Chapter 13 #2
Sinking onto the edge of my bed, I raked my hand through my hair.
Could I borrow from my friends? With our bet on the table, everyone would have to keep their funds available.
Even those who had already won should keep their money close, as they would need it to set up their new wives with whatever needs they might have.
A loan would get back to Father, and I had nothing to sell of equal value besides my horse, and Argent and I had been together for too long for me to consider it.
There was Arabella’s dowry . . .
No, I would never touch it.
I folded the letter and shoved it into my waistcoat pocket.
I would not respond until I had exhausted every other avenue.
Pushing back to my feet, I paced the room.
A few moments were all it took for me to feel like a caged animal.
Letting myself out of my room, I stalked down the corridor.
My feet paused of their own accord at Arabella’s door.
I couldn’t help but stand and listen in case I heard her sobs again. I prayed I would not.
Taking a step closer to the wood, I set my ear against it. I could hear unintelligible voices but no cries of pain.
Relieved, I continued on my way, jogging down the stairs. I was nearly to the library when I heard male voices in the drawing room.
If Mr. Delafield was inside, it could be my chance to say goodbye. I changed course and let myself through the open door.
To my disappointment, it was not Mr. Delafield but Mr. Mason and Mr. Clodwick, sitting on opposite sofas with their arms spread on the sofa’s backs as they visited. It was too late to turn around, as they’d both seen me.
“Join us,” Mr. Mason called.
“Thank you. I will.” I took a chair by the cold fireplace, my knee bouncing.
“The doctor does not live far,” Mr. Mason explained, likely reading the concern on my face. “He should be here forthwith and reassure us all about Arabella’s health.”
“I’m glad of it.” I hoped he had something to ease her pain. Her groans had been nearly as bad as her tears.
“Should we ring for more cake?” Clodwick asked.
My brows lowered. We were discussing Arabella’s health, and he was thinking of cake? “You must be beside yourself to know that the woman you love is injured.”
Mr. Clodwick frowned. “I should have known that the spirits would follow me here. I will chastise them most profoundly when I return home.”
I jerked forward, my elbows on my knees. “The spirits?”
Mr. Mason gave an awkward chuckle. “He means the drink. I will send for cake and a drink, Mr. Clodwick.”
Clodwick shook his head. “No, Mr. Mason. I meant the other kind of spirits.”
Mr. Mason froze halfway off the sofa and sat back down. “Cousin, we discussed this before we left. There would be no talk of . . . you know.” He said the last bit under his breath, but I heard it easily enough.
“I don’t mind if you speak of it,” I said. “In fact, I am quite curious. Tell me about these spirits and what they have to do with Miss Delafield.”
If possible, Mr. Clodwick’s face grew more solemn than it already was. “They are jealous.”
“Jealous of what?”
“That I have chosen to devote myself to another.”
My eyes widened with alarm, but Mr. Mason laughed loudly, coming to his feet. “It’s all a great joke. Mr. Ashworth, there is something I wanted to show you in the library. Will you join me for a moment?”
Annoyance flared in my chest. I knew an evasion technique when I saw one. I would humor Mr. Mason, but then I would return again to hear exactly what Mr. Clodwick had to say. Pushing to my feet, I followed him out into the corridor.
Mr. Mason took a few steps past the door before turning to me. In a hushed voice, he said, “Clodwick has always been a bit eccentric, but he is quite harmless.”
I set my hand on my hip. “He believes he is somehow responsible for Miss Delafield’s accident. Is there any truth in that?” The spirit talk was rubbish to me. If he was involved, there would be no blaming it on a supernatural being.
Mr. Mason shook his head. “No, it is nothing like that at all. He thinks his house is haunted. Half of England believes the same.”
“So you’re telling me that he’s mad?”
Mr. Mason lifted his hand and pinched his first finger with his thumb. “Just a little.”
I blinked rapidly. “And you would recommend him to be the husband to your sister-in-law?”
“Of course. As I said, he is harmless. Besides, his house is very near mine, which will allow my wife to be with her sister every day if they wish. Whatever heir they produce will inherit a vast estate and a large fortune. Not to mention the family connections are excellent,” he winked, but I found no amusement in his words at all.
I had my answer on how to get the Third Folio.
I had changed my mind about leaving. If this was a contest between myself and Clodwick, surely I could win against a mad man.
In fact, I had to win. Arabella might be a vexing woman, but not even she deserved to live with a man who believed he lived with ghosts.
Even as I thought the words, my commitment wavered.
It would be an unprecedented feat to win Arabella’s good opinion.
To do so would mean changing how she perceived me as an adult compared to my mischievous, youthful counterpart.
I had to become Mr. Prologue once more. She had liked him well enough.
I would work out later how to keep my promise to Mr. Delafield.
Because even if I convinced Arabella to marry me, could a woman go from hating a man to loving him?
And my attraction was one thing, but could I love her in return?
I shook my head. It would do no good getting ahead of myself. A seed did not flower overnight.