To Love the Brooding Baron

TEN

TEN

Arabella walked into the breakfast room, her spirit lighter than it had been in days.

Her conversation the evening before with Lord Northcott had left her feeling better about their growing friendship. He hadn’t opened up to her as she’d hoped, but he was a private man. Perhaps he needed time.

“Good morning,” Arabella singsonged to her mother as she went to the sideboard and collected a plate.

“Good morning,” her mother replied, setting down the letter she’d been reading. “You seem quite cheerful.” Her mother watched her with a suspicious smile.

“I am.” Arabella shot her a sly smile of her own. “The sun has finally returned.” She nodded toward the window in the corner of the room where the sunlight warmed the glass.

Her mother shook her head in amusement while lifting her teacup to her lips. “Indeed.” She took a sip, still watching Arabella over the rim.

Picking up a pastry with her fingers, Arabella took a bite right there at the sideboard.

Her mother gave her that chiding stare that only a mother could, though it was dulled by the smile she couldn’t seem to hide.

Arabella dropped the pastry onto her plate, her eyes darting toward the butler. “Good morning, Smith. You must tell Cook the pastries are exceptional this morning. I simply could not wait to take a bite.”

Smith was struggling to hide a smile of his own. “Of course, Miss Arabella.”

He’d been with the family long enough that she doubted anything she did could truly shock him—well, perhaps her going inside Brooks’s. But she hoped no one would ever learn of that.

She took a second pastry—blueberry this time—and took her usual seat next to her mother at the small, round family table. Almost at once, she noticed the addition of a fifth chair. Her heart warmed even as tears pricked at her eyes. After the earth-shattering blow of losing her father and then her brother’s recent marriage, their family had lost and then grown by one. It was both heartbreaking and comforting to see the chair still set at the table for her father even with the added seat for Olivia.

“Have you heard from Emerson?” Arabella asked, hoping for some good news after his last letter had informed them that he and Olivia would be staying longer in Bath.

Her mother set down her fork and picked up the letter from the table. “Just this morning, as a matter of fact.” Faint worry lines appeared along her forehead. Not enough to make Arabella fear the worst had happened but enough to prompt her to inquire further.

“And?”

“Olivia’s father remains in Bath.”

A pit formed in Arabella’s stomach. Her brother hadn’t walked away unscathed from his last encounter with Olivia’s father. And that had been before he’d eloped with the man’s daughter and hid away his wife with Emerson and Arabella’s aunts in Bath. Arabella feared what the monster of a man might do for revenge.

Reaching for her mother’s hand, Arabella squeezed it. “Emerson was able to best him before. He will do so again. They will be safe.”

“I am sure you are right.” Her mother forced a smile and squeezed her hand in return. “Olivia sent you something inside your brother’s letter.” She picked up a smaller, folded piece of paper and handed it to Arabella.

She snatched the note out of her mother’s hand, eager to hear from her closest friend, now sister by marriage. She opened the torn piece of paper that she suspected had been used out of necessity and haste.

Arabella,

Forgive me for taking so long to write since your last letter, and for doing so now in such haste. I had hoped we would have returned to London by now.

Arabella laughed at how right her assumption had been and continued reading.

Your brother has been the most controlling—

Arabella huffed in total agreement.

—the most handsome—

Oh, for goodness sake. Not this again.

—and loving of husbands, and I thank the heavens every day for my friendship with you, because without it, I would never have found such happiness.

She smiled, despite the fact that Olivia was gushing about her brother. Olivia deserved to have such love and contentment.

Now, if you would be so kind as to hide all your brother’s cravats before we return home, I would greatly appreciate it.

You will DO NOTHING with my cravats, Arabella!

Her brother’s handwriting joined the note, followed by another line from Olivia.

Your brother is being unfair and reading over shoulders. I shall close with this, and I know you shall understand its meaning: He that is thy friend indeed, He will help thee in thy need.

Your loving sister,

Olivia Latham

Arabella laughed at her friend’s clever use of Shakespeare.

“Do I dare ask what was in the note?” her mother asked with an amused smile.

“Rapture.” Arabella beamed, extending the note to her mother.

Her mother read the note, her smile wrinkling the corners of her eyes. “I believe you are right.”

Arabella took a large bite of her pastry. It was going to be a splendid day; she could feel it.

“We received an interesting invitation to dinner for tomorrow evening,” her mother said, picking up another letter.

“Oh? Who is it from?” she asked before taking a sip of her tea.

“The Dowager Baroness Northcott.”

Arabella’s eyes widened as big as the saucer that clattered beneath her teacup. They’d never received a dinner invitation—or any sort of invitation—from the Dowager Baroness Northcott before, and to receive one now seemed ...

Had Lord Northcott asked his aunt to extend an invitation to them? A hopeful warmth swirled inside her chest.

“May we go?” Arabella asked.

“If you would like.”

Biting into her second blueberry pastry, Arabella leaned back in her seat and smiled in contentment.

A knock sounded at their front door, and Smith excused himself to answer it.

“It’s a bit early for callers,” her mother said, removing her serviette from her lap and wiping her lips.

Arabella’s heart beat faster in nervous anticipation. Could it be Lord Northcott making another impromptu visit?

A ruckus soon ensued out in the corridor, and Arabella could hear muffled voices and the distinct tapping of a cane. When the main instigator had drawn close enough, there was no mistaking her voice.

Lady Bixbee.

“A calling card?” The old matron scoffed. “I can assure you, sir, that the sound of my voice is calling card enough for your mistress to know it is I.”

Arabella and her mother exchanged a silent giggle at Lady Bixbee’s incomparable spirit and abandoned their plates to save Smith from the domineering matron.

Stepping out into the corridor behind her mother, Arabella stopped short as her eyes landed on Dr. Stafford, who stood beside his grandmother, looking uncomfortable.

His gaze found hers. He offered an apologetic shrug just as Lady Bixbee pushed past Smith and greeted her mother.

Arabella offered him a sympathetic smile. It couldn’t be easy having such a grandmother.