Arabella shrugged. Their society was often focused on beauty and perfection to a fault. People who were not considered beautiful—women whose skin was not the right shade, men who were not tall and regal-looking—were often overlooked, even though those who did not fit the beauty standard were often wittier and more refined. But she had never heard of a marriage falling through because of a relative’s physical condition.
“Harry does not care too much about what Society thinks of him. This cannot be the reason,” she mused.
“Let us go knock on the door,” Emma said firmly. Let us ask if Helen is here. You must speak to her—sister or no sister.”
Arabella nodded. This entire situation was becoming more and more confusing. She had to get to the bottom of it, and now. She linked arms with her sister, and together they walked across the street, up the sidewalk, and then through the front gate, which had been left open.
It wasn’t until they were standing in front of the front door that she noted something she had missed earlier. The doorway was wider than standard, no doubt to allow for a wheelchair to be rolled in and out with ease.
The knocker was brass, worn with age, and she saw that paint had chipped away from the front door. She felt a flutter in herchest, but not the sort she felt when Harry kissed her—no, it was the flutter she felt when she had gotten up too quickly, or when she was dreading one of her father’s lectures.
Seeing her struggle, Emma resolutely grabbed the door handle and slammed it against the door. A moment later, the same man who had carried the young woman out in his arms appeared.
“May I help you?” he asked, looking from one to the other.
“Yes,” Arabella said, her voice sounding far away. “We are looking for Miss Helen.”
She had defaulted to the title ‘Miss’ because she had to assume that no person would live in a home like this without servants.
“Miss Helen is out. If you leave your cards, I can tell her you came by.”
The man looked at them, but there was something suspicious in the way he eyed them up and down, examining them from top to bottom as if he were trying to figure out who they were without asking.
“We can wait,” Emma said. “We will be perfectly happy to wait in the drawing room. But what we have to discuss with her cannot wait.”
The man tilted his head to the side. Arabella studied him. He was middle-aged, as she had thought, with brown hair that had a fewwhite streaks in it. The sunlight gave his hair a reddish glow. He had a mustache and wore brown trousers that were tight around the knees.
One could tell that he used his trousers to wipe his hands earlier because there were wet patches in the shape of a hand. Her father often looked like this when he had been drinking and used his clothing to wipe his hands, although, unlike her father, the man didn’t smell of liquor.
“When is she expected back?” Emma asked.
“I cannot say. As I said, leave your cards, and I will see that she gets them. She may respond, she may not. May I ask, what are your names?”
Arabella and Emma looked at one another. They had not made a plan as to what to say if they were asked for their names.
Arabella decided it was best to be honest.
“Arabella Ridlington.” She said her new name for the first time. “The Duchess of Sheffield.”
At once, the man’s green eyes widened. His lips parted, revealing a glimpse of yellowing teeth.
“And I am Lady Emma Hayward,” Emma declared, her shoulders pulled back and her head held high.
“The Duchess of Sheffield and her sister,” the man muttered.
Arabella could see that he was taken aback. The name meant something to him. Of course, it did. Her husband had been spending hours here with his mistress.
“If you could let Miss Helen know that I know everything and would like to talk to her.”
“I was not telling Canterbury tales. She is not here. She just went out with her attendant. They have gone to the park. Had I known that you were coming, we would have made arrangements, but it is their habit to go to the park at this hour. You see, there are not too many people in the park yet to stare and ask questions. It is more comfortable for her.”
Arabella’s mind raced. “More comfortable for her?”
What was this man talking about?
“The young woman in the wheelchair… Miss Helen?” Emma said beside her.
Arabella looked from her sister to the man and back again. Could it be? There was no way Harry was having an affair with this young woman. Arabella hadn’t had a good look at her, but Helen did not seem much older than twenty.
