Harry shrugged, maintaining a cool facade. “The amount is significantly lower than what a duke would usually demand.”
Arabella’s nostrils flared. “I’m already aware that this marriage is a charitable act on your part—you don’t need to drive that point home. A polite response would have been to say it’s worth it.”
Harry’s jaw tightened slightly. “I don’t know you well enough to determine what is worth it and what isn’t. Besides, the dowry shouldn’t concern you. You’re getting what you need—a husband to save you from ruin and a chance to leave this house. Isn’t that what you want? A life of contentment with a man who, if nothing else, will respect you?”
Arabella’s eyes flashed with sarcasm. “Contentment? Should I be satisfied just because you’ll respect me? That’s the bare minimum. No, this is not what I wanted for myself, but I have no power to change it.”
Harry’s irritation flared.
What does she want from me?
“I could have walked away, yet I chose to propose and protect you, to keep you and your sisters safe. Why do I deserve your wrath? Will you only be content when you have everything exactly as you wish? That seems rather ungrateful.”
Arabella crossed her arms over her chest, her stance defiant. “Ungrateful? For what? For being bartered off to the highest bidder to salvage my family’s reputation? And now I’m supposed to be grateful because you’ll keep me ‘safe’? Do you think that’s enough? I’m physically safe here, as long as I avoid my father,but I’m not happy. And I doubt I will be happy in your home either. I’m merely exchanging one prison for another.”
Harry was taken aback by her vehemence. He had thought he was doing a noble deed, saving her from scandal and securing her future. But now, seeing her anger and bitterness, he realized that Arabella was not the meek wallflower he had expected her to be. This woman was going to be a challenge.
Taking a deep breath, he sought a solution that might suit them both. “Perhaps we can come to an arrangement. You can live in my London townhouse, and I will reside on the estate. That way, you can have some independence and?—”
Arabella cut him off, her voice rising. “Independence? Do you not realize what that would make me look like? A banished duchess, living apart from her husband. It would ruin any chance my sisters have of finding suitable husbands, and it would confirm to the ton that our marriage is nothing more than a transaction. You would be condemning me to a life of isolation and humiliation.”
Harry felt a wave of exhaustion wash over him. This conversation was proving far more difficult than he had anticipated.
Why can’t she just be happy with what she’s been given?
“I was only trying to make things comfortable for you,” he said.
Arabella stepped closer, her eyes locking onto his. “Comfortable? You think living apart from my husband, shunned by Society, would be comfortable? You have no idea what it’s like for a woman in my position.”
Harry ran a hand through his hair, feeling the weight of the situation pressing down on him. “Fine,” he relented. “You’ll live in the main house with me. I only suggested the townhouse because I thought it might give you some space, some freedom. But we’ll do as you please. In any case, the validity of our marriage in the ton’s eyes is one of the reasons I’ve come here. I thought it prudent for us to be seen together—perhaps on a promenade or some such thing.”
Arabella’s posture softened slightly, though her eyes remained guarded. “I agree. I’ve been concerned about this as well. If we are to be married, we must present a united front—for my sake and my sisters’.”
Harry nodded, sensing the tension between them ease, if only a little. “Very well. Shall we say Saturday for a promenade in Hyde Park?”
“Sunday, after church. It will be busier,” she countered.
He ran a hand through his hair and shrugged. “Sunday, then.”
“Good. I’ll leave you to it. I’m sure my father will want to discuss further details with you,” she said, turning to leave.
Harry felt an inexplicable urge to stop her. His hand shot out, catching her wrist. She jerked to a halt, turning to look at him, her lips slightly parted.
He suddenly realized he might have made a mistake—or perhaps he hadn’t.
CHAPTER 7
“What are you doing, Your Grace?” Arabella demanded, looking at her hand before raising her eyes to meet his.
His piercing blue eyes seemed to bore into hers, as if he were looking into her soul. It was a disconcerting feeling, and yet she could not help but notice his handsome features—and the skin beneath his hand grew warm, much warmer than it should have.
No. It is me. I am flushed.
Faith, was her visage reddening? She could not allow herself to be embarrassed in front of him, not now.
“Let go,” she said.
His grip on her hand loosened, but only a fraction.
