“I did.” Arabella nodded eagerly. “He is speaking with Mama and Papa now. With any luck, we will depart by the middle of next week. Sooner, perhaps.”
“And what of Lord Powell?” Cassie’s tone darkened. “Did he come looking for his answer? Honestly, I can’t comprehend the gall of the man, trying to steal you out from under Lord Haskett’s nose. Still, at least you’ve seen sense.”
Arabella gazed toward the fire, watching the flames flicker. “Why do you think I have retreated early, without saying goodnight to the guests? It is my plan to avoid Lord Powell all together and write to him in the morning with a firm refusal.” She smiled, thinking of Henry. “I have made the best choice, have I not? Truly, I do not know if I have ever felt so happy.”
“You have, Milady, and I’m pleased to hear that. You’re giddy as a child with a handful of barley sugar.” Cassie chuckled. “Now, let us hope, for all our sakes, that Lord Powell takes the news well. After tonight, he won’t be lacking choices when it comes to finding a bride.”
A shiver of apprehension prickled up Arabella’s spine as she continued to stare into the fire. In her elation, she had not considered Lord Powell and his reaction to her refusal. Had she given him hope by dancing with him? Should she have nipped it in the bud sooner? And, more worryingly, what lengths would a man go to, once he had been afflicted with the terrible disease of jealousy?
“Yes, let us hope so,” she whispered. Though, really, it was more of a plea.
* * *
The sun had not yet risen when Arabella stole down the stairs to the entrance hall, looking for Mr. Gordon. She clutched a letter in her hand, signed and sealed, and waiting to be taken to Lord Powell. It was her hope that Mr. Gordon could arrange an express rider for her, as she could not rest until she knew it was in Lord Powell’s hand. Indeed, she had barely slept a wink, worrying.
“Gordon?” she called quietly, tiptoeing through the hallways.
Surprisingly, the house did not look as though it had hosted a ball. There was not a single glass left out or a vase out of place. Arabella reasoned the servants must have stayed up until extraordinarily late to clean up after the chaos. An unenviable task.
Unable to find Mr. Gordon, she doubled back, intending to head toward the kitchens. The cook would know where he was. The cook knew everything.
However, she was not even halfway there before a door opened on her left. It led into a small, barely used study. Hoping it might be Mr. Gordon, Arabella opened her mouth to call out his name, but the words died upon her lips. It was not the butler. No, it was the very last person she had expected, or wanted, to see.
“Lady Arabella.” Lord Powell bowed his head. “Apologies, I did not think anyone would be awake.”
He looked disheveled, his hair unkempt, his eyes ringed with dark circles. Upon his breath, she could smell a strong, stale scent of liquor and cigar smoke, and he was in a ragged state of undress—his shirt untucked and unbuttoned to his chest, his tailcoat, waistcoat, and cravat draped over his arm.
“Did you… sleep here?” Arabella blinked in surprise.
He offered a dry smile. “Your brother hid me away in here. Apparently, I was in no position to be taken back to London after supping brandy and smoking cigars in the early hours. I do not recall much, I am ashamed to say.”
“Were you leaving?”
He nodded. “I thought it best to sneak away with some semblance of my pride intact. My carriage is still waiting out there, I imagine.” He ran a hand through his hair, mussing it further. “I wish you had not seen me like this. It is terribly unbecoming.”
“I have seen worse,” she assured, feeling sorry for the man. “My brother, mostly, but his hunting parties are renowned for their raucous behavior. I used to isolate myself in my chambers for a full week whenever he invited guests.”
Lord Powell chuckled faintly. “Did you retire early last night? I searched for you, but I could not find you, and no one seemed to know where you had gone. A few ladies were of the belief that you were a figment of their imaginations, though I am quite convinced I danced with you.” He paused. “Then again, as I say, I cannot recall much.”
“I was tired,” Arabella said simply, wishing she had thought to bring Cassie downstairs with her. She sensed no threat in him, but it was best to be cautious.
For several minutes, they said nothing more, standing in silent awkwardness while the stench of alcohol and smoke infiltrated Arabella’s nostrils. He was right—his present state did him no favors.
“Now that we are here, might I have the answer you promised?” he asked, breaking the stilted silence. “It is not how I thought we would encounter one another, but I must know before I depart. If it is good news, I will have cause to return. If not, then… well, I will not.”
Arabella lowered her gaze and stared down at the red runner that carpeted the floor. “I cannot accept, Lord Powell. I am thankful for your generous confession, and I am sorry to disappoint you. Believe me when I say I have thought a great deal about it this past fortnight.”
“Might I be so bold as to ask why?” Lord Powell’s demeanor stiffened.
With a sigh, she met his clouded gaze. “I do not wish to be unkind or uncivil, Lord Powell, but you stole something from me, the last time I saw you. That act, regardless of your reasoning, gave me cause to think that you were not quite who I thought you were.” She hesitated. “I could never wed someone I did not trust, nor someone dishonest.”
“What do you believe I stole?” His expression hardened, and she began to regret mentioning it. It would have been easier to say that her parents would not approve, or that the risk was too great, yet her anger at the theft had gotten the better of her.
She took a slight step back. “You know what you stole, Lord Powell. A letter, sent by Lord Haskett. I do not know the contents, but I know there might have been something within it that did not cast you in a favorable light.” Her breath hitched. “I am not the sort to judge a person, and in truth, I do not wish to know what it said. The only part that troubled me was the theft itself.”
“I see.” His expression transformed into one of deep sorrow. “Then, all I can do is apologize. It was a moment of madness, regretted as soon as it was done. I will not use jealousy as an excuse, but it is my reason, nonetheless. Although, if we are to speak of honesty, the information inside that letter was false.”
Arabella cleared her throat. “I told you, I do not want to know what was written about you. It is no business of mine. I am only sorry you took it, instead of allowing me to make up my own mind about what was in it.”
