“Of course not. I told you it changes nothing. Harry, I love you too. I have loved you for some time, but I thought you would never love me. When I thought that you had a mistress, I was so jealous—sohurt.” She gently cupped his face in her hand, caressing his cheek with her thumb.
“I would never keep a mistress, Arabella. Never. Why would I when I have you as a wife? Oh, Arabella, I dread what will happen if my uncle finds out that I have moved her out of England. I hate the repercussions it will have on you.”
Arabella hated to disrupt the moment, for they had finally confessed their love for one another, but there were matters they had to resolve.
“I do not think it was your fault because it sounds impossible, but because of something Mrs. Hollingsworth said. She told me that the coachman should not have been driving that day.”
Harry furrowed his brow. “She said this? When?”
“This morning, when she took Helen to the park. It was there that Emma and I met them. She told me about the accident. She didn’t know about the fanfare part, but she said that the coachman should not have been driving the carriage that day. But she wouldn’t tell me why. I think we should go there and talk to them. There must be something you do not know.”
Harry got up and paced the length of the room, his arms folded behind his back.
“All these years, I have simply believed my uncle because he had ingrained in me since I was a child that it was my fault. I have believed it blindly. I do not want to believe there is hope that I was not the guilty party, but?—”
Arabella got up and joined him, taking his hands in hers. “We need to speak with Mrs. Hollingsworth and find out what she knows. She was Lady Templeton’s lady’s maid at the time, so if anyone had more knowledge, she would be the one. But even if she does not have any other information, know this—I love you. No matter what happens. I love you and I want to be with you, and whatever the fallout, we will withstand it together.”
CHAPTER 34
Harry and Arabella arrived outside the modest, worn-down house where Helen had been forced to reside for the past few years. As he gazed at the familiar sight, a wave of melancholy washed over him. Though the neighborhood was not as destitute as some of the places his uncle had consigned his cousin to over the years, it was wholly unworthy of her—a daughter of his beloved aunt deserved far better.
He should have stood up to his uncle, should have insisted that Helen reside at Ridlington Manor with him. What did it matter if his uncle tarnished his name by spreading the lie that Harry, at the tender age of eleven, was responsible for the accident that claimed his aunt’s life? He would still have been the Duke. His reputation may have suffered, but he would have been free from his uncle’s cruel grasp. Yet, the fear and control that had ensnared him for so long had kept him silent, unable to break free.
Arabella walked resolutely beside him, her presence steady and unwavering. She was convinced that Mrs. Hollingsworth knew the truth, or at least part of it that would assuage his guilt. But what if she didn’t?
Harry pushed that thought aside. There was nothing he could do now but speak to the woman. And while they were here, perhaps it was time to tell Helen the truth about their impending move to Scotland. She was already aware that he planned to move her, but not to where.
To his surprise, he felt Arabella’s hand slip into his, her fingers squeezing his gently. His heart leaped with hope. She flashed him a warm, genuine smile, and he recalled her words—I love you. She had told him she loved him, and she had meant it, even after he had revealed the truth about his aunt’s death.
Did he deserve such a woman? A woman who could see goodness in him, even when he could not see it in himself?
“All will be well,” she said in her soothing voice, and despite everything, he found himself believing her.
They walked side by side into the front yard and ascended the steps. Before he could change his mind, Arabella knocked on the door, and a moment later, Mrs. Hollingsworth answered it.
“Your Grace, I was not expecting you today,” she greeted, her expression puzzled, though joy laced her voice. “And you…” she added, turning to Arabella, “it is so lovely to see you again. Miss Helen will be delighted.”
They entered, and Harry looked around, seeing the space through Arabella’s eyes. It was small and smelled damp. The wallpaper, which had once been splendid, was peeling from the walls. Though the place was tidy, thanks to Mrs. Hollingsworth and the other servants, it was sparsely furnished and carried the unmistakable scent of poverty.
“George,” Mrs. Hollingsworth called to the manservant who hovered near the staircase.
The staff had always been informal, a quality Harry had appreciated.
Mrs. Hollingsworth turned to him. “Shall I bring Miss Helen down, Your Grace?”
“No, we shall see her presently,” Harry replied. “I wished to speak with you first, Mrs. Hollingsworth.”
“Is everything quite all right, Your Grace?” she asked, concern lacing her voice. “I hope I have not displeased you.”
“Not at all,” Harry assured her. “You have been wonderful. But there are matters I wish to inquire about—things I never had the courage to ask before, concerning the day my aunt died.”
Mrs. Hollingsworth’s mouth formed a small ‘O.’ “Faith, of course, Your Grace. The truth is, I have long hoped you would ask, but I did not wish to impose. Please, let us go into the drawing room.”
She gestured to the room on the right, which overlooked the street. As they entered, Harry noted Arabella’s hand brush against the worn fabric of the chair. It was threadbare, with patches where the cushion beneath showed through. He had wanted to replace it for years, but his uncle had insisted that it was sufficient—that Helen didn’t need anything better.
Harry swallowed hard as thoughts of his uncle raced in his head.
“Would you care for some tea?” Mrs. Hollingsworth asked.