Yours Faithfully,
Your Not Hero of Hyde Park
Overcome with such a wave of shock, Arabella dropped the card and sank down onto the settee beside her. Her hands shook and her heart beat so fast it felt like it might burst from her chest. Meanwhile, tears welled in her eyes, though she did not know why.
“What’s wrong? Do I need to give someone a tongue-lashing?” Cassie stooped to retrieve the card, her expression crumpling into one of sad admiration as she read the words upon it. “Oh, Milady…”
Arabella eyed the spines and her rapidly beating heart lurched. She could only see the nearest of the two piles, but every single one was one of the books that he had torn in his youth. She was not even sure how he could have remembered, when she, herself, had forgotten many of them.
“Why would he do this?” she whispered.
Cassie knelt before her and took her hand. “I think you know why, Milady.”
“But… but this is not part of the plan!” Arabella stared at her friend, looking for answers.
Cassie smiled sympathetically. “Sometimes, plans change.”
It was the nicest thing anyone had ever done for Arabella, despite the fact that Henry was the very person that had torn the books in the first place. Was this him trying to show her that he was not that boy anymore? Was it really just an apology, or was he trying to say something else?
Picking up the top book and flipping straight to the back, she held her breath, hoping for a happy ending.
Chapter Fourteen
“Your sister said she would be in attendance tonight?” Henry observed his reflection in the mirror. There was a lock at the front of his hair that would not behave, though he had used a heated rod, a lick of oil, and both together to try and combat its unruliness.
Seth nodded, his hair annoyingly obedient. “She did, my good man. Why, are you so very restless to see her? They do say that absence makes the heart grow fonder.” He chuckled and downed what was left in his brandy glass. “Did you not say you visited my family Estate last week?”
“I did,” Henry replied, feeling absurdly anxious. The half glass of brandy thathehad imbibed had done nothing to steady his nerves. Although, he refused to drink more, not wanting a repeat of Lord Chisholm’s ball.
“You have seen her four times since your betrothal was declared. Some gentlemen might call that excessive,” Seth teased, oblivious to Henry’s jitters. “I, on the other hand, am grateful you are putting in such efforts. Truly, you are a gentleman of your word. I am sure my sister is glad, too.”
I highly doubt that…
Henry could not believe it had been an entire week since he had last been in her presence, for those seven days had stretched by like months. It might have been perfectly tolerable if he had heard from her, letting him know that she had appreciated the books. Yet, there had been no note, no letter, nothing.
It was stupid,he scolded himself inwardly.Of course she will have taken it as a slight or a mean jest, as she did the ribbons!
In truth, he did not know why he had purchased the books in the first place. He was not prone to being sentimental, but on passing a bookshop, it was as if some exterior force had driven him inside and selected the tomes. Before he had known what was happening, he had been the proud possessor of ten books that he had no intention of reading.
“We will be late if we do not hurry,” Seth said, throwing on his tailcoat.
Reluctantly, Henry did the same. “Why must they hold these balls outside the city? There are perfectly good townhouses and Assembly Rooms here,” he grumbled, dusting his lapels. The tailcoat was new and in certain lights, a dark pattern was revealed—a subtle sort of brocading that he was not yet convinced he liked.
“I quite agree, my good man,” Seth retorted, leading the way out of the townhouse to where their carriage awaited. This time, the venue of the night’s revels was somewhere to the north, between London and St. Alban’s, meaning another weary carriage ride when dawn came. Or long before, depending how it played out.
* * *
Henry looked for Arabella in the throng of people who had gathered to celebrate the summer at the Viscount of Mawdesley’s residence. It was a much smaller pile than most in the country, but no one had seen fit to tell the Viscount and Viscountess that. They behaved as if they lived in a veritable palace and, as such, had invited a palatial quantity of guests, who were either crammed into the hallways or spilling out from every available room.
Perhaps, she is not coming…
It was already nearing nine o’clock, a good three hours after the start of the event, and she was nowhere to be found.
“Lord Milford!” a cheerful voice intruded on Henry’s perturbed scouring.
He turned sharply, half-expecting—or hoping—it might be Arabella. But why would she refer to her brother in such honorifics? His enthusiasm deflated as he saw a pretty young lady sauntering up to where the two men stood in the entrance hall, sipping glasses of champagne. She was beautiful, with irreverent green eyes and silky raven locks, teased into spiraling curls that were pinned atop her head… but she was not Arabella.
“Lady Olivia. What a pleasure!” Seth cheered in reply. “How marvelous you look this evening. Please, entertain us with a spin, so we might better admire you.”
