“I do beg your pardon, Your Grace,” Mabel said.
Arabella noticed that the woman was not in her nightgown, as one might have expected at this hour, but still wore the plain blue dress and white apron she had worn earlier.
“Are you always up this late, Mabel?” Arabella asked, momentarily confused.
“I do not retire until you do, Your Grace. I was waiting to hear the bell ring to assist you in preparing for bed.”
“Oh,” Arabella murmured, surprised. “I did not realize. At home, Viola would always ask me, and I suppose I just didn’t think of it. Please, do go to bed. I can manage on my own.”
“As you wish, Your Grace.” Mabel was about to start walking away when Arabella cleared her throat.
“Mabel?”
“Yes, Your Grace?”
“Has His Grace ever… courted anyone? I mean, before me.”
The maid narrowed her eyes and pursed her lips, as though unsure how to answer, but then she replied, “His Grace keeps his personal matters quite private. I am certain there were ladies, but none that I ever met or that came here. Marriage was not a subject he spoke about often. Indeed, we all thought he would remain a bachelor.”
“I see,” Arabella said, nodding. “Thank you, Mabel. Good night.”
“Good night, Your Grace.”
Mabel’s footsteps faded down the hall, and Arabella made her way back to her chambers. There, she changed into her nightgown and slipped under the covers. The feather pillow sighed beneath her head as she allowed herself to sink into it, her eyes cast up at the canopy depicting a hunting scene.
What a strange evening it had been. She had been so angry all day, convinced that Harry was ignoring her, but then he had taken the time, not just to talk—they had truly conversed. And she had felt… perhaps there was a chance he might care for her, after all.
The ghost of his touch lingered on her hand, and when she closed her eyes, she could almost feel him holding her. How strange it was that this man, whom she barely knew, had managed to chase away her fear of the darkness, even if just for a few minutes…
As she felt herself drifting off to sleep, her heart seemed a little lighter, and a flicker of hope for the future ignited within her.
“I saw you showing Her Grace around.”
“Yes, most of the house,” Harry said as Brandon poured water into the porcelain basin. “I promised her I would give her a tour, and I forgot. I felt quite dreadful. And I hear she was rather vexed.”
“You could say that,” Brandon replied. “She paced between her chamber and the dining room all day, waiting.”
Harry took a deep breath. “You need not remind me. I already know I was wrong. I do hope I have made amends. Sometimes I forget what it must be like for her—alone in this house, surrounded by strangers. I wonder, did I truly do her a favor by marrying her?”
“Forgive me, Your Grace, but I have heard much about the old Duke, and if only half of it is true, then it is for the best that you did what you did. Although I know it complicates your life as well.”
“Not just mine,” Harry pointed out. “I want to do right by her. I want her to have a good life. But I fear what she truly desires is more than I can give her.”
“What is it she wants?” Brandon asked. “What could you possibly not give her? Gowns, bonnets, ribbons, jewelry… a house by the lake?”
“Romance,” Harry muttered miserably. “She dreams of romance—of a husband who loves her.”
Brandon helped him out of his shirt and stood ready with his banyan as the words hung between them.
“Are you certain you cannot give that to her?” he asked, looking over his shoulder as Harry slipped into his banyan.
“I thought you knew me,” Harry said, only half in jest.
“I do. That is why I say I know you could give her romance if you wished. She is a lovely young woman and easy to look at. And if what I hear is true, she is kind-hearted. She seems the sort of person who would make an ideal duchess.”
“Brandon, you know it is not that simple. My uncle… he complicates matters.”
Brandon pressed his lips together so tightly that they almost disappeared. “Forgive me, Your Grace, but why let your uncle stand between you and your happiness?”
