The butler, Mr. Gordon, stepped into the room. “There is a letter for you, Milady. It came by express rider, and I am told it is urgent.”
“How thrilling!” Arabella flashed him a mischievous grin.
He smirked in reply but swiftly covered it, not wanting to appear too casual. “Here you are, Milady. Do you require a fresh tea service, or has the Lady Olivia gone for good?”
“I think the latter.”
The butler nodded, unable to hide his smile, this time. “Excellent news, Milady.” He paused. “And may I be so bold as to say, you spoke very admirably just then.”
“Were you eavesdropping, Gordon? How naughty of you!” Arabella chuckled.
“A touch, Milady. I always do when she is here, in case I need to interrupt an insult that I particularly do not care for.”
Arabella sighed and sank back into the settee. “You are too kind, Gordon.” Remembering what Henry had said about treating all people with the same respect, she added, “Thank you for your service. Truly, we would all fall apart without you. I am grateful for everything you do for us.”
Mr. Gordon seemed stunned, his mouth agape. “Why… thank you, Milady. It is a pleasure to serve you.” Red-cheeked, he stepped back toward the door. “Are you sure you do not need further refreshment? One of the cook’s raspberry buns, perhaps?”
“Thank you, but I am quite well.”
He nodded and, with that, left her to her letter. She was hungrier for that than she was for any raspberry bun. And, just as she had hoped, she recognized the beautiful handwriting on the front.
Stretching out her stiff arms, still aching after the carriage ride home the night before last, she held the letter to her chest and smiled up at the crystal chandelier. Sunlight glinted through the facets, casting a shower of rainbow rays downward. A few slanted into her eyes, blinding them for a moment.
“Why is there a chandelier where the sun can reach it?” she muttered, blinking furiously.
As the glare faded and she rubbed the haze from her eyes, an almighty scream erupted from her throat. Dead ahead, on the other side of a tall window, the figure of a man stood silhouetted in the pane. Though she could not see his face properly, she knew he was staring right at her.
* * *
Henry whistled to himself as he rode along the now familiar countryside road to the Bowles Estate. It was a fine day, the glorious sunshine and temperate breeze reflecting his cheerful spirits. For once, he was content to enjoy the pretty hedgerows and the hazy fields of gold and green and bronze that he passed by, inhaling the earthy scents of recently scythed grass and the sweet aroma of the wildflowers that grew in vivid sprays along the dusty road.
I ought to bring some for Arabella. Perhaps, I ought to pick a bunch for the Duchess, too, by way of an apology.
He chuckled and brought his horse to a halt. Clambering down from the saddle, he crouched down and took his time, carefully selecting two colorful bouquets. It was not in his nature to be romantic, and yet, when it came to Arabella, he found himself constantly thinking of things that might please her.
Dancing with another lady certainly did not, but I shall not be doing that again.
“This smells divine,” he murmured, sticking his nose into the bouquet he had in mind for Arabella. It reminded him of her, in a way, for the blooms were mostly whites, lilac, and pale yellow, with a few vivid reds and darker purples peeking through.
As for the other bouquet, it lacked the color of Arabella’s, but packed an olfactory punch with the heady scents of the blooms. The Duchess of Bowles, who often favored intense perfumes, even though it was not the fashion to douse oneself to the point of giving other people headaches, would hopefully enjoy such a gift.
Satisfied, he got back up into the saddle and slid the bouquets into the saddlebag to his right, so they would not get crushed or pick up the scent of horse before he reached the Bowles Estate.
“Today will be a good day,” he told the landscape as he rode along. He had sent an express rider to Arabella, carrying a message that he would call upon her this afternoon. Thinking it would be a rather amusing trick, he had set off not long after the messenger, so he would arrive at the Estate soon after she had read the note. To his mind, it would prevent her from refusing his call.
I hope she does not turn me away. I explained myself, and she also danced with another. Hopefully, we may be able to sweep it to one side and begin afresh.
It was not long before he arrived at the grand gates of the Bowles Estate and headed up the drive that he had come to cherish. Indeed, he would never smell privet hedges, cypress trees, or yew bushes again without thinking of Arabella.
However, as he drew closer to the front of the house, he pulled his horse to a sharp standstill. A cloaked figure stood before one of the gleaming windows, which he knew looked into the drawing room. As their cloak flapped slightly in the warm breeze, he caught sight of something that made his heart clench.
A pistol.
Quick as a flash, Henry spurred his horse onward, urging the steed into a rapid gallop. He did not care for his own safety, only that of whomever was inside the drawing room.
Coming within fifteen walking paces of the cloaked figure, Henry reared his horse. As the mount’s hooves came down with a thud, Henry swung his leg over the saddle and jumped down. A shiver of pain ricocheted up his ankle where he landed awkwardly on the gravel, but he ignored it, running on to apprehend this villain who was slowly starting to turn.
“Get away from that window, you wretch!” Henry roared, throwing himself at the ne’er do well.
