Tears stung her eyes, and she pressed her hand to her mouth to stifle any sobs that might alert them to her presence. Swiftly, sheretreated down the hall, putting distance between herself and the drawing room.
When she finally reached her chamber, she threw herself onto her bed and cried, a mix of sadness and anger consuming her. Her hands curled around her pillows as she released her pent-up emotions. She had been right all along—Harry had deceived her, lied to her time and again.
She felt the sheet beneath her grow damp with tears and sat up, swiping the back of her hands across her face. Remnants of the pearl powder and charcoal she had used to beautify herself smeared her white gloves, but she didn’t care. Her drawers were full of gloves, ribbons, bonnets, and stockings—more than any woman ever needed. But she did not have a husband who valued her enough to tell her the truth.
A sudden sound from outside caught her attention. A carriage was pulling into the driveway. She got up and rushed to the window, peering down. There she saw Sir Richard making his way to his carriage.
Already? He was supposed to stay until dinner. Why was he leaving so soon?
Another sound alarmed her even more—a knock on her door. Her stomach churned with dread, knowing it was Harry, though she wasn’t sure why.
“One moment!” she called. “Who is it?” she added, though she already knew the answer.
“It is I, Harry,” he called back, confirming her suspicion.
Swiftly, she ran to her dresser and looked into the mirror. Grabbing a handkerchief from her drawer, she wiped away the black streaks on her face and then used a puff to apply more powder until she looked presentable. Only then did she go to the door and open it, but only a crack.
“Yes?” she said.
“May I enter?” Harry asked.
He had never visited her in her chamber before. Why now? She didn’t want him to come in, fearing that if he saw her in the bright daylight, he might notice she had been crying, and then she would have to explain. Worse still, if he came in and stayed for too long, she might confront him, and that would be disastrous.
She needed to keep her wits about her. This was an important ball, and she could not arrive with a tear-streaked face.
“Harry, I am getting ready for the ball,” she said in a steady voice. “I was just about to call for Mabel. I am not properly dressed.”
“Well, I wanted to apologize about my uncle,” he began, a note of hesitation in his voice. “He is rude and uncouth, and I promise you that he will not treat you in such a manner again. I will see toit. In fact, I have already told him that if he cannot behave like a gentleman, he is not welcome in our house anymore.”
Those words might have soothed her had she not lingered outside the drawing room and overheard everything else. But she had lingered, and she had heard.
“I am grateful,” she said curtly, “but now I must finish getting ready for the ball.”
She knew she sounded abrupt, but she no longer cared.
Harry lingered, one hand resting on the doorframe. She couldn’t see his entire face through the narrow crack, but she could tell he was confused. He had expected a more appreciative response, no doubt.
“I thought perhaps I could accompany you,” he offered. “Uncle Richard and I decided it would be best if he left early, so I am free this evening.”
Again, she might have been pleased if she didn’t know the truth—that in reality, he loved someone else. If she had been unaware of Helen’s existence, she might have been delighted. But as it was, she felt nothing but emptiness. There wasn’t even anger left.
“You do not need to,” she replied, her voice flat. “I know you do not like to attend these functions.”
“But I would like to accompany you,” he insisted. “In fact, there is some business in town I could tend to after the ball. If you do not mind returning home alone.”
This piqued her interest. Business in town? She knew at once just what this business was. Her. Helen. He wanted to see Helen! She knew it with absolute certainty. He was using the ball as an excuse to visit his beloved.
Suddenly, the emptiness inside her was filled with rage. How dare he?
She clenched her fists, ready to unleash her fury, but then she held back. No, she would not reveal that she knew the truth. She would keep it to herself, hold all the cards in her hand, and then she would make her demands.
She would insist that she move to his estate in Brighton—permanently. She would also demand that he secure Emma’s future. She wasn’t sure yet what all her demands would be, but she would make them, and he would comply. Otherwise, she would expose their sham of a marriage and the fact that he kept a mistress on the side.
And this Helen? She had to be someone far beneath his station to be kept secret. For if he truly loved her, and if she were eligible, he would have married her, just as Hanna had said. The fact that he hadn’t must mean that she was undesirable. He wouldn’t want all of London, all his peers, to know this.
No, Helen was the key to everything, and Arabella would uncover her identity, no matter what.
Harry walked away from the chamber door, thoroughly perplexed. He knew that his uncle had upset Arabella, but so much so that she didn’t even seem pleased that he was able to accompany her to the ball? Indeed, she had seemed as if she didn’t want him to go at all, even before he mentioned his plans to tend to some business afterward.