However, seeing Arabella so genuinely upset troubled him.
“Arabella, I do not know what to say. I thought I had been very clear about what our marriage would be, but I also know I made a promise and broke it. That was wrong of me.”
She blinked and looked away, and he suddenly wondered if her father had ever apologized to her for the things he said and did.
“Well, there is nothing to be done about it now. It is late.” She shrugged.
“And so?” he replied. “I can still show you around the estate. At least I can give you a tour of the house. Perhaps the sculpture garden? The gazebo? The lake?”
“It is dark,” she said. “Besides, everyone in the house will be sleeping.”
He motioned toward the house. “Do you see all the candles flickering? All the rooms intended for public use are lit untilmidnight. It is how my father and mother always kept it, and I have adopted the habit since I took charge of the house. I often have trouble sleeping at night and do not wish to fumble with candles if I want to go into the library or the music room. So, I keep them lit.”
Her eyes grew wide. “You must spend a fortune on wax candles.”
He shrugged. “It is nothing to me,” he said nonchalantly, though he realized it probably sounded rather high-handed. “I mean, my father was a very successful businessman. Besides that, he inherited land from my grandfather and great-grandfather. My uncle is also a shrewd businessman. What I am saying is that financially, a few extra candles do not trouble me.”
Arabella chewed on her bottom lip, as though pondering his suggestion, then nodded. “Very well. I would like to see the rest of the house. I had thought to explore on my own, but since you offered…”
She stopped speaking, and he was grateful she wasn’t trying to chastise him again for something he had already apologized for.
His uncle Richard had a habit of holding grudges and would often bring up things that had occurred years ago at any opportune moment to make others feel bad.
“Very well,” Harry said. “Come, let us go inside.”
He considered offering her his hand, but given the rather frosty atmosphere between them, he decided against it. Instead, he placed his fingers on the small of her back for only a brief second. She stiffened under his touch, and he withdrew his hand quickly, sensing he had unsettled her.
As they stepped back into the house, he saw Mrs. Blomquist making her way upstairs. The old lady stopped on the landing, curtsied, and then carried on.
Passing the dining room, he paused, about to go in, when he realized Arabella had likely sat there alone for all her meals, waiting for him. Therefore, he decided to forgo that particular space.
“Well, do you enjoy reading?” he asked.
“I do,” she replied as they stepped into the library.
“As do I. My great-grandfather started this collection when he first purchased Ridlington Estate.”
“He purchased it? I thought your family had it built,” Arabella said.
“No. This house was, in fact, built for Henry VIII. Or rather, for one of his wives, Anne of Cleves. It was meant to be part of her settlement after their divorce, but she ended up staying at Hever Castle instead.”
Arabella nodded. “The one he divorced. A fortunate woman, indeed,” she commented. “I would much have preferred her fate to that of Anne Boleyn or Catherine Howard.”
“Indeed,” Harry agreed. “I would rather keep my head. But do not worry—in this marriage, you shall never be in danger of losing yours.” He winked at her, but when she didn’t smile, he quickly looked away. Humor had never been his strong suit. “It was a foolish joke. I must beg your pardon. I fear my humor could use some refinement.”
She looked up at him. “It was amusing. I do appreciate that you try. Besides, if you are concerned about making poor jokes, you should meet my brother Alexander. He has no comedic timing whatsoever, and everything he thinks is funny makes me cringe.”
He chuckled. “I heard your brother has an Irish sense of humor now that he has lived there for so long.” He watched her as she perused the mahogany shelves, which were set up in a circle around the room. “Do you see him often, your brother?”
She shook her head without facing him, one slender arm raised as she ran her index finger along the back of the books, reading the titles. As she stood under the chandelier, he noted how graceful she was, moving like a swan on a lake. There was something almost ethereal about her.
“I have not seen my brother in more than a couple of years. Occasionally, we all spent the summers with our aunt or uncle—my mother’s brother and sister. But it has been rather difficult tomaintain a relationship. My sisters and I often spent most of our visits imploring him to take us to Ireland with him—something he was not willing to do.”
Harry noted the bitterness in her voice and stepped beside her. “I take it you are not close anymore?”
“I would not say we were ever close,” she replied. “He is ten years my senior, and the last time we lived under the same roof, I was only eight. I found it difficult to connect with him because of that. Also, he had a very difficult relationship with our father, which meant there was never much harmony in our house. Alexander did everything he could to be out of the house whenever possible until he left for good.”
“Am I correct in detecting some apprehension on your part about his departure?”
