The Earl wet his lips and walked back and forth, considering his next steps. “You may be a duke, but that does not give you the right to speak to me in such a manner. Now, where are my daughters?”
“Your daughters,my sisters-in-law, are in my house, and they will stay here,” Harry replied. “I do not trust you to act properly if they leave with you tonight. I expect you to return home alone, think about what you intend to do, and reassess your priorities. Let me tell you this—just because one of your daughters is married to a duke does not make up for your rotten reputation.”
“I beg your pardon, Your Grace,” Lord Worcester said indignantly.
“You shall not have it,” Harry returned, fully aware that the man wasn’t begging his pardon but rather expressing his irritation. “Everyone knows that you are a drunk and that your son fled to Northern Ireland so he does not have to see you. Your daughters fear you, and the only reason they did not marry sooner was your reputation. I am grateful that you trapped me into marriage with Arabella, but you must know that without trickery, it would not have happened—not because she is not charming and beautiful and witty, for she is all three of them, but because of your reputation. It is the connection to you that is undesirable, not your daughter.”
“I will not stand for this!” Lord Worcester growled, stepping forward. “I will see my daughters, and I will bring them home. Hanna, Emma!” he shouted and then rounded on Arabella. “You will go inside and get your sisters immediately. Fetch them both, have them brought into the carriage, and then have someone bring the horses. I will not be treated this way.”
“No,” Arabella said firmly. “I will not fetch them. They will stay here tonight.”
“How dare you speak to me like this!” he spat out.
“I suggest you call the constables,” Harry said. “Let’s see whom they will listen to—a drunken earl or a well-respected duke.”
“How can you say this to my face? I am your elder. I have seniority in the House of Lords?—”
“Seniority?” Harry scoffed. “It has nothing to do with it. I am a duke, I outrank you by several ranks. I am also one of the richest men in the county. The same cannot be said for you. As to your reputation?—”
“My reputation?” Lord Worcester retorted. “Shall we speak about your reputation as well while we are at it? You may be rich, you may outrank me, but your reputation is tarnished. People talk about you behind your back, about how strange and secretive you are.”
“And yet, despite knowing his reputation, you forced me to marry him,” Arabella pointed out quietly, her words carrying more weight than anything else. “What sort of father are you? If you think he is so terrible and frightening, why would you force me into a marriage with him?”
“You have never been grateful for anything I have done for you,” Lord Worcester scolded and then attempted to push past her into the house. “Get out of my way.”
He pushed down the door handle and shoved the door so hard that it banged against the wall. Harry grabbed hold of it before it could hit Arabella in the back of the head.
“Hanna, come down here!” the Earl bellowed.
“Remain where you are,” Harry ordered. “Brandon, Baxter, our guest wants to leave but seems to have trouble finding the door and his carriage. I dare say the cognac has muddled his sense of direction. Would you be so kind as to help him find his way?”
Brandon came sprinting down the stairs, while Baxter appeared from the parlor. Baxter called for some of the footmen to join them, and a flurry of activity ensued.
“I will not be manhandled by your servants!” Lord Worcester shouted.
“I would rather not have to manhandle you,” Harry said, “but if you will not leave my property peacefully and willingly, I shall see to it that you are removed.”
“Arabella, call your husband to heel!” Lord Worcester demanded.
Arabella shook her head. “You will not speak to him like this,” she said. “Remember your manners. Is that not what you always taught me and my sisters?”
“How dare you speak to me like this!” Lord Worcester barked, lunging at her just as Brandon and Baxter were ready to grab him. They slowed his momentum, but as he had been mid-lunge, he knocked Arabella backward.
“Arabella!” Harry cried, but she had already lost her balance and fell.
Arabella let out a yelp as her side connected with the marble floor.
“Eject this man at once!” Harry ordered and bent down to help her up. “Are you hurt? Do you require a physician?”
“No,” she said. “I do not think so.” She watched Brandon and Baxter drag her father out of the house. She attempted to get up but then yelped. “I think my elbow is hurt. I banged it on the marble.”
Gently, Harry helped her up, but when she stood, she was unsteady on her feet and swayed slightly.
“Very well, this will not do,” he decided, scooping her up into his arms. The demi-train of her gown fell like a veil onto the floor.
He carried her toward the staircase, where Mrs. Blomquist and Mabel stood, their faces etched with concern.
“Mrs. Blomquist, fetch a physician,” he instructed. “Mabel, please have chamomile tea brewed and brought to her chambers.”
