But to her surprise, this time her father was not going to get away with it. She was going to put him in his place. Harry had just made it clear that she now outranked her father, and she was not going to let him continue this behavior. With Harry on their side, as unconventional as their marriage might be, she and her sisters would have some measure of protection.
She took a deep breath and steeled herself, ready to say the things she had long wanted to say but hadn’t dared to. However, before she could summon the last bit of courage needed, Harry intervened.
“My Lord, I will not have you speak this way to my wife. For that is what she is now—my wife. By law, she answers to me, and you no longer have control over her. I will not allow my wife to be mistreated, regardless of whether the person raising his voice at her is her own father.”
The Earl raised his hands in surrender. “I meant no offense.”
“I know exactly what you meant. I have been standing at the door for a little while. I will not have you belittle my wife or treat her like a child. And I will not have you weaponize her affection for her sisters against her,” Harry warned.
“I had hoped we might be cordial, given that we are now related by marriage, but I must make it clear that your behavior is unbecoming of an earl and most certainly unbecoming of the father of a duchess and the father-in-law of a duke. I will not stand for it. In the future, you will have to think twice about the way you address my wife and her sisters.” Then he turned to Arabella. “I think it is time we left.”
“B-But we haven’t even eaten the cake yet!” the Earl exclaimed, looking suddenly desperate.
“May I suggest you enjoy the cake with your guests and tell them that your daughter and son-in-law have decided to depart to begin their life as a married couple, undisturbed and in private? Arabella, it is time to say your goodbyes to your sisters, and then we shall go to the carriage.”
Harry opened the door for her, but for a moment, Arabella could do nothing but stand there. She didn’t know how to feel. Harry had rebuked her father most severely, and it had been a delight to see her father shrink with each word as if he were slapped. Yet, she felt uneasy because Harry had taken this from her. Many of the things he said, she had wanted to say herself. Rationally, she knew it was better coming from Harry—he was a man, he outranked her father, and his words carried more weight. By speaking the way he did, he had also protected her sisters.
But still, she resented him for taking this opportunity from her. Now, however, was not the time to dwell on such things. She looked at her father, rolled her shoulders back, rose to her full height, and then walked past him like the Duchess she now was.
As they stepped into the garden, Harry placed a hand on the small of her back, and she shivered at the touch, which was both soft and unexpected. As she looked up at him, the sun illuminated his face in a most pleasing way, and she noted once more how perfectly sculpted his face was. The way he had rebuked her father had reminded her of one of the heroes from her romance novels. Yet, she reminded herself once more that this was no fairytale romance.
As they made their way to the carriage to begin their new life together, she had to wonder—who exactly was this man with whom she had just exchanged vows?
CHAPTER 11
As the carriage rattled down the drive of Hayward Manor and then turned onto the sandy roads, the tension grew more palpable.
Arabella sat across from Harry, fixing him with a look of both frustration and relief.
“Thank you for putting my father in his place, Harry,” she said, her tone as measured as it was courteous. “But I assure you, I was quite capable of handling him myself.”
Harry inclined his head, his expression as composed as ever, though frustration bubbled up in his chest. “I do not doubt your capability, Arabella,” he replied. “Indeed, I have no question that you can outwit your father at every turn. But when a man is deep in his cups, as your father most assuredly was, wit alone cannot always prevail.”
Arabella’s eyes narrowed slightly, a faint flush rising to her cheeks. “I am not some delicate flower, Harry. I can manage a situation, even when it is less than ideal.”
Harry gave a brief, mirthless smile. His new wife was indeed vexation incarnate. “You are no delicate flower, that much is certain. But this is not merely a question of managing a situation. It is a matter of safety. You may be smart and resourceful, but there are times when strength and physical capability come into play.”
Arabella opened her mouth, prepared to retort, but Harry continued before she could speak.
“Arabella, understand this—there are circumstances where physical power must be met with physical power, and that is not your burden to bear. It is mine. I will protect you, whether you believe you require it or not.”
He could see the tension in her posture, the way her hands balled into fists in her lap. Her irritation was evident, and while he admired her spirit, it also exasperated him.
“Harry,” she began, her voice edged with that stubborn determination he had come to recognize, “I do not need?—”
“You may not think you need protection,” Harry interrupted, his voice firmer now, “but it is my duty nonetheless. You need not like it, but you must accept it. I will not stand by while you are put in harm’s way, and that is the end of it.”
Arabella’s eyes flashed with defiance, but she remained silent, her lips pressed into a thin line. The carriage jostled slightly as they continued on their way, the air between them thick with unresolved tension.
After a moment, Harry let out a slow breath, his voice softening. “I respect your strength, Arabella. Truly, I do. But I also ask that you respect my duty to protect you as your husband. I vowed to help you get away from your father, but I will not have you question how I accomplish this.”
She looked at him for a long moment, though her expression remained guarded.
As the carriage trundled down the road, silence fell over them, now laced with a tentative truce.
As the carriage turned onto the long, tree-lined drive, Arabella felt her breath catch in her throat. It was bad enough to have to accept Harry’s decision because he was now her husband, but now she was being taken from her home to one that was not her own—and one that was decidedly different from what she was used to.
She hadn’t considered what the home of a duke might look like, but now that she saw it before her, she could scarcely believe it. Before her stood a grand Tudor-style manor, its black-and-white timbered façade rising majestically against the late afternoon sky. The house was vast, with multiple gables and tall, latticedwindows that reflected the dappled light filtering through the ancient oaks that lined the approach. Ivy clung to the stone walls, giving it an almost easy look.
