Текст книги "An Accidental Affair"

Автор книги: Heather Boyd

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CHAPTER TEN

As Arabella had foreseen, Farnsworth was enraged by the elopement of his only daughter for the embarrassment it inflicted on him and the stain to the family reputation. What she couldn’t fathom was why he had not set off in pursuit of the lovers to Scotland to prevent the match from taking place at all.

“I wash my hands of them and rue the day I ever came to London,” he said sourly as he poured another drink, his fifth since Arabella had been summoned to dinner this evening. “He’ll not get a penny of her dowry.”

She winced. A lieutenant made little enough from his commission to support a family without denying them the dowry. She hoped her niece had considered that. After returning from her walk, Arabella had been on tenterhooks because Cecily’s elopement was still unknown. An hour later, Farnsworth discovered the situation. His bellow of outrage, heard clearly through the floor of her bedchamber from below, alerted her to be ready for his anger and made her tremble. She had been questioned harshly until he had received a note he wouldn’t share the contents of.

At first, she had assumed it was about Cecily, yet Farnsworth was still in their Half Moon Street residence, complaining at every opportunity. The butler appeared and delivered yet another note to Farnsworth. When he picked it up and read it, his eyes darted in her direction. He smiled, yet kept the details to himself again.

Arabella began to feel distinctly uncomfortable.

“What will you do?” She posed her question carefully, uncertain of whether she wanted his answer or not. Rothwell had eased her mind of Cecily being abandoned when the idea of elopement lost its appeal to Lieutenant Ford. As far as Rothwell was concerned, Cecily would marry without a shadow of a doubt and she had to believe it would be so.

Farnsworth sighed. “There is little to be done. She left very early last night. She has a whole night of travel between us, and according to my reports, this Ford fellow has disappeared without a trace. He’ll not stop long on the way to the border. Only a fool would attempt a recovery, and I am not dancing to that tune. It will take time for the stain to be forgotten by society, but Parker will overlook the impropriety and that is all that matters.”

Farnsworth was so wrong she wanted to laugh at him. They were in Town and everyone they met with would soon know exactly what had befallen the house of Farnsworth. The man had been obsessed with keeping up appearances prior to Cecily’s elopement. He was always throwing out little remarks about how a lady should conduct herself in public. No matter how much money changed hands or what apologies were made to Parker, the scandal would not subside for some time and would remain a black spot on the family’s reputation.

A tap on the front door reverberated through the house. Although Arabella strained her ears, she could not discern who it might be. When the butler interrupted their dinner yet again a few moments later, he went directly to Farnsworth, holding his little silver tray before him. A single note rested on the silver surface and he read it quickly. Farnsworth met her gaze. “You must excuse me. A matter of business has arisen that must be dealt with.”

“Do the notes concern Cecily?”

“No.” Farnsworth slipped the note into his pocket, his expression thoughtful. “You would do well to forget her and focus on the future. I’ll need a few minutes to conclude my business, and then I will join you in the drawing room.”

He retreated and rudely left Arabella seated at the dining table amid a feast better suited to a larger gathering and a celebration. Tomorrow Arabella would speak to cook about extravagance. It was not necessary to dine so lavishly when it was just herself and Farnsworth sitting down to dinner. She reached for her wineglass, startled to see her hand shaking. Just contemplating bringing order and good sense to Farnsworth’s homes unsettled her.

Without Cecily to talk to, Arabella was not certain what she would do with herself tonight in the drawing room. Since she’d come up to Town, she had concentrated on what Cecily needed. Practice at the pianoforte, dissecting the peerage to determine familial connections of those they met. During the day, they went out—shopping for new gloves, visiting the modiste, accepting invitations to parties and fetes that would show the girl off to advantage. Farnsworth had insisted they decline tonight’s round of amusements given Cecily’s embarrassing elopement, and she had to agree with his decision. If they went out without Cecily in their ranks, someone would ask of her whereabouts.

Without a pressing task before her, Arabella retreated to the drawing room as Farnsworth had demanded and stopped before a window facing the street. Outside, a steady rain had fallen since midafternoon, cocooning her with her thoughts and worries. Rain would slow Cecily and Lieutenant Ford’s flight to the border, though it might just prevent any pursuit being made by the Fords. She hoped Rothwell had factored bad weather into his calculations. She smiled ruefully. She had completely underestimated that gentleman. He was not the pleasure-obsessed rogue society made him out to be. He believed in love and helping those in need. Not at all what she’d imagined he might feel.

She leaned toward the window and tried to see the façade of his town house far down Half Moon Street, toward the park. If she pressed her nose to the glass, she could just see enough to determine its location. Were the windows lit more brightly than normal tonight? Possibly. Perhaps she was not the only one to eschew the pleasures of Town on a rainy night, or it was more likely Rothwell had his own private entertainment indoors. All she had was Farnsworth and his odd looks.

Dispirited by that thought, Arabella turned from the window and then shrieked. Farnsworth was standing immediately behind her, smiling down at her in that odd way he’d adopted today, another refilled glass in hand. She pressed her fingers to her chest, attempting to recover her calm and control her racing pulse. “Gracious, I did not hear you come in, Farnsworth.”

He did not move back. “Did you not plan to be so artfully displayed when I returned? You must do exactly that tomorrow when Parker calls.”

“Artfully?” She scowled at him for frightening her and babbling nonsense. “Really, Farnsworth, you must moderate your consumption of spirits. They make you imagine any number of ridiculous things.”

“Not so ridiculous.” Farnsworth placed the glass on the nearest table. “We are alike, you and I. We each hesitate to say what is on our minds.”

Arabella had had enough of his moods today. Farnsworth held nothing of his opinions in reserve. She’d learned so much while living beneath his roof to determine she had to do everything she could to avoid continuing the conversation. “I believe I should like to retire early tonight. Excuse me.”

Farnsworth’s hand rose and cupped her face. “I was thinking the same thing. You should be refreshed for when Parker extends his offer of marriage tomorrow.”

It took a moment to make sense of Farnsworth’s words, but when she did, she staggered back against the window. “You must be mistaken.”

“Not at all.” He held up a scrap of paper for her to see. “It is all arranged. Since Cecily has eloped, your days as a chaperone are done. You shall marry Parker by special license tomorrow and any embarrassment to the family will largely be erased by the connection.”

“I am not marrying Parker,” she insisted. Arabella had only wanted a lover, not a man to tell her what to do with her days. “Whatever possessed you to think you could arrange such a thing without consulting me?”

He grabbed her arm and jerked her hard against him, well beyond the bounds of proper behavior for any gentleman. “You will do what I say or you will get out. Have I not been patient while you mourned? Have I not allowed you certain freedoms while keeping a roof over your head and providing you with endless luxury? If you had any family, I’d have sent you back to them, but I thought you could be useful. Well, you will be now. With your help, Cecily managed to repel every proper gentleman save that Ford runt and ruined us in the process. It’s up to you to smooth the way forward.”

“What do you mean ruin us? What haven’t you told me?” Arabella struggled and his grip tightened. Such a situation she had never imagined she would find herself in. What woman did? She would not marry Parker. She would not marry anyone. Unfortunately, the more she fought against his hold, the tighter Farnsworth gripped her. “Farnsworth, release me at once or I will scream.”

The next moment, his open palm slammed against her cheek, sending her spinning across the room and into a side table. Small ornaments shattered as they hit the floor. Only a single, unlit silver candelabra remained on the surface and even it tipped on its side.

“You will do as I say, woman,” he growled, stalking toward her. “Don’t tell me you’re not in the mood for a man after all your come-hither looks you’ve sent the fellows about London this season. You ruined my daughter, planted wild notions in her head about love and personal freedom. I won’t suffer the expense of you under my roof a moment longer without the promise of a dividend in return. Luckily, Parker isn’t repelled by a more experienced woman and has settled my debts in full in order to have you. Be grateful it’s marriage he offers and not an affair. You’ll marry him or live on the street with the other tarts for all I care.”

She stared at him, shocked by the way he saw her actions. She’d created no scandal herself. She’d done not one thing to feel embarrassed about. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I have done nothing to deserve being treated in this manner. I am not a horse to sell at Tattersall’s.”

“Oh, come now. I’m not a fool or blind.” His hand shot out and wrapped about her throat, hauling her upright to meet his eyes. His bloodshot gaze skimmed over her body once, a sneer forming on his mouth. He was far more intoxicated than she’d first suspected. His grip tightened as he pressed her against the table. “New dresses designed to arouse, the absence of my brother’s wedding ring upon your finger. You had but one plan in mind when you came up to Town. Seduction. Well, you got your wish. There is one gentleman among the many prepared to seize what’s on offer.”

Arabella clutched at the table behind her for support. “I came because you gave me no choice,” she croaked.

Farnsworth’s face came closer. “You always had a choice. Pretend all you like, but you’ll get your wish for a man between your legs. You’ll be married before the sun sets tomorrow and business with Parker will be complete.”

Arabella groped behind her. Her fingers closed on the lone candlestick. The cold, heavy silver reassured her somewhat. “You’re mad. I am not marrying him or anyone.”

He drew back, but his free hand rose as if to strike her again. “Then get out of my house.”

As his hand fell toward her face again, Arabella swung the candlestick, clubbing Farnsworth on the side of his head with all her might. It wasn’t enough to drop him to the floor, but he staggered back, clutching at his head and bellowing his rage. She took one instant to decide she shouldn’t stay another moment to try to reason with him. She flung the candlestick from her fingers and ran for the door. She passed the butler, ignoring his expression of horror, gained the entrance hall, and wrenched open the front door and stared out into the night.

“Arabella! You have no choice,” Farnsworth bellowed.

But she did have a choice. Despite the rain, and having no possessions save the gown she wore, she plunged out into the safety of darkness. She chose freedom.

Once on the street, she glanced left and right through the rain and knew she had little time to decide her direction. She hadn’t wounded Farnsworth greatly, and he seemed convinced she’d fall in with his plans. It was possible he might follow and force her to return. She chose left and the open space of the park ahead, moving off at a normal walking pace to avoid scrutiny. By the fourth house, the trickle of rain had grown to a downpour, slick cold water sliding beneath the neckline of her flimsy dinner gown and between her breasts.

A carriage clattered past her on the narrow street, flicking dirty water across her lower skirts. She swiped at it ineffectually and then gave up. She couldn’t keep going like this without a specific destination in mind, so she stopped in the servants’ stairwell of a house she knew to be vacant this season to think for a minute or two.

The park ahead would be dangerous at this time of night for a woman alone. Farnsworth might come upon her there and do even worse.

She looked around her quickly and shivered as rain slicked her skin. She had few friends in London that would accept her arrival and ask no questions about her disheveled, rain-soaked state. Anyone with a sense of honor would demand answers that she didn’t want to give.

Footsteps pounded past where she hid and she huddled against the stair wall, desperately trying to control her fear and not give herself away. When all was silent again, she risked a peek. There was no one in sight or carriages drawing close, but across the street stood Lord Rothwell’s house. The fanlight and lower street-front windows were brightly lit, casting the only welcoming glow to the evening that she could see. Rothwell might shelter her if he were at home, at least for a few hours until she could make up her mind where to go.

He had proved himself a gentleman of sorts. She had never feared him, only found his intense stare strangely unsettling. She didn’t believe he would take advantage of a woman in her position. Tonight, of all nights, he was her best bet for safety.

With a quick check of the street, she bit her lip and stepped toward that light, trusting that her good friend’s best friend would be the right option. At least if he were to ravish her, she might actually enjoy it.

A ripple of fear raced over her skin as she knocked on the blue door and huddled against it, making herself as small as possible. She glanced up and down the street swiftly but detected no movement coming after her. Through the rain, she thought the doorway of her own home was dark, which led her to believe Farnsworth might still be looking for her.

She knocked rapidly again on Rothwell’s door and it opened suddenly. “Help me,” she said to Rothwell’s servant and stumbled over the doorstep, quickly shoving the door closed behind her.

She ran her hands over the comfortingly solid door and turned the locks herself, dragging in several ragged breaths in relief. Farnsworth might never consider she would come here and it would take him a while to get through that door when it possessed so many stout locks. She might even have enough time to escape through the rear exit if no one stood in her path.

After a time, she grew aware of the repeated clearing of a throat behind her. Knowing she couldn’t avoid it, she slowly pivoted to face the room. At first glance, she thought she stood before Rothwell himself, but this man was somewhat older and had none of his intensity.

“May I be of assistance?” The stranger’s eyes widened suddenly. “Lady Farnsworth?”

Arabella smiled awkwardly. She had hoped not to be recognized at all, but anonymity was impossible given the help she needed. “I need a moment.”

“You may have as many as you wish for, of course.” His eyes dipped lower and then narrowed at her sodden gown. “Perhaps you would be more comfortable beside a fire. Given the weather outside, I believe it very likely you may be soaked through to the bone.”

Arabella cautiously glanced down at herself. Her gown was plastered to her breasts and legs as if she were wearing rags. Smears of something dark ruined the hem of the once lovely light blue muslin she’d worn for dinner. There was also a puddle forming at her feet and more droplets of water adding to it from her elbows. She swallowed the tide of nausea that tightened her throat. She wanted to hide, but this man had already seen too much. “I fear I am. A fire would be very much appreciated.”

“Come this way. Please.”

Her elbow was gasped lightly and the man steered her toward a closed door to the right. She appreciated his help. Once she’d begun to move, her legs were not very steady. Inside was a warmly lit chamber, a drawing room perhaps, but one designed for comfort rather than appearances. A pair of booted feet overhung the end of the longest settee.

The feet moved and Rothwell sat up. He shook his head suddenly. “What the devil? Dear God, what the hell has happened? Holland, send for Farnsworth at once.”

“Don’t,” Arabella shouted and then clutched her hands over her mouth in shock at her panicked yell. “Oh, please don’t.”

Arabella shivered at the flare of puzzlement forming in Rothwell’s eyes. She’d been around enough men to understand their moods. He would want to take her back where he thought she belonged as quickly as possible. She couldn’t allow that.

The man holding her arm, Holland, she recalled, eased her back a little, glancing distrustfully at Rothwell. “This wasn’t your doing, was it, Merrick?”

Rothwell scrambled to his feet. “Of course not.”

Surprised by Rothwell’s hasty move, Arabella shifted closer to the older man.

“Just as well.” Holland patted her hand, brought her to the fire, and released her near a well-padded chair. “I’ll fetch a blanket to wrap her in before she takes a chill.”

When he was gone, Rothwell moved to stand before her. His hand rose and she flinched away unconsciously.

“I’m sorry,” she said quickly, taking rapid breaths as panic seized her. After the events of tonight, she wasn’t sure she wanted anyone to touch any part of her ever again.

His brow furrowed but he did not withdraw. Instead, he moved his hand toward her again, much slower this time. Arabella was better prepared for the second attempt and did not flinch as his fingers slid over her jaw gently. He tilted her face toward the light so he could view her neck. His touch was light and impersonal. Very soon his eyes darkened, his jaw clenched, and then his gaze sharpened on hers. “Who did this to you?”

“Don’t ask me that.” Arabella wrenched her face from his grip and hugged her arms around her body. She struggled to keep calm. She had come to Rothwell for shelter, not questioning. She didn’t blame him for wanting answers, but she had none to give. She didn’t understand Farnsworth’s behavior at all. She knew he had a temper, but this was far beyond her experience.

She peeked at Rothwell and saw he’d not moved away. She shouldn’t have jumped from him like that and she wanted to apologize, but the words were stuck in her throat. She raised her hand to caress her cheek, feeling tenderness and discomfort there. Slowly, Arabella lifted her chin, but Rothwell wasn’t watching her. His eyes were fixed on the distant windows where the rain still drummed, deep frown lines etched on his brow.

“Best keep your questions for later,” Holland said to Rothwell as he rushed back into the room. When the man held out an opened blanket, Arabella allowed him to wrap her up in it and gently press her into a chair.

When Holland was done wrapping her snugly in the blanket, he moved to Rothwell’s side. “She’s had a terrible fright and will need time to calm her mind.”

“Of course.” Rothwell caught her watching them and his lips lifted in a smile Arabella found infinitely reassuring. “You’re safe here, Lady Farnsworth. I promise you that.”

“There’s tea coming,” Holland added helpfully.

Arabella nodded, sinking farther into the soft wool blanket and hoping the night was all a very bad dream. “Tea. Yes, tea will fix everything, I expect.”

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Merrick wasn’t a violent man, but given the last startling hour, he could be persuaded to kill easily enough. He’d stood aside when Holland had fussed over Arabella, keeping her close to the fire and forcing hot tea down her bruised throat. Holland was a natural at mothering. He’d continued to reassure Arabella that Farnsworth would never learn her location whenever a door closed with too loud a bang. Given her extreme anxiety about Farnsworth being summoned, Merrick could only assume that Farnsworth was somehow involved. The bruises forming across Lady Farnsworth’s skin enraged him still, but he’d held back his questions as Holland had advised.

Had his own actions today concerning the purchase of her home incited Farnsworth to anger? Their bargaining had been brisk during the day and he was afraid their negotiations, on top of his daughter’s elopement, had pushed Farnsworth into a temper.

He approached the huddled woman and perched on the footstool placed close to her knees. “Do you feel calm enough now to tell me what happened?”

Her head lifted a touch but she did not meet his eyes directly. “I shouldn’t imagine I will ever be, but you’ve been so considerate. You deserve to know what brought me here.”

He held out one hand, palm facing upward, hoping to reassure both her and himself that she had suffered no lasting harm. Seeing her flinch every time aid was offered was tearing his heart in two. “I don’t need to know the particulars if you do not feel strong enough to speak of it. I merely wish to assist you in whatever way I can.”

Her hand slipped from the blanket and she laid it over his. Her flesh was still chilled and she trembled. He closed his hands about hers and chafed her skin, hoping to warm her. Her face fell so low he could not see her expression.

“Farnsworth insisted I marry again.”

“What?” Merrick drew back in shock. “The devil he did.”

Arabella disappeared into the blanket as she hugged herself. “You don’t believe me?”

“I believe you,” he whispered urgently. “But the mind does not want to imagine you placed in such a situation. You have a choice about who you marry. He should not force you.”

Her hand rose to her neck and she hunched a little more into herself. “That is what I said. He was determined to give me little choice in the matter. He’s far stronger than I am and insisted that I accept Lord Parker’s proposal when he calls tomorrow.”

“Parker?”

“So he claimed.”

The last was said barely at a whisper. Merrick dropped to his knees, yet hesitated to come any closer. No man should have the right to abuse a woman just because she disagreed with him. It went against everything he believed in.

Her breath grew rushed. “He hit me when I refused to do as he demanded, then wrapped his hand about my throat and would have killed me for going against his wishes. I’ve never seen someone so enraged. He was deep in his cups, but I didn’t see the danger until too late. I either had to accept or he threatened to throw me out. When I gained enough freedom to escape, I left the house. I don’t want to marry anyone. I couldn’t think where to go and I was alone on the street with only the dark and the rain to hide me and the park ahead. I am so sorry to involve you in my problems. I’ll rest here a bit longer and then be on my way.”

Dear God. What might have happened if he’d not changed his plans and remained at home tonight? “There’s no need to rush back out. There is no need to go anywhere just yet. I would never turn you out into the night to fend for yourself. I would not do that to anyone.”

Against his better judgment, he placed a hand on her shoulder. She started instantly but soon stopped trembling when he merely held her shoulder through the blanket. As he continued to hold her thus, Arabella slowly toppled toward him until her damp head rested against his chest, a broken sob tearing from her throat.

Gingerly, Rothwell embraced her. He stroked her back, noting that while she shook in the grips of her misery, she did not resist or pull away from the scant comfort he could offer. At least he was able to do some good. When her sobbing began in earnest, he didn’t think she noticed much of anything he did at all, and he simply held her tightly against his chest until she stiffened and moved away again.

Merrick sat back on his heels and gave her space enough to pull herself together without feeling rushed to do so. She glanced at him timidly, fingers clenching and unclenching on the edge of the wool blanket wrapped around her. Merrick moved farther away, regaining a place on the footstool and simply watched her.

“I don’t know what to do,” she told him softly, wiping at tears that continued to slip down her cheeks. “I wish I had never come to London.”

When she sobbed again, Merrick moved toward her. He had never been particularly comfortable around crying women, but he could not watch her suffer like this at a distance. Arabella came to his arms easily, clinging to him in a way he had once dreamed of but discarded as merely an impossible fantasy.

She turned her face into his cravat, her breath warming him through the thin material. “I cannot think of what to do. Where should I go tonight?”

Merrick glanced out the window at the rain that continued to fall. There were few choices at this time of night. Taking her to his aunt might be a possibility. He wasn’t certain whose side she would take, Arabella’s or Farnsworth’s, but he didn’t want to risk a scene that might upset Arabella even more. If he delivered her to Aunt Pen and convinced her to hold her tongue, he would owe her, of course. The Fords would expect something from him in return for their aid.

Other acquaintances of good standing would be even more problematic to beg help from. Yet there was another possibility that required no effort at all. Arabella could stay here with him. Farnsworth would never look for her here, and she could make her decisions in the morning when she was calmer. Blundering about in the night in her distressed state would only upset her more. She would sleep far more peacefully under Merrick’s roof. There would also be no awkward questions to answer about the bruise forming on her cheek or neck in the morning. There would be no discussion either of why her personal belongings were not with her.

But if she were found out, her reputation would be in tatters.

If he opened his mouth and made the suggestion, would she be shocked even more? Was he asking too much of her to let him watch over her for one night? He was getting used to being viewed as a friend rather than a seducer. Asking her to stay risked her reputation and was likely to destroy the small tendrils of friendship that had led her to seek safety with him.

Yet in the end, Holland returned and saved him from any decision. “I took the liberty of preparing a bedchamber for Lady Farnsworth,” Holland said softly. “If you’ll but come with me, madam, I am sure you may rest your head in more comfortable surroundings.”

Arabella jumped, her head snapping upward, her eyes widening in fright as she stared across the room. The blemish to her pale cheek would be unmistakable by morning. Anyone who saw her would question her appearance. Her face turned a fiery pink. She bit her lip but eventually faced Merrick, her eyes full of hope and misery. “I should not like to impose.”

She wanted to stay. Though his heart leapt at keeping her here, he patted her hand again in what he hoped was a brotherly way. “It is no imposition at all. Holland has already made arrangements for you it seems, and I would certainly feel easier knowing you were beyond Farnsworth’s reach. Go with him, and tomorrow we can discuss how to go on.”

Her relieved smile was fleeting, turning into a grimace of pain. She lifted her hand to her tender face and held it there, letting the blanket fall at long last. The state of her gown, ruined by the elements outside, reminded Merrick of what had brought her here.

Any thoughts he’d entertained about pursuing her for himself crumbled to ashes. Arabella had fled from one arranged marriage. She might not be at all interested in becoming a wife even to save her reputation. All he could be to her was a friend, and she needed him to be only that tonight. He would be the best friend he could be and never let her know he’d considered more than that.

She glanced at him, a shy, hesitant smile lingering on her lips. “You, sir, are not at all as your reputation marks you.”

His pulse pounded at her compliment, but he merely stood by and gave her room to stand unaided, anxious that too much proximity might make her fearful again. “Goodnight, Lady Farnsworth.”

She reclaimed the wool blanket and clutched it around her and her sodden dress. Her hesitant shuffle across the room broke his heart. There was little left of the confident woman he had admired two nights ago.

At the doorway, she turned back. “Goodnight, Rothwell, and thank you.”

~ * ~

After about an hour, Holland joined Merrick in the study, where he sat staring into an empty brandy glass. Holland closed the door behind him and leaned against it. “She is resting now, I believe. Everything has grown quiet.”

Merrick rolled the glass between his hands. “Where did you put her?”

Holland crossed the room, took the open decanter of brandy, and replaced the stopper. “Your mother’s old room has recently been cleaned in preparation for your marriage, so I took the liberty of putting her there. It is the most comfortable bedchamber in the town house save yours.”

“Did she say anything else?”

Holland took the empty glass from his hands and set it aside. “Not a word beyond thank you. I left her with a nightshirt of yours and a glass of port to sip. I thought she might sleep better for having it.”

“I own a nightshirt?” Merrick bowed his head, marveling at how calm and practical Holland could be at a time like this. “Holland, I need your advice.”

 “Of course.”

Anger flared to life again. “Lady Cecily eloped. Farnsworth compromised on the price for Winslette and then insisted Arabella marry someone she didn’t want. Am I to blame for her injuries? Is this my fault?”

Holland came closer and perched on the edge of the desk. His hand settled on Merrick’s shoulder a moment before he drew back. “Farnsworth’s temper has always been quick, or so the servants I’ve come across have remarked in the past.”