“Milady?” a voice called, as the library door swung open slowly.
Frantic, Arabella whirled around and lunged back into the room, diving for the Persian rug. She was a mite too enthusiastic, however, skimming her chin on the fibers and feeling the sting of a burn that would surely mark her skin.
A second later, the footman, Kinsale, peeked over the threshold. “There you are, Milady. When you didn’t reply, I thought I’d got the wrong room for a moment.”
Arabella thought about chiding him for not waiting for an invitation to enter, but she was not that sort of person. And she would not start turning into her mother and father for the sake of saving her own embarrassment.
She covered her chin with her knuckles, as if she were posing for a great artist, and peered up at the footman. “Is something the matter, Kinsale?”
“No, Milady. An express rider just came.” The footman tiptoed rather comically across the room and deposited a letter on the end-table by the settee. “They said it was urgent.”
Arabella nodded, her knuckles still glued to her chin. “Thank you, Kinsale.”
“Very good, Milady.” He backed out of the room like she was some kind of monarch and closed the library door behind him. The poor fellow must have thought Arabella had taken leave of her senses, and she was not entirely sure that she had not. Henry’s invasion into her mind had certainly thrown her.
Crawling over to the end-table, wincing at the sting upon her chin, she grabbed the letter and sat up against the settee. “Lady Arabella” graced the creamy front of the folded paper, but she did not recognize the impossibly neat, elegant cursive. It looked like it had been penned by a veritable calligrapher.
Curious, she turned the letter over, but the wax seal gave no indication about the writer, either. It had been stamped poorly, blurring whatever letter might have been imprinted.
Opening it out, her heart leaped as she read the note within,
My dear Lady Arabella,
I hope this letter finds you in better health than I left you this afternoon. I confess, you gave me quite the fright. I would have preferred it if you had remained in London, so I might have ensured that there was no repetition of your collapse. However, I know you to be of independent spirit, and I am certain that your mother and father are taking excellent care of you. I would have visited in place of this letter, but I imagine it would have been frowned upon to make a nocturnal call.
That being said, when you are fully recovered, I wondered if you might accept an invitation to dine with me, the day after tomorrow at seven o’clock. Lord Talbot is having a small gathering at his townhouse and I thought it might befit us, for it will be a private affair and there will be plenty of opportunity to speak freely and to gain a better appreciation of your particular charms. There may even be dancing, which I trust will cheer your heart.
I have already informed Lord Talbot that you will be attending, as it is such short notice, but I will graciously understand if you cannot be present. I am sure I will think of a suitable excuse for your absence, and I will assuredly make another suggestion to have you in London Society in due course. Be well, Lady Arabella. There will be plenty of time for us to continue what we have started.
Yours Faithfully,
Your Hyde Park Hero (or perhaps not so heroic).
Arabella sank back against the side of the settee and sighed, grinning from ear to ear as she turned the letter back over to observe the seal. It was almost certainly a “P” for Powell now that she looked again. Nor could anyone else have written a note that made her stomach flutter so wondrously.
I will be there, Lord Powell.
The maiden would meet her woodsman and this time, there would be no unwelcome intrusions, for Henry did not need to know she would be in London. He would merely provide the perfect excuse.
Chapter Ten
“Why are you dragging me to this dull soirée again?” Seth complained, resting his head wearily against the interior of the carriage. “Are you unaware that my head has been taken over by an army of drummers, who seem intent on pounding out cacophony after cacophony? Or have you no heart?”
Henry chuckled, sympathizing with his friend. “I told you not to over-indulge last night, but you professed that you had become immune to the effects of fine brandy. You were already woefully inebriated at the time, but I charge you to try and stop a determined gentleman from downing another half a bottle when he has decided he is invincible.”
“It hurts, Haskett.” Seth pouted childishly. “Such pain. I fear I may be dying.”
Henry rolled his eyes. “No man has ever died from a hangover.”
“That is simply not true,” Seth declared. “Lord Robinson expired after spending three days at Pinkett’s Gentlemen’s Club. When they carried him out, dead as a doornail, he still had a bottle of whisky clutched in his hand.”
Henry smiled. “Did you hear what you just said?”
“Hmm?”
“Lord Robinson spentthreedays in the Gentlemen’s Club without retiring once.Thatquantity of alcohol could certainly kill you, but you have the tendency to fall asleep after you have reached your limitations. Our bodies defend themselves, my good man, and punish us afterward.”
Seth groaned. “Why are you not suffering as I am?”
