good, steady husband. Lord, it was enough to make a cat laugh, to think of little Belle being Mrs. Throckley, and calling on other matrons. It made one feel old.

Sir Giles wasted no time in sending the wedding notice to the local papers. He had William drive Arabella around to call on neighbors and go into Lyndhurst with her by his side, to show the world how happy she was. Her happiness took the form of eagerly scanning the streets for a glimpse of Alexander. A dozen times she saw a blue jacket and a curled beaver that looked exactly like his. But when the carriage drew closer, she noticed the shoulders were not quite as broad, or the walk was flat-footed, or some other imperfection was there.

When the spring assembly was announced, Sir Giles insisted she and William attend. They would all go together, one happy family. Strangely, Arabella showed very little interest, after having had a new gown made up, and insisting on attending a series of waltzing lessons in Lyndhurst.

It was on one of her trips to Lyndhurst with William that she saw a copy of the
Sonnets to a Lady
in the everything shop and bought it while William perused the fish lures. She slipped it into her reticule without saying a word. That night she read it in bed, and knew before she had read three poems that she was the lady of the sonnets. There was not a single doubt in her mind. The clandestine meetings, the stolen kisses, even the rides in the dark to the weir, though he called it a lake—they were all there, transmuted by the magic of poetry into an ideal of young love.

How had it gone wrong? Her first wave of regret soon faded to pique. He had used their love to make himself famous. For her, it had been a private, secret pleasure, but he had torn even the consolation of her memories from her by shouting them to the world. Serving wenches and courtesans were smirking over the words he had said to her. Yes, he even used some of the same phrases he had whispered in her ear, making her blush for joy. She felt soiled and degraded to know she was now public property, and thanked providence that no one knew who the lady was. Perversely, his secrecy rankled, too. He was ashamed to tell the world he had loved her.

As the days wore on, Arabella began to hatch a plan of revenge on Raventhorpe. It began as no more than a means of alleviating the pain when she lay in bed at night, remembering their past and trying to sleep. She would picture meeting Raventhorpe, she all grown-up into a fine lady, and with a wedding ring on her finger. The scales would fall from his eyes; he would at last come to realize he had lost the only lady he could ever love. As Raventhorpe was in London and apparently planned to stay there, her daydreams shifted themselves to that city.

As her dissatisfaction grew, she began to think she might make the dream a reality. She and William would hire a house in London and stay for a year. Why return before next spring? Winter at Chêne Bay was a gray, dreary season. And best of all, they would be away from Sir Giles. Her guardian was kindness itself, and she felt guilty for wanting to escape him. She told herself it would hardly seem like being married at all to stay in the same house with him and Mrs. Meyers, for she could not like to dismiss her old companion.

She mentioned the extended London visit to William, who took the plan to his father. That gentleman was too wily to scotch the plan before the wedding. He would allow them a honeymoon visit to the city, as Arabella expressed no interest in the Lake District or Scotland. Two or three weeks, there could be no harm in that, when she had the wedding ring on her finger.

The approaching wedding gave Arabella little joy, but it gave her activity at least, and prevented her from moping. She amused herself by amassing a trousseau elegant enough to set London on its ear, but even a closetful of lovely gowns and dashing bonnets and shawls and gloves did not fill the ache in her heart.

Sir Giles smiled benignly at her fussing over silks and bonnets and gloves. Let her drape herself in all the latest fashions. The quizzes could not say he was depriving her of her fortune, and the cost was small enough after all. But when she began to speak of hiring a house and staying in London for a year, he put his foot down.

“You forget you have an estate to run, my dear. Chêne Bay does not take care of itself.”

“You have always run the estate for me, Uncle.”

“It has been my pleasure to give you a hand while you were young, but how are we to make a businessman of William if he is off gallivanting in London? Marriage imposes duties as well as pleasures, Arabella. Then, too, there is your nursery to consider,” he said archly. “A healthy young bride like you, it is four pence to a groat you will be enceinte before the summer is over. That is no time to be gallivanting. You will find two weeks in London more than enough to enjoy the theaters and drives and shops. One tires of London after a short while. I shall write to a hotel and arrange rooms. No point hiring a house for two weeks.”

She appealed to William, who repeated his father’s excuses almost verbatim. And she was powerless to force the issue. Sir Giles was her guardian. Once she married William, he would be her lord and master—and banker. She grew restless and cross. It was her money; why must she do as they said? If marriage was to give her no independence, what was the point of it? She did not love William. She was frightened to death to think of having babies. She would sink into an old housewife without ever having enjoyed her youth.

That was her mood when she went to the spring assembly and met Raventhorpe once more.

Chapter Fifteen

Arabella’s hair, arranged high on her head in the new style she had adopted since her betrothal, added an air of sophistication to her youthful charms. Amidst her golden curls she placed the pearl combs William had given her for an engagement present. Now that she was engaged, she could put off the modest white gowns of youth. She wore a blue shot silk, cut daringly low at the bodice. Mrs. Meyers squinted at the incipient swell of white bosoms, but did not give verbal vent to her displeasure. That battle had been waged between them, and lost by the companion.

“I am no longer a child,” Arabella had said, with a toss of her impertinent little shoulders. But really she still looked remarkably like a child dressed up in her mama’s clothes.

When Raventhorpe spotted her across the room at the assembly, he scarcely recognized her. He had left a pretty, charming young hoyden, and came back to find her changed into a beautiful, poised lady. He was intrigued by the look of hauteur and ennui on her young face. A maiden should not assume the world-weary expression of a dowager, and yet there was charm in the impersonation. Her eyes, especially, looked as if she had experienced all of life, but most particularly its sorrows.

He gazed, mesmerized by the change in her. Not lacking in vanity, he ascribed her boredom to the weariness of life without him, and looked forward to seeing it dissipate when she caught her first glimpse of him. Then their eyes met for a brief moment, and her ennui hardened to iron. The vixen was feigning indifference to repay him for his long absence.

She looked away quickly, hoping no one could hear the banging of her heart, or feel the heat of the fire that raged within her. She turned to flee, and felt the steely grip of Sir Giles on her elbow.

He knew he must confront Raventhorpe eventually. He preferred to do it in a public place, where violence might be controlled by concern for propriety.

“I believe your old friend Raventhorpe is trying to catch your eye, my dear,” he said. “He will want to stand up with you. Might as well get it over with, eh? One dance can do no harm.”

Even as he spoke, Raventhorpe was pacing rapidly forward, his wicked black eyes devouring Arabella, while a smile of anticipation lifted the corners of his lips. Towering in the confidence of his literary success, he felt sure of his welcome. He made his bows first to Arabella, then turned a cool expression on her guardian.

“Sir Giles,” is all he said.

Sir Giles returned the bow with an equally curt “Milord,” delivered in the stiff tones of animosity performing its public duty.

Raventhorpe turned again to the lady and made a leisurely examination of her from head to foot, with always that little smile resting on his lips. When he spoke, his voice was husky with emotion. “Arabella, how charming you look this evening. May I have the next dance?”

Arabella’s tongue cleaved to the roof of her mouth. She just looked, as if seeing a devil. It was Sir Giles who answered. “She will be happy to stand up with you, milord. We have all heard of your fame in London. I do not go in for poetry reading myself, but my friends assure me your works are something out of the ordinary” he said, with that faint praise that sets a narrow limit on approval.

The words were not hostile, which led Raventhorpe to believe Sir Giles had accepted the inevitable and was giving him permission to court Arabella.

“Thank you, Sir Giles,” he replied.

Taking Arabella’s cold hand, he placed it on his sleeve and walked her away. The susurration of her silken skirt was the only sound as they left. Despite the tumult of words reeling in her head, Arabella could not trust herself to speak, and Raventhorpe seemed content just to look down at her, with pleasure beaming in his eyes.

When the music began, she went like one in a trance to join the dancers. “Ah, a waltz,” he said. “Has this devil’s dance made its way to the depths of the New Forest yet?”

“Yes, I have taken lessons,” she said quietly. She had been envisaging Raventhorpe as a depraved lecher, but upon seeing him again close at hand, seeing his youthful vigor and the old love shining in his eyes, her heart wavered, and was soon recaptured.

He drew her into his arms, and for a few bars they waltzed without speaking. Their bodies swayed lightly in harmony with the music, and with each other. For Arabella, it was like having found the other half of herself. That aching void that yawned inside her was gone, filled with a trembling pleasure that was more than half exquisite pain. She felt hot tears rising, and blinked them away.

“I’ve missed you so much, Belle,” he said, gazing softly at her. “If it weren’t for reliving our moments together in my poetry, I think I would have gone mad. I’ve had a copy of the verses bound specially in white kid for you, with gold embossing. Did you like the sonnets?”

What had she done? What utter folly had she committed? “They were lovely, Alexander,” she managed to murmur.

“I wanted to shout from the rooftops who was their inspiration. Until we are married, that might be a tad indiscreet, but when you are Lady Raventhorpe, prepare to find yourself an object of—”

“Stop it!” A sob caught in her throat.

“There now, I know exactly how you feel, my love,” he said softly. “It’s a demmed bore, having to be with a crowd when we want to be alone, but we shall meet once more at the weir tonight for old times’ sake.”

She just looked, with tears gathering in her eyes while her lips trembled uncertainly. Raventhorpe thought she was overwhelmed with joy, as he was himself. His arms tightened instinctively around her. He knew she was on the point of tears and tried to lighten the mood.