Chapter 28
Arabella
After dinner, my sisters and I gathered in our quiet drawing room, settling on the sofa near each other while Papa and Mr. Mason whispered quietly by the fireplace.
Mama brought out her sewing basket like usual, squinting over her embroidery under the dim glow of the candlestick beside her.
The last few weeks this room had been filled with a near constant chatter of family and guests.
Now, with the absence of Rowan, it felt like an empty tomb in comparison.
“Are you certain mailing this letter is a good idea?” Tabitha asked, bent over so both Elizabeth and I could hear her. “You are not engaged, and therefore, it is highly improper.”
“She has to,” Elizabeth argued. “I need Mr. Ashworth’s connections to find a husband.”
Tabitha guffawed. “What about my husband’s connections?”
“You mean Mr. Clodwick? No, thank you.”
I gave a half-hearted chuckle. “Please, no more quarreling. It is decided. I will read it with fresh eyes in the morning and send it on its way.”
“This isn’t one of your novels,” Tabitha cautioned. “We must prepare ourselves for an unhappy ending.”
“Thank you for your encouraging words. I will prepare myself to be perfectly miserable.” I groaned softly and rested my head back against the top of the sofa.
I had leaned on Rowan’s words spoken the night before he’d left, and I wanted to believe he would give me another chance once he read my explanation.
But as the color of the skies had dimmed into muted darkness, feelings of bleakness threatened to consume my hope.
“I think I’ll call it an early night. I’ll have a clear head in the morning.”
My sisters gave nods of sympathetic understanding.
I stood and bid my family goodnight.
Leaving the drawing room, I rounded the corner to the front vestibule, surprised to find the candles were not yet lit.
The servants had not anticipated my desire to go to bed early.
Not that it mattered. The dark did not bother me, for I knew the way by heart.
I began my way up the stairs when the front door creaked open a few inches behind me.
I jumped and instinctively grabbed the banister and braced myself against the far wall of the staircase.
A faint line of an arm slipped through the narrow gap of the door into view.
My heart stuck in my throat, and I could barely breathe.
Were we about to be robbed? A moment later, the shadow of a man fully entered and shut the door quietly behind him.
He tiptoed closer, his gaze focused on the corridor, missing my presence entirely.
My whole body seized with fear with his every step nearer, and though tempted to squeeze my eyes shut, I squinted at the passing figure.
Instinctively, I knew he was headed to Papa’s study. If I screamed, he would likely run for the door and escape before he was caught. But with everyone in the drawing room, and not a servant in sight, there was no one else to stop him but me.
Me?
But what could I do? Thoughts fired in my head, but all of them were better fit for a fictional character than a woman who spent her free time at a writing desk. But I had to do something or the opportunity would be lost much as it had been when I had let Rowan leave without stopping him.
Before I could properly think through my decision, I hiked up my dress, scrambled over the railing, and threw myself over it. My body slammed into the shoulders and head of the man, and I knocked him to the ground.
Pain flared from my knee, but my thoughts were on the man beneath me. My hands went to his neck, as any great hero would do, and I squeezed with all my might.
“Arabella!” croaked the man, his much larger hands clasping my wrists.
My rational mind caught up with my actions. That voice, choked as it was, belonged to Rowan!
I released him and brought my head closer to his. “Ro-Rowan?”
“Are we back to trying to kill each other?” His breath was short, and I felt terrible for hurting him.
“I thought you were a robber.”
He coughed. “I suppose it was worth almost dying to get you to throw yourself at me.”
Heat flamed my cheeks, and it was a wonder they did not light up the room. I rolled off of Rowan and straightened my dress over my knees.
Rowan sat up too and rubbed at his neck. My eyes had adjusted to the dark, and I could make out more of his features than before. “You came back,” I blurted.
“Did your father not tell you?”
“Tell me what?”
“That he asked me to read and return some books on the carriage ride before I made my way back to Ashworth Hall.”
“Papa said nothing to me. I thought . . . I thought . . .”
“You thought you were rid of me?” His voice held a note of derision. “I was afraid that you wouldn’t want to see me again, which is why I tried to sneak in.”
“Not at all. I thought I had missed my chance to speak to you. I overslept the morning you left.”
“You did?”
“I feel terrible. I wanted to tell you—”
The door of the drawing room swung open, and we jumped to our feet.
“I knew I heard something,” Mr. Mason said, swinging his candlestick our way. “Arabella? Mr. Ashworth?”
“Surprise,” Rowan said sheepishly.
My family crowded into the corridor, everyone talking at once.
“Did you make good time?” Mama asked.
“We didn’t know you were returning.” Elizabeth’s gaze swung to mine, but I had nothing to tell her. I was as surprised as she was.
“Let’s move to the drawing room,” Papa said. The housekeeper and butler had heard the commotion and hovered on the edge of the servants’ stair. “Bring up some tea and sandwiches,” Papa ordered. “Mr. Ashworth must be famished.”
Rowan’s gaze found mine in the chaos, holding it captive and keeping me from following as everyone filed back into the drawing room.
Candlelight from the vestibule table now left dancing shadows on his profile.
His hair was as disheveled as the day he’d arrived in Quillsbury.
A dark scruff lined his jaw, making him appear older than he was, but not at all in an undesirable way.
In fact, even as tired as he appeared, he was the most handsome man I had ever seen.
My heart knew it too. It stumbled all over itself, tripping to keep up with my racing thoughts that were all about him.
“Was there something you wanted to tell me?” he asked.
I wanted to say a million things. I wanted to tell him that Clodwick was gone and explain that I didn’t care because I loved him. Yes, I loved him. I knew it now just as much as I knew that not even my writing could keep me from him.
His feet brought him ever closer, and in a rush of excitement, I found myself uttering the first thought that came to my mind. “Thank you for helping Harriet. She said you wrote to her in-laws, and now she has been granted more freedoms from her husband.”
His mouth turned up at the corners. “Of course. It’s what friends are for.”
Friends? I dared not say the word out loud, but my heart sank like a rock dropped in a well—falling all the way to the bottom where not even a splash could be heard. He didn’t mean us, did he? I didn’t think he did, but it was late, and the room was dark, and I couldn’t tell anything for certain.
“What’s wrong?” he whispered.
“I . . . I think we should join the others.” I forced a tight smile. The morning was soon enough to sort everything. I needed to think things through properly—when his presence wasn’t muddling my mind.
“Nothing has changed, Arabella,” he said, stepping ever closer to me, our heads only inches from each other. “I still feel exactly as I did before I left.”
How had he read my mind? “Do you really?”
“My back has a knot the size of England after being tackled to the floor, and my throat may be a little sore in the morning, but my heart?” His eyes seemed to drink me in. “My heart is still yours.”
I felt myself reaching for him, despite the servants nearby and family on the other side of the wall from us. Let them talk all they wanted.
Rowan stepped right into my arms but kept his head back—close but not close enough. “I see absence makes the heart grow fonder.”
“I see you’re still an obnoxious tease.” I wasn’t angry that he wasn’t kissing me, but my patience was wavering like a boat about to capsize under pressure.
“A tease who would never force you to marry him—not again—even if it sounds rather exciting to be caught in this position with you.” He leaned close to my ear.
“But that does not mean that I will behave tomorrow.” His breath tickled below my ear, sending a shiver down my neck and arms. “Meet me in the library?”
I nodded, my cheek scratching against the scruff on his jaw. “Before breakfast.”
I felt the faintest touch just below my earlobe, a kiss so brief I’d almost missed it.
He pulled back and smiled at me, as if I was worth a thousand rides to London and back and having a woman drop on him upon his return.
This man that I had hated only weeks ago I was now loath to be parted from for even a few more hours.
With great reluctance, I released my hold on his waist. Tomorrow morning felt like an eternity, but I would suffer with the patience of a saint if it meant he still wanted to marry me.
And by the way he took my hand and tucked it in his arm, I think it was safe to say that he very much did.