“Lady Arabella, is there any way you will reconsider? I will kneel before you and plead forgiveness, if you ask it of me.” His eyes shone with desperation. “Please, Lady Arabella. I know I could make you happy. Yes, I do not have the wealth and station of others, but I would treat you as if you were royalty.”
He took a step forward and tried to reach for Arabella’s hand, but she pulled it away and folded her hands behind her back. This was not what she had anticipated from someone like Lord Powell. He seemed so strong and immoveable, yet now he was like a boy who had been told he could not have his heart’s desire.
“My mind cannot be changed, Lord Powell. I am fond of you, that is true, but as a friend. Nothing more.” Arabella discreetly glanced at the rest of the hallway behind Lord Powell, praying for one of the servants to appear.
His face twisted into a mask of annoyance. “I thought you were different from other ladies, Lady Arabella. In truth, Iamdisappointed, but for more reasons than you think.” He gestured around himself. “All you crave is wealth. A gentleman of good standing, good stock, and good fortune. Someone with a lineage that can be traced back to the dawn of time, no doubt. Always, you ladies choose riches over true happiness.”
“I think we have said enough to each other,” Arabella replied, willing someone to intervene. “You may think harshly of me, if it helps with the wounding I have caused you. I really am sorry that I could not give you what you wanted.”
Lord Powell sighed. “As am I.” He bowed. “Excuse me, Lady Arabella. I have stayed too long and embarrassed myself quite enough for one Season.”
With that, he turned and stalked away toward the entrance hall. As he reached the front door, he looked back at her. Their eyes met and she watched the anger and irritation vanish from his face, replaced only with a cold sort of sadness that would linger in her memory for a long while to come.
“I could never think harshly of you,” he said. “I am sorry.”
Not knowing how to reply, Arabella merely watched as he stepped out into the foggy morning and closed the door behind him. It was not a particularly dignified end to their acquaintanceship, but perhaps that was for the best. And though he had been cross with her, and cast untrue aspersions, she wished him well.
Not all stories had a happy ending, but she was quite certain that hers would not have ended happily if she had chosen him. For, upon this occasion, the butterflies in her stomach had fluttered with true fear instead of admiration. The sheen had come off Lord Powell and for just a moment, she had been terrified of what jealousy could make a man do.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Nervously, Henry paced back and forth in front of the gates to the Wright Estate. He had a vague idea of when Arabella was due to arrive and knew he could receive her within the house itself, but he could not settle inside those walls. As such, he had taken to keeping watch over the road that meandered along the promontory, waiting for her.
“You will wear a trench into the ground if you are not careful.” A cheery voice distracted him from his pacing.
He turned to find his mother walking toward him, bringing two cups and saucers, balanced elegantly on each palm. “I cannot be still, Mother. I have tried to read, I have tried to write, I have even tried watching the cook prepare lemon cakes, but she shooed me out.”
“That is love, Darling.” His mother paused to kiss him on the cheek, before handing him one of the cups and saucers. “I thought you might need some tea to calm your nerves.”
He took a sip and sighed contentedly. “The perfect remedy.”
“For love? Goodness, no. You must never try to remedy that,” his mother replied, with an amused smile.
At six-and-forty, Magdalene Finch, the Duchess of Wright, still possessed the vitality and vigor of a woman half her age. She had been a celebrated beauty in her youth, and not much had changed. Her raven hair was mostly untouched by strands of silver, and though there were a few creases and lines upon her face, she was still a rare beauty.
“You must cease throwing that word around, Mother,” Henry chided lightly. “I have not confessed properly to Lady Arabella and would prefer to do so in my own time. I do not need you doing it for me.”
His mother snorted into her tea. “You cannot rein in my enthusiasm, Darling. I am still astonished that you have grown so fond of sweet Arabella. I thought you would be the last person in the world to admit that he had fallen for someone, and I am just grateful it is the very young lady we matched you with.”
“I suppose it is safe to assume that you will never allow me to forget this?” he teased.
“Oh, Darling, you may rely upon that.” His mother laughed. “To think, all these years of us making suggestions you did not approve of, only to have you admit that we were right.”
Henry rolled his eyes. “You were right on one occasion.”
“Once is all that is needed,” she replied. “I must say, I am excited to see Arabella again. It has been far too long. Why, when I last saw her, she must have been a child still.”
Henry nodded. “You will find her greatly changed, and yet not much changed at all. I suppose we are alike in that way, though I have managed to pursue this courtship without stealing her ribbons or pulling her hair.”
“You were awful,” his mother remarked bluntly. “I blame your father.”
“You blame him for everything.”
His mother cackled. “Thatis also love, Darling.”
As the two of them stood together in front of the gates, Henry took a moment to glance back at the house. A majestic structure of golden sandstone, with a small copse of trees to the left and a high wall to the right, which kept out the salty breeze that whipped up from the sea below. Adorning the roof were statues of Grecian gods and goddesses, though their faces had long eroded away.
It had never held many fond memories for him. His mother, though savagely funny and enchanting to everyone she met, had preferred learning business and economy, so she might prove a force to be reckoned with among her husband’s associates, rather than sharing in his childhood. His father, meanwhile, had always been stern and somewhat distant with his son, though he knew he was loved in his own way.
