I told you not to bother with that gown.Arabella sighed affectionately, for she had instructed Cassie to put the garment out to be incinerated. It was exactly like her dear friend and lady’s maid to try and salvage it for, in truth, it was one of Arabella’s favorites.
Five minutes later, Cassie raced into the room. “Is something the matter, Milady? Mr. Gordon said you were in a state of distress.” She paused, arching an eyebrow. “Are the biscuits particularly aggressive today? The tea too hot?”
“It is the letter, Cassie.” Arabella managed a half-smile at her friend’s jest.
Cassie came to sit beside Arabella. “What letter?”
“Henry sent one to me. I was about to read it when all of that unpleasantness with him and Lord Powell occurred.” Arabella lowered her voice to a whisper, and hurriedly explained everything that had gone on while Cassie had been chaperoning from the terrace—the confession of love, the vague proposal, the admission of jealousy, and the mission she had tasked Henry with, regarding Lord Powell. With the exception of the latter, Arabella had not had any time to inform Cassie of it all.
“Henry said he had discovered something about Lord Powell and had included it in the letter,” Arabella concluded. “I came back to read it after Henry left, but it is nowhere to be found.”
Cassie pursed her lips. “Did you leave Lord Powell alone in this room?”
“What? No.” Arabella gasped, remembering her rushed exit. “Actually, yes. I was so flustered I said I could not see him out. I ran straight to the gardens.”
“Then, there’s your culprit,” Cassie said grimly. “You mentioned he’s already jealous. That can make men, even gentlemen, do peculiar things.”
Arabella shook her head. “But you were still out on the terrace while I was running for the gardens. If he took it, you would have seen him.Didyou see him?”
“I… was distracted, Milady.” Cassie offered a look of apology. “You had been talking for so long that, to my shame, I drifted off to sleep. I blame this fierce heat. I can’t be out in it for more than ten minutes before I start wanting a nap. Anyway, by the time I awoke and saw you had gone, Lord Powell was not here, either.”
Arabella did not want to believe something so atrocious. To steal another person’s correspondence was as awful as stealing someone’s most precious belongings. Perhaps, others would not consider it an equal crime, but they did not adore words as Arabella did. Much like Henry had once torn out the endings of her books, if Lord Powellhaddone this, he had robbed her of something similarly special.
“No matter,” she said quietly. “Without proof, I cannot make an accusation.”
Cassie clicked her tongue. “You ought to, anyway.”
“No, no, there is no need.” Arabella gazed at the end-table, where the letter had once been. “I will write to Henry and ask him to recreate the letter. As the information was important, I am sure he will not mind.”
Though I hope he will also recreate the sweet words he claimed he had written.
Cassie patted her mistress lightly on the shoulder. “And what of Lord Powell? After this, you can’t possibly be considering his, frankly cowardly, proposal? Jealousy might be akin to a sickness, Milady, but it’s not an excuse for bad behavior.”
“I will add that to my book of your sage sayings.” Arabella tried to laugh, but it felt empty. She wanted that letter back, precisely as it had been inked. With a recreation, she would never know what the original had said.
“I’m serious, Milady.” Cassie searched Arabella’s face. “What do you intend to do about Lord Powell?”
Arabella shrugged. “I do not know, Cassie. I asked for romance, excitement, and adventure, did I not? I asked for fantasy and intrigue, like in my novels.” She paused. “Either this is the heavens trying to teach me a lesson, or it is an opportunity.”
“An opportunity?” Cassie looked dubious.
Arabella nodded. “Yes, an opportunity to find out which gentleman ought to be standing beside me at the altar. The one who has made a confession and desires to give me the world, or as much of it as he can. Or the one who has made no confession and encouraged me to find someone else because he did not think he could make me happy.”
“You looked happier than I’ve ever seen you, out there by the lake,” Cassie murmured softly, giving Arabella’s shoulder a squeeze. “To be honest, seeing the pair of you, it made me think this love and marriage lark might not be so bad. Next time I catch Kinsale glancing at me over the kitchen table, I might glance back.”
Arabella whirled around, clapping her hands together. “Iknewhe liked you!”
“Don’t get too excited, Milady. We’ve got to untangle your romantic knots before I can even think about my own.” Cassie chuckled, though it ebbed quickly. “For my tuppence worth, I think you’d come to regret it if you didn’t choose the gentlemen who makes you laugh and smile like you did today. That’s the foundation of a long and happy marriage. Not that I know much about it.”
The trouble was, to Arabella, choosing Henry felt a lot like giving up and giving into her parents. He was not the one her beloved heroines would end up with. Indeed, in her novels, those heroines ran from their betrotheds. More persuasive still was the fact that he had not asked her to stop seeking the love of another and take his instead. It seemed to suggest that, even after spending time with her, he did not think he was capable of making her happy.
That, above everything else, gave her cause to doubt if he was the one for her.
“I should retire to my chambers, so I can write this letter to Henry. The sooner I hear from him, the better,” Arabella announced, getting to her feet.
Once she had his reply, she would know, once and for all, what sort of man Lord Powell was. That, in turn, might very well make up her mind for her. After all, if she wanted to be brave and daring, like the heroines she cherished, what was stopping her from making a confession first?
Chapter Twenty-One
