Chapter 24
Arabella
Ientered the dining room a few minutes late for dinner.
I had been a terrible host and had left Mr. Clodwick in the hands of my mother and brother-in-law after they’d come back from town.
Admittedly, I had been hiding. Did that make me a terrible human without any manners at all?
I couldn’t face Papa—or worse, Rowan if he was still here—and nothing could induce me to face Mr. Clodwick—I’d be seeing him every day for the rest of my life.
Not to mention Mr. Clodwick was likely upset that I had promised him a private art tour, and I had nothing to show for it.
My eyes focused on the silver chandelier full of glowing candles instead of the faces at the table as I dragged my feet ever closer.
I dared not look down and discover Rowan gone.
The guilt and disappointment would be too much to face.
Something had happened while I’d been hiding away.
After attempting to write a new story, from the very first page, I discovered all I wanted to write was about love. And not just any love story.
My own personal romance.
Every heroine I could imagine resembled me, and every hero was the devastatingly handsome Rowan Ashworth.
He played the daring knight as well as he did a stern duke with a secret heart of gold.
It was hopeless. I was hopeless. I blamed his charming smile that warmed my middle, and the soft words that had wrapped around me like a cocoon of security last night.
He had offered his comfort so readily, so naturally.
I had tried to resist, but could one push away a soft breeze that curled around them, leaving them warm and safe? It was impossible.
And then when I had driven myself mad with frustration, I had snuck into Papa’s office and read every paper and literary review of Rowan’s I could find.
I had been wrong about him.
So very wrong.
He was a literary genius.
And I was an utter fool.
A man stepped forward to pull out my chair.
My eyes betrayed me, and I looked at him.
Not Rowan. It was only a footman. Rowan had jumped up to take my hand or pull out my chair so many times that my brain had thought for a moment that it could be him.
In desperation, my eyes darted to the faces at the table.
Straight across from my chair sat Rowan.
Before I could stop it, the corners of my lips jumped, and my heart sang with relief.
His own smile, though more hesitant, greeted me with its familiar warmth.
“It’s nice of you to join us,” Papa said.
Papa. Was he angry with me? Bitterly disappointed? I swung my gaze his way and took my seat. His face was impassive—unreadable—but there were no traces of temper that I had seen on my return from Quillsbury. “Forgive me. I lost track of the time.”
“Scribbling away, no doubt,” Elizabeth said under her breath beside me, her tone low like she was impersonating Lady Farthington.
My eyes widened, and I reached under the table and pinched her.
What if Rowan had heard her? Yes, she was right.
But I had lost track of time. I had been quite caught up in my writing once I had allowed myself to explore what a story would look like with both Rowan and me as the leads.
But the last thing in the world I wanted was for Rowan to find out.
I glanced up to find him staring at me, brows furrowed. Had he heard? Please, please, please let it not be so.
Mr. Clodwick leaned toward me. “Have you been ill, Miss Delafield?”
My head darted his way, only now realizing he was sitting beside me. “No, I am well.”
“Are you sure? Your complexion is quite pink.”
“I assure you, I feel . . .” Well, another partial truth might be best in this case too. “I feel . . . not sick.”
“Good. May I recommend an afternoon nap in the future? They are most restorative.”
“Oh. Uh, thank you. I shall consider it.”
Mr. Clodwick smiled in his barely there sort of way and went back to his soup. I glanced down at my own soup, seeing it for the first time, and forced myself to pick up my spoon.
After dinner, I followed the women into the drawing room while the men remained behind to drink port together. “How shall we entertain ourselves tonight?” Tabitha asked, sitting between me and Elizabeth on the sofa.
“What about a night ride?” Elizabeth’s voice held more enthusiasm than I thought she was capable of.
“That’s too dangerous for a lady,” Mama said, picking up her sewing basket and bringing it to a chair near the cold fire. It was much too warm to burn anything, which was probably a good thing, or I might have tried to burn Penelope’s story this afternoon.
“If men can do it, why can’t we?” Elizabeth pushed.
She had enjoyed riding before, but I knew perfectly well what was motivating her on this occasion.
“It’s improper,” I answered. “Which I know is terribly unfair, but sometimes unfair situations are not what we think they are. Sometimes they’re for our best, and we won’t appreciate them until it’s too late.
And then we will wish for the situation back, but we can’t reverse time.
That’s not how life works.” I paused, realizing I had been rambling, my thoughts having strayed to Rowan . . . again.
I looked up to find Elizabeth’s brow screwed up in confusion. “Are you feeling well?”
Why did everyone keep asking me that? “I am the picture of health.”
“She is probably too warm. The heat in this house has been oppressive today. What about an evening walk?” Tabitha asked. “Would that satisfy you, Elizabeth?”
“It’s not the same.” Elizabeth folded her arms across her chest.
“A walk could be refreshing,” Mama agreed. “We have been cooped up every night trying not to let the neighbors know about Arabella’s unique situation. And we did purchase those torches for that garden party last summer and haven’t used them since. We could have the servants light a path for us.”
Grimacing, I apologized. “I had no idea everyone was feeling that way on my account. I’m terribly sorry.”
“Mama turned down dinner at the Peterson’s and the Randall’s,” Elizabeth explained.
“And we were happy to do it for Arabella’s sake,” Tabitha said.
“A walk with the torches sounds lovely. I will take care of the arrangements, Mama. I’ll instruct a maid to gather light shawls for the women and direct the footmen to the proper placements for the torches.
” She stood with purpose from her seat between us and hurried away with a skip of anticipation in her step.
Elizabeth sighed in her wake. “I still think a ride would have been manageable.”
“Elizabeth,” I hedged, my voice low so Mama would not catch it. “Don’t you think you are spending too much time in a certain groomsman’s company?”
“I don’t know what you mean,” Elizabeth hissed, turning her face away from me. “I am not spending time with anyone.”
I folded my arms across my chest. “And I do not have feelings for my childhood enemy.”
Elizabeth’s gaze jerked to mine. “What?”
I hadn’t meant to blurt such a statement, but I was glad it was said. Elizabeth needed to know she could trust me. “Not everything is how we wish it to be, but as sisters, we should be honest and try to help each other through it. That is all I’m saying.”
Elizabeth scooted closer, taking Tabitha’s seat. “You care for Mr. Ashworth?”
I took a precautionary glance at Mama to make sure she could not hear me. “It doesn’t matter. He told Papa today that he would not marry me.”
Elizabeth’s hand stole to her chest. “What will you do?”
“How am I supposed to know? I just realized the depth of my feelings this afternoon. It’s too late.”
“So that’s why you were rambling earlier.”
I shrugged. “It might be too late for me, but there is still hope for you. Philip is not from our station, Elizabeth. You cannot have his life and ours. Society does not work that way.”
“Society is boring,” Elizabeth said. I thought about her statement.
She might not think she cared, but she enjoyed nice things more than anyone in this house.
Her pink gown with embroidered chiffon overlay was the perfect example.
It was finer than most of my evening gowns.
Elizabeth always insisted on having the very best.
I was quite certain if I brought up her expensive habits, she would argue that she could do without. I tried another avenue instead, ready to be on her side if she could convince me. “Can you tell me that Philip is the best man you have ever met?”
My question took her off guard. Her lips worked, as if she wanted to tell me the truth but was fighting against it. Perhaps I should start with what I thought of Rowan. I cleared my throat. “Even though I have been unkind to Rowan—”
“Rowan?” Elizabeth’s brows raised.
I gave her a droll look. “He was not Mr. Ashworth when we were children, so it is hard to call him anything else.”
“Sorry, you may continue.”
“I was unkind to Rowan, but he did not hesitate to help me when I fell from my horse. I have done much to provoke him, but for some reason, he keeps forgiving me and bestowing more kindness. There is not a better man in all my acquaintances.” My heart thudded in my chest, the truth of my words settling deep within my soul.
Elizabeth sighed. “I tried to stay on your side, but I must agree that Mr. Ashworth is a good match for you. If I could remedy your situation I would, but I find my own problems are consuming me. I admit Philip is rough around the edges. His words are sweet, but I cannot tell if he speaks that way to everyone. I thought I saw him flirting with a maid the other day outside the kitchen while I was walking in the garden.” Elizabeth glanced at Mama, then back at me. “What do I do?”
“You have always been a smart young lady, Elizabeth. I think you know the answer already.”
Her face fell, and she nodded. “I want someone who treats me as Rowan treats you.”
I knew the feeling. I wanted that too.
The men entered the drawing room, having taken longer than usual, but I was grateful for it. Elizabeth had finally trusted me with her feelings. Now if only I could discover what to do about my own.
My eyes met Rowan’s as he took a seat opposite of Mama’s near the fire, the farthest chair in the room from me.
He quickly looked away and struck up a conversation with Mama.
It was a small slight, but it was a sharp reminder that I should not harbor any hope for resolution.
My stomach knotted in a million different ways.
Maybe Elizabeth had the right to it. It was hard to rescue another when you felt like you were drowning.
Mr. Clodwick took a seat on the sofa perpendicular to ours, his knee brushing mine. I immediately shifted away from him, self-conscious of the awkward touch.
“Miss Delafield,” he asked. “Have you heard any word from Lady Farthington?”
“Pardon?” I don’t know why his mention of my aunt brought instant annoyance. I knew he had agreed to marry me for this express reason, and it was a miracle he was still here. But could he not think of me just once?
Mr. Clodwick set his hands on his lap. “I have written her a letter of apology. I did not think she would be so sensitive to my concerns about churches. Your father says Mr. Ashworth will take it with him when he leaves in the morning to escort Lady Farthington to London.”
“I knew nothing of these arrangements.” They had likely been made this afternoon.
Mr. Clodwick adopted a look of contrition. “I fear it is on my account. I hope my letter will make amends.”
His humility touched me, and my annoyance evaporated like dew in sunshine. “Lady Farthington has quite a bark, but she will appreciate your apology.”
He nodded and sat back, apparently having used up all his words. The temptation to glance at Rowan again proved too strong to resist, and I raised my eyes to his corner of the room.
He was still in conversation with Mama.
I sighed. What did it matter? I wasn’t marrying Rowan. I was marrying Clodwick. Safe, reliable, ghost-obsessed Clodwick. But even the sweet letter he had written to me with his apology and compliment could not buoy my spirits.
I might as well climb back in the tower with Penelope.
This was not the freedom I wanted.