“Why should I call on her? She is nothing to me. I have no use for that woman. She has caused enough trouble. I do not understand why you care so much. She adds nothing to your life or anyone else’s. A burden is what she is, nothing more.” Richard sneered as he always did when Harry mentioned the youngwoman of whom he was so fond, but who his uncle considered a peasant at best.
“Helen is not a burden,” Harry fired back, his hands clenching into fists. “She is a lovely woman—witty, funny?—”
His uncle waved a dismissive hand. “If that is what you believe. She is fortunate indeed to have your favor, for no other gentleman would glance her way, not in her current state. She might have had a chance—indeed, you both might have been something once.”
“Do not speak so, Uncle,” Harry said sharply.
Richard raised his hands in mock surrender. “Well, there is little point in dwelling on it. The past is the past, and lamenting what might have been serves no purpose. Though I dare say it might have been beneficial for us all. But it is what it is. In any case, when we arrive at Hayward Manor, I shall oversee the preparations for the wedding breakfast. Since you refused to invite the ton to the ceremony, we must make a grand impression at the wedding breakfast. And let us pray that Worcester can restrain himself until the event is over, though I have no doubt he will be jug-bitten by the end.”
On this point, Harry found himself reluctantly agreeing with his uncle. Over the past few weeks, he had come to know Lord Worcester better, and he could now see why Arabella was so desperate to escape her home. The Earl was unpleasant, especially when drunk, which was most of the time. Harry hadwitnessed him berate his servants more than once. He suspected he did the same to his daughters.
Harry had noticed the way Arabella and her sisters regarded their father with a mix of dismay and trepidation. They seemed to bolt out of the room whenever their father appeared. What kind of life had they endured, Harry wondered.
Having grown up in his uncle’s household—a man of questionable character himself—he could well imagine what it was like. He knew what it was like to live with someone whose temper was as unpredictable as a summer storm, whose sharp tongue could slice through the most tender of souls. This was partly why he no longer felt he had been set up by Lord Worcester. He knew he had, but he also knew he could save Arabella from a lifetime of verbal abuse at her father’s hands.
Yet, it vexed him to know that Arabella was not truly grateful for his intervention. In fact, she seemed resentful. Did she dream of a prince on a white horse sweeping her away? Surely that must be it. In her mind, she had imagined a charming, handsome suitor who would shower her with roses and give her a life like a fairytale.
Instead, she had gotten him. Harry knew he was not romantic by nature. He was handsome, wealthy, and well-respected, but he was not the sort of man a young lady might dream of. He was not one to take a lady on moonlit walks, to lie on the grass on a summer day and speak of clouds and their shapes. He had never had time for such frivolities, nor any interest in them.
Well… that was not entirely true. He had once sat in the garden and described the shapes of the clouds to Helen, listening as she shared her own imaginings. But that was different. That was not romance, despite what his uncle might say.
Helen… He thought of her now, her heart-shaped face and sparkling blue eyes. How they had glimmered when he told her of his impending wedding, only to dim with sadness when he had to inform her that she would not be in attendance. He shot his uncle a glare.
Before he could decide whether to speak further, the carriage came to a halt. He glanced outside and saw that tables and chairs had been set up on the lawn in anticipation of the guests who would arrive after the ceremony.
“I see they have done it all wrong,” Richard declared. “The head table should be by the stairs so that you can look out over your guests. Do not fret, I shall rectify it.” He stormed out of the carriage, calling for Lord Worcester, while Harry leaned back in his seat, closing his eyes to savor these last few moments of bachelorhood before his life would be irrevocably altered.
CHAPTER 9
“You look like a real princess,” Hanna said as Arabella gazed at herself in the looking glass.
She couldn’t deny that her sister was right. She did look as though she had stepped straight out of the pages of Ackermann’s Repository. The gown, a stunning confection of silk and lace, made her look splendid, indeed. Her chestnut-brown hair, which she usually found so dull, had been arranged in a half-up, half-down style, adorned with sparkling gemstones that would surely catch the sunlight during the outdoor wedding breakfast.
“I have it!” Emma exclaimed as she burst into Arabella’s bedchamber, a large white veil in her hand. “I found it. It was in one of the trunks in Mother’s chamber,” she said breathlessly.
Arabella’s mouth dropped open as her eyes landed on the piece of fabric. This had been their mother’s veil, the one she had worn when she married their father.
Hanna took it from Emma’s hands and began arranging it on top of Arabella’s head. As she did, Arabella felt a sudden twinge in her chest. Her hands brushed against the veil’s material. It felt slightly stiff to the touch, and she wished she could take off her silk gloves to feel it properly. She was certain their mother had touched this very fabric herself on the day of her wedding.
“Do you think she was happy when she married Father?” Arabella asked.
Through the looking glass, she saw her sisters exchange glances, uncertainty written all over their faces. The light-hearted mood of the room grew tense.
“Grandmother said that she loved Father, so I imagine she must have been happy,” Emma replied, though doubt tinged her voice. “Although I wonder if he was the same man that he is now.”
“Do you not remember when Mother was alive at all?” Hanna asked a bit sharply. “Father was not the same as he is now. He was temperamental, yes, and there were times he could be impossible, but Mother always managed to calm him. It’s just as Grandmother said—she knew how to tame the beast.”
“I do not remember our mother at all,” Emma retorted, her tone defensive. “I was only six when she died. You don’t need to keep bringing up your memories when we have none.” She looked at Arabella, her expression conflicted.
“Please, let’s not argue today. I wouldn’t have mentioned Mother at all if I’d known it would cause a fight,” Arabella interjected, trying to defuse the situation.
“I beg your pardon,” Emma said, much to Arabella’s surprise, as she rarely apologized for anything. “I suppose I miss her. Seeing this veil just brings back the realization that even if I’m fortunate enough to marry one day, it will be without her by my side. I wish she were still here, that’s all.”
Arabella closed the distance between them and pulled her sister into her arms. “I know, I feel the same. I wish at least Alexander was here,” she said softly.
“I cannot believe he isn’t,” she added, suddenly overcome with anger at their brother.
Alexander had responded to her desperate, heartfelt letter, but only to tell her that this was perhaps for the best. That the Duke of Sheffield was an influential man who could provide her with a good life and might even find husbands for Hanna and Emma. He had encouraged her to make the best of the situation.
