“Lord Powell?” The name emerged as a strained rasp, but it was loud enough to make Henry turn.
“Arabella, what are you doing here? I thought I told you to—”
She did not let him finish as she recovered from the initial shock, and marched forward to take a closer look. No, to be sure she was not imagining things.
“Why?” was all she managed to say, once she had confirmed the terrible truth.
Lord Powell’s lip curled up in a grimace. “If you had allowed me to explain at your residence, you would understand my reasoning. This supposed gentlemen you admire does not know the truth. He has called me ‘charlatan’ for years, having been fed the lies thathisfather has told him.” A flicker of shame darted through his eyes. “I am sorry you found yourself entangled in our ancient conflict. It was not my intention.”
“You told David to light the fire in the room with the stuffed birds. The drawing room of the East Wing,” Arabella shot back, her head spinning with a thousand emotions. “How could younotknow that I would be harmed by such a blaze? Even if you had not known my location, you must have assumed the fire would spread throughout the entire house.”
Lord Powell tried to shake his head, but the vast man behind him held his neck in the crook of a powerful arm. “I did not know you were here. I was informed that you were at your own estate. I… thought you might change your mind if your betrothed was removed.” He cleared his throat. “One might blame you for this, for you are the one that inspired jealousy to grow wildly within me.”
“No, one would not,” Henry interjected icily. “The fault is solely yours. You decided to be petty and vengeful because you could not have what you wanted. You are no man, Oliver. You are a child in a gentleman’s garb.”
Lord Powell glowered at Henry. “And you are a thief, who robbed me of my entire future, and the livelihood of my much beloved father!” he spat. “You are just like your father, looking down on me because I am a Baron.”
“And you are just like yours, ruining your own life through despicable behavior.” Henry squared his shoulders, anger rising from him like steam. It was a side to him that Arabella had not seen since the ball where they had been reunited. Only, this time, it was warranted. Perhaps it had been back then, too.
Lord Powell wriggled and writhed, evidently trying to lunge for Henry. “Yourfather ruined mine! He was a Baron and a businessman, astute and resourceful. There would be no vineyard here if it were not for my father. Indeed, they would have burned down last night if my father had not taken measures to prevent such a thing! Half of those vineyards were his, you slanderous rat. They were our family’s future, and your father stole them.”
Is that true?Arabella looked to Henry for confirmation, though it did not change much, nor did it excuse Lord Powell. It merely explained why he might have done something so heinous.
“My father bought them—at a hefty price, I might add. More than they were worth,” Henry retorted bitterly. “He paid what a friend would pay, and placed your father as steward to this house, but your father tossed that gift back in his face. Not only that, but my father paid for your education, and gave your father a house of his own. A cottage, yes, but large enough for a man who, otherwise, had nothing.”
Lord Powell strained again. “Our fathers were partners in business. My father thought they were equals but all the while, your father had been looking down on him, waiting for a moment to seize everything.” He coughed as the large man tugged his arm tighter around his neck. “Is it not strange that the vineyard only started to do wellaftermy father’s share was taken? Your father must have been doing something to the soil, to make the vines wither and fail, so he could extort my father.”
“Are you quite mad?” Henry scoffed. “Who would go to such lengths? You, perhaps, but not a righteous gentleman like my father.”
Lord Powell sneered. “There is nothing righteous about your father.”
“You have clearly never heard the truth, Lord Powell. I assume my father wanted to protect you from it while you were at Harrow and beyond, although I cannot fathom how you would not be able to see it with your own eyes.” Henry’s voice turned eerily calm, making gooseflesh prickle on Arabella’s forearms. “My father paid for the vineyards. My father paid for everything your father asked for. He would have continued to, if your father had not squandered every coin on liquor and gambling and awful financial decisions that would have seen the vineyard fall even further into disrepair.”
Lord Powell’s eyes glinted with absolute rage. Indeed, it appeared he was too incensed to speak, allowing Henry a gap to land the last verbal blow.
“The documents are evidence enough, Oliver, if you will not believe what I have to say. Even so, my father would have kept on protecting yours, if he had not taken more liberties than my father could tolerate. Maids were leaving, my mother was in constant outrage, and your father was not maintaining his duties. Instead, he lounged in the rooms in a drunken stupor. My father had no choice to dismiss him, though he allowed your father to keep the house, and vowed to keep paying for your education.”
Lord Powell laughed bitterly. “If that were true, my father would still be living there, rather than being cold in the ground. He died because your father turned him away.”
“Your father tried to kill both my mother and father.Thatis why he was turned away from the cottage,” Henry hissed. “And while I am terribly sorry that you lost your father, for I am sure he was once a good man, he died because he drank himself to death. There are documents to support that, too. My father has them, forhepaid for the coroner and mortician to examine the body. As he also paid for the funeral that you claimed you had paid for yourself.”
Lord Powell’s mouth opened and closed like cod upon a fishmonger’s slab. Arabella noticed some realization dawning across his face, and a deep sorrow that seemed to age him in the span of a minute. All of the fight visibly drained out of him, his body hanging more limply in the arms of his captor.
“I… truly did not know anyone would be inside the manor,” he murmured meekly. “My sources told me that the entire family would be at the Bowles Estate. I did not want to kill anyone or hurt anyone. I… just wanted to see your family suffer. I wanted your home to be torn out from under you, as it was for my father.”
After a lengthy silence, Arabella jumped in. “You already said you wanted to remove Henry so the way might be clear to wed me. Which is the truth, Lord Powell? Did you want him dead, or did you not?”
“I lied before,” Lord Powell confessed. “In my heart of hearts, I have longed to see you dead, Henry. However, I would not seek out your death at the expense of my life. If you had perished, I would be a killer. I am not one. Truly, I did not know anyone was at the estate when I sent David to perform the task—I was informed that everyone had gone to the Bowles Estate.”
He met Arabella’s gaze. “As for you, I was jealous only that Henry would gain more fortune and favor. I would not have killed him to get you, but Iwouldburn down his family’s house to teach him a lesson in humility.” He sighed. “You are pleasant, but your worth is solely in your family’s station and wealth. That is all I desired.”
Arabella waited for the sting of his remark, but it did not come. Not so long ago, such comments would have sent her to the library, where she could smother her wounded feelings in stories of far more beautiful, far more blessed women. Now, all she had to do was look at Henry, and his presence protected her.Heloved her, and that was all that mattered.
“You had a choice to better yourself. Every possibility lay before you, and if you had not been so twisted by this juvenile need for vengeance—misplaced, I might add, after all I have heard—you might have seen your own worth,” Arabella said coolly. “I pity you, Lord Powell. At thirty years of age, you have just thrown your life away.Thatis the true tragedy here.”
It was not the speech she had prepared, but it served its purpose. Lord Powell’s face crumpled, and Arabella could have sworn she saw tears trickling from his eyes. It proved difficult to tell, with the rain still spitting down, sparing him a morsel of his pride.
“What will you do with me, Henry?” Lord Powell muttered.
