As the first light of dawn crept into the room, Arabella could no longer stay in bed. She slipped out of bed, the cold nipping her bare feet as she hastened to the window.
The sky was a soft, pale gray, the sun just rising. Arabella peered out, her eyes searching the dim light for any sign of Alexander. He said he’d leave at first light. And he’d been true to his word, for there he was.
He stood by a carriage, his figure silhouetted against the faint morning light. She watched as he handed a small trunk to the coachman, his movements slow and deliberate. Her heart ached with the realization that this was really happening. He was leaving.
Alexander paused, turning back toward the manor. For a moment, Arabella felt as if he was looking directly at her, though she knew he couldn’t see her from so high up and behind the curtain. The way he looked at the manor, she knew what he was doing. He was trying to commit his home to memory because he did not think he’d be back soon.
She pressed her hand against the cool glass, willing him to somehow feel her presence, to understand that she was there, watching him, aching with the sorrow of his departure. But he didn’t look up—his eyes were focused on the front instead. Then he climbed into the carriage. The door closed behind him,and the coachman flicked the reins. The horses began to move, pulling the carriage away from the manor and down the drive.
As the carriage disappeared, a horrible sense of foreboding settled over Arabella. It was as if everything she had ever known was being taken away once more, leaving her world more uncertain than ever before.
Tears welled up in her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. She had to be strong, for her sisters and herself. Turning away from the window, she wiped her eyes and took a deep breath. The day ahead would be long and difficult, but she would face it with the same courage that had carried her through so many dark times before.
As she walked back to her bed, the weight of the coming days pressed down heavily on her young shoulders. But even in her sadness and fear, she held on to the hope that one day, they would be free from their father’s tyranny, reunited with Alexander, and living the lives they deserved. Until then, she would endure, with courage and resilience, just as her brother had taught her.
CHAPTER 1
July 10th, 1813
The morning sun had barely risen when Arabella found herself standing in her father’s study, the air thick with tension. The Earl of Worcester stood behind his desk, his stern face twisted with anger. There was a time when this mask of rage only appeared when he’d been drinking, but over the past ten years, since her brother had fled, it was the expression Arabella had become most familiar with.
She’d been summoned directly from the breakfast table to her father’s study, the tartness of the lemon curd she’d eaten still lingering on her lips. Why she hadn’t been allowed to finish her breakfast with her sisters, and just what was so pressing, she didn’t know. But given her father’s rotten mood this morning, she braced herself.
“Father, what is so urgent?” she asked as she stood by the window.
She’d learned long ago not to sit down across from her father. His anger seemed to be worse when he was given the opportunity to tower over her. Standing at least allowed her to maintain a position of strength. And she could dart out quicker if he exploded. It was sad that she had to think of her own father like a natural disaster about to blow up around her, but that was how he had been these last… well, thirteen years, really. Ever since her mother’s death.
“What is so urgent is that I need you to understand how important tonight’s ball is for the family. You will find a suitable husband tonight,” her father barked, his eyes blazing.
Arabella frowned. “I have every intention of being sociable and amiable, but I cannot guarantee that I will find a husband this very night, Father.”
What had gotten into him? Her father had been pressing Hanna and Emma into finding husbands for a while now, but this was only Arabella’s first Season. She’d had her coming out ball in March, and now it was July. Surely there was no rush. Not for her. Her sisters were in their third and fourth Seasons, which was a little concerning for them, but Arabella?
“That is not good enough. You will find a suitor tonight. I expect you to dance at least two dances with an eligible gentleman.”
Two dances meant that intentions had been declared. How was she supposed to do that? So far, she was still establishing herself on the marriage mart. She’d never been one to set her cap for the first gentleman she met. Instead, she wanted to find the rightperson, to fall in love, not to be forced on the first man who showed some interest.
“Did you hear me?” her father demanded and banged a ruler on the mahogany desk.
She looked up, the sound bothering her more than anything else. Despite his verbal outbursts, Lord Worcester had never been physically violent with any of his daughters. Not the way he had been with his son. At times, he’d push them or throw something in their general direction, but he never set out to harm them. Not physically, anyway.
“I did, but I do not know how I am supposed to do that. I am not well known among the ton yet, and I need to get to know someone before I commit to a second dance,” she said, hoping to reach her father’s more reasonable side. It rarely surfaced these days, but it was still in there somewhere.
Why was it that he always expected more of her than of her sisters, even though she was the youngest?
“I do not care, Arabella. You will find a husband, and tonight. I will not have you embarrass me like your two sisters, who are still unmarried and of no use to this family.”
Arabella felt a hot rush of anger. “You cannot speak about Hanna and Emma that way,” she snapped, her voice trembling. “They deserve respect, not your cruel words.”
The Earl’s face darkened, and he took a step toward her, his imposing figure casting a shadow over the room. “They have had years to find husbands. Hanna is almost two-and-twenty, and Emma will be twenty in a few months. That is long enough to find husbands. Do you know that Lord Hancock’s daughter got married in her first Season? She did not even finish the Season!”
“Lord Hancock is a member of the privy council and a cousin of the Queen,” Arabella pointed out, but this only enraged her father.
“Are you saying I am the problem? I am what is standing between my daughters and eligible gentlemen? Is that what you mean to say?” His voice rose to heights that told her she had to make her way to the door.
“That is not what I meant. I meant I would like to find a husband I can love,” she explained.
Her father’s temper had made it more difficult to find a husband. His drinking and frequent outbursts, which had started as a family secret but were now known to the ton, had taken care of that.
