He lifted his gaze to meet hers. “Of course, Lady Arabella. I will go at once.” He paused, draping the wet cloth on the edge of the basin. “Thank you for tending to me so graciously, and I am sorry for the earlier unpleasantness.”
“It was the least I could do. Apologies, but I will not see you out. I must dispose of this immediately.” Dipping in a half-curtsy, she whirled around and hurried from the drawing room, sloshing water all over the entrance hall in her rush to get away.
Indeed, she was so overcome with panic that she did not realize where she was running to, until she found herself sprinting over the Oriental bridge, heading for the sanctuary of the ornamental gardens. The basin, now all but empty, was still clutched in her hands, her gown soaked through.
Panting and strangely tearful, she broke through the gap between the yew bushes, crossing the aromatic, tangible threshold between reality and fantasy. For these gardens had always been like an extension of her novels, in her mind. Here, surrounded by the buzz of bumblebees, the scent of beautiful flowers, and the shade of peaceful trees, she could imagine, create, and envision other lives for herself.
“Arabella?” A quiet voice made her heart lurch, as a figure stepped out from behind one of the hedges that separated the ornamental gardens into lush, verdant squares, each a new domain of its own.
She halted on the pathway of crushed shells. “You stayed.”
“I could not leave until I had seen you,” Henry replied, approaching her through the liquid shimmer of the afternoon’s heat, radiating up from the path.
Her throat constricted. “I… am glad.”
“I did not expect to hear that.”
Seeing him walk toward her, the panic in her veins drained away. The butterflies calmed to a slow flap, the beat of her heart steadied to a less volatile thump, and her breaths were no longer hard to catch. Perhaps, she had gotten it all wrong about romance. Perhaps, it did not need to be dangerous and heart racing. Perhaps, true romance could be found in the sweetness of a man, the safety she felt in being around him, and the gladness she experienced in seeing him, above all others, come toward her.
“Your face!” Arabella gasped, closing the gap between them and lifting her hand to his jaw. An angry patch of livid red bloomed across it, which would soon turn purple.
He closed his eyes at her touch, and gently covered her hand with his. “It is nothing, Arabella. I deserved it for acting rashly.”
“Do not say that,” she chided in a soft, sad tone. “You did not know he meant me no harm. I should not have spoken to you as I did or left you to fend for yourself. If I had seen this, I would not have.Iacted rashly, seeing the scene and not understanding.”
With him, her words came easily. And though the sight of his closed eyes, almost blissful, stole away her breath, it did not feel suffocating. Even the flutter of her heart, upon noticing he had loosened his cravat and collar to expose a small square of a sweat-glistened chest, did not feel anything like panic.
Are you my woodsman? After all of this rigmarole, is it you?
Chapter Nineteen
“Ithink your chaperone is cross with you,” Henry whispered, as he walked with Arabella along the edge of a fishing lake, set far back in the grounds of the Bowles Estate.
He remembered taking a boat out onto the sparkling water with Seth when they were boys, though they could never catch anything. Still, that had not stopped Henry’s childhood self from taking one of the worms from the bait box and sitting it on Arabella’s shoulder. She had screamed so loud, he was quite sure all of England had heard her.
I should not remind her of that while she is in a forgiving mood.
Arabella looked back at the maid, who was following at a polite distance, her arms folded sullenly over her chest. “I did not, exactly, tell her where I was going, and she hates to run. She must have searched all over before she found us here.”
“I feel I ought to make another apology. This time, for stealing you away.” He chuckled. “I am becoming rather good at saying sorry, do you not think?”
She smiled, leaning into his arm slightly. “They do say that practice makes perfect, even though, in this instance, you do not have to apologize.”
“I do not believe I have ever tackled a gentleman before.” He wanted to keep the atmosphere light between them. “I had always assumed it would be invigorating, but it is actually rather unpleasant and awkward. I might be picking gravel out of my back for a week.”
She laughed, as he had hoped she would. “Shall I fetch pincers?”
“And cause a scandal as I reveal my back to you?” He feigned horror. “I think it best I have my manservant do it, upon my return to London. Or Seth. Whomever is more inclined.”
A hint of sorrow flickered in her eyes. “I really am sorry for the manner in which I spoke to you, and for not helping you immediately. It was just such an awful shock. I barely knew what I was doing.”
“You are forgiven,” he reassured, meaning it.
As he had paced in the gardens earlier, wondering if he ought to depart and save some of his pride, he had fully intended to be stern when he saw her again. Then, she had said she was glad he had stayed, and all of that ill feeling had disappeared like a breath on the wind.
Ambling down a shallow bank of grass to reach the shingle shore of the lake, Henry offered his hand up to Arabella. She took it, gripping his hand tightly as she picked her way down the slight incline toward him. There, they resumed their wandering, her arm looped through his in a manner more casual than he was accustomed to. Not that he was complaining, for it meant she stood nearer to him, their arms flush together, as they walked.
“What did your letter say?” She glanced up at him shyly. “I did not have the chance to read it, for there was an eerie man standing in the window of the drawing room.”
