“Is it wild to love?” Arabella imagined herself retorting. “I imagine it is an outlandish notion to the pair of you, who cannot accidentally graze hands without recoiling! That is not what I want for myself. That is not what any lady should want for herself. As for the torn drapes—Seth did it! At last, I have said it, and rid myself of the burden.”
She smiled, envisioning her mother’s horrified gasp. “My darling Seth would never do such a thing! As for what you want for yourself, it is not a woman’s place to decide what she wants.”
“This is a new era, Mama! We do not have to confine ourselves to the orders of men any longer. You can be free, if you choose to be!” Arabella would have replied. “And—oh!—are those the beating of hooves that I hear? My farmer has arrived to whisk me away, where we will marry and be blissfully happy for the rest of our lives… and there is nothing you can do about it, so tell Scarecrow Henry he will have to pick one of his pesky crows to wed!”
A grand, dramatic scene unfolded in her head, of her racing to the drawing room window and leaping directly out of it, onto the flagstone terrace outside. A mighty, black Shire horse charged around the corner, straddled by the most handsome man imaginable. She pictured him pulling her into the saddle with his muscular arms, before they rode away to untold bliss and lifelong harmony.
In reality, however, she gave a muted nod. “Iamfortunate, Papa.”
Her father made a satisfied noise, partway between a grunt and a harrumph.
“Is it already arranged?” Arabella’s heart felt like it was in her mouth. She did not want to hear the answer.
“It is.” Her mother clapped her hands together in excitement.
Her father, on the other hand, simply said, “Of course.”
“Does Seth know? He has not been at home in recent days.” Arabella was curious to discover what her brother made of this agreement. She knew he was still friendly with Henry, and friendships and sisters never mixed well.
Her mother’s expression darkened a touch. “He is attending to important business in London, though I am quite sure he will have heard the splendid news from Henry himself. Seth tells me they spend a great deal of time together, of late.”
You mean, they are imbibing in the gentlemen’s clubs and spending those great inheritances you are so fixated upon…
Arabella’s mouth literally ached from having to hold back the barbed words she longed to hurl, and if her fingernails dug any deeper into her palms, there would be blood.
“In that case, may I be excused? I fear the air in this room is bringing about a headache.” Arabella stood slowly, for fear she would be instructed to sit again. “You ought to have someone tend to that flue before it smokes us all out of the house.”
Her mother raised an eyebrow. “Then, you are not averse to the betrothal?”
“Of course not, Mama.” Arabella forced a smile. What good would the truth have done, in her position?
“Of course you may be excused,” her father said, visibly delighted that their demands had not been met with tears and tantrums. “If you feel you will be blighted by a headache, you must do all you can to prevent it.”
And if I am to be blighted by a marriage I do not want? No… I thought not.
Offering a half-hearted curtsy, Arabella left the stifling confines of the drawing room and sprinted across the ornate entrance hall, bedecked with marble statuettes, a crystal chandelier, and priceless oil paintings of the lush Surrey landscape. One painting depicted the Tillingbourne Waterfall—set in a wooded dell that looked like it had come straight from a fairy story—it happened to be one of her favorite places, but it offered no comfort today as she rushed up the right-hand curve of the two-branched staircase.
She did not stop until she reached her chambers, where her brash and breathless entry almost frightened her lady’s maid, Cassie, half to death. The young woman, a year younger than Arabella, stood sharply and clamped a hand to her chest.
“Mercy, Milady, I thought my heart had taken a leap out of that there window!”
Arabella flopped onto the bed face first. “It is over, Cassie.”
“What is, Milady?” Cassie edged over and knelt at the bedside, peering up.
“Life as I know it,” Arabella mumbled into the coverlets. “You recall all we have discussed of me being handed off to the highest bidder?”
Cassie was not just Arabella’s lady’s maid, but her firm friend, too. They had known one another since they were both girls, and who better to have as a confidante, than someone who was required to be near her often?
Cassie nodded, as Arabella lifted her head. “I do, Milady.”
“Well, they have found him.”
“Who is it, Milady?”
Arabella groaned. “Henry Finch, the Marquess of Haskett. The Duke of Wright’s son.”
“The one with the sticky-up hair and filthy nose, who came here when we were all children?” Cassie gasped.
