Chapter 2
"The scandal sheets shall have a field day with this, remember my words."
Lady Greystone paced the length of the morning room with quick, agitated steps, her breakfast growing cold upon the mahogany table as she wrung her hands in distress.
The London papers lay scattered across the polished surface, their headlines screaming the sort of salacious gossip that the ton devoured with their morning tea.
"Mama, surely the situation cannot be as dire as all that," Cordelia ventured from her seat near the window, though her blue eyes were wide with concern as she glanced toward her elder sister.
Arabella sat rigidly upright in her chair, her hands folded precisely in her lap, every line of her body speaking of barely controlled composure.
She had not slept a wink the previous night, replaying every moment of that disastrous encounter in Lord Godric's folly, and the dark smudges beneath her eyes bore testament to her sleepless vigil.
"Not as dire?" Lady Greystone's voice rose to a pitch that made the crystal chandelier tinkle ominously.
"My dear child, your sister has been thoroughly compromised by the most notorious rake in London.
The morning callers have already begun sending their regrets for this afternoon's tea.
Lady Huxley has made certain that every drawing room in Mayfair is buzzing with speculation about what transpired between Arabella and the Duke of Ravenshollow. "
Lord Richard Greystone lowered his newspaper with a rustle of displeasure, his weathered face grave as he regarded his elder daughter. "The question now becomes what we are to do about it. There are but two courses of action available to us."
Arabella's stomach clenched with dread, though she kept her expression carefully neutral. "And what might those be, Papa?"
"You must either marry the duke," Lord Richard said with the blunt practicality that had served him well in Parliament, "or face complete social ostracism. There is no middle ground in such matters."
"Marriage?" Cordelia gasped, her romantic heart immediately seizing upon what she perceived as a fairy tale ending. "Oh, Bella, how perfectly wonderful! To be a duchess…," she said genuinely as her meeting with the Duke was nothing more than mere curiosity and not affection.
"Do not be absurd," Arabella interrupted sharply, her composure finally cracking. "His Grace has no intention of marrying me or anyone else. The man is a confirmed bachelor whose idea of commitment extends no further than a single evening's entertainment."
Lady Greystone paused in her pacing, turning to fix her daughter with a speculative look. "Nevertheless, he has compromised you. Honour demands that he make reparations."
"Honour?" Arabella laughed bitterly. "Mama, the Duke of Ravenshollow's understanding of honour is vastly different from our own. He will no doubt find the entire situation vastly amusing and move on to his next conquest without a backward glance."
As if summoned by her words, the butler appeared in the doorway, his expression carefully schooled into neutrality despite the fact that his eyes held a glimmer of excitement that he could not quite suppress.
"Forgive the interruption, my Lord," Jameson intoned with proper dignity, "but His Grace, the Duke of Ravenshollow, has called and requests an audience with the family."
The silence that followed this announcement was so complete that Arabella could hear her own heartbeat thundering in her ears. Surely she had misheard. Surely Devon Ashworth had not actually come calling, as though he were a respectable suitor rather than the architect of her destruction.
"His Grace is here?" Lady Greystone whispered, one hand pressed to her throat as though she could not quite credit such an extraordinary development.
"Indeed, my lady. He awaits your pleasure in the front parlour."
Lord Richard rose from his chair with the ponderous dignity of a man who had spent decades dealing with the machinations of his political colleagues. "Show him in, Jameson. It would appear that His Grace wishes to discuss last evening's incident."
Arabella's mouth went dry as dust. The thought of facing Devon again, of looking into those dark eyes that had haunted her dreams, filled her with a complex mixture of dread and anticipation that she dared not examine too closely.
"Perhaps," she began desperately, "I might be permitted to withdraw..."
"Absolutely not," her father said firmly. "This concerns you most directly, my dear. You shall remain and hear what His Grace has to say."
The few minutes that passed before Devon's arrival felt like hours to Arabella. She smoothed her morning dress of dove-gray muslin, tucked an errant curl behind her ear, and tried to prepare herself for whatever manner of humiliation awaited her.
When the door opened and Devon entered, resplendent in a perfectly tailored coat of midnight blue superfine and buff-colored pantaloons, Arabella felt her breath catch in her throat.
In the harsh light of morning, he was even more devastatingly handsome than he had appeared by moonlight, his dark hair gleaming with pomade, his aristocratic features sharp and compelling.
"Lord Richard, Lady Greystone," he said, bowing with exquisite grace. His gaze swept over Cordelia with polite indifference before settling upon Arabella with an intensity that made her pulse quicken despite her determination to remain unmoved. "Miss Arabella, Miss Cordelia."
"Your Grace," Lord Richard replied stiffly, clearly struggling to maintain his composure in the face of such unexpected courtesy. "To what do we owe the honour of this visit?"
Devon's smile was perfectly pleasant, giving no indication of the turmoil he had caused within the household. "I believe we have certain matters to discuss regarding last evening's unfortunate misunderstanding."
"Misunderstanding?" Lady Greystone echoed faintly. "Your Grace, I hardly think..."
"Indeed," Devon continued smoothly, "I fear that Miss Arabella's reputation may have suffered due to circumstances entirely beyond her control. It would be unconscionable of me to allow such an injustice to stand."
Arabella stared at him in amazement. Was he actually going to propose marriage? The possibility seemed so fantastical that she wondered if she were still dreaming.
"You are most kind to concern yourself with our daughter's welfare," Lord Richard said carefully, "though I confess myself curious as to what remedy you might propose."
Devon's dark eyes glittered with something that might have been amusement as he turned his attention fully to Arabella. "Miss Arabella, I wonder if you might be amenable to a rather unconventional arrangement."
"I beg your pardon?" Arabella managed, her voice barely above a whisper.
"My sister, Lady Livia, is in desperate need of a companion," Devon explained, settling into the chair that Lord Richard indicated with a gesture.
"Someone of impeccable breeding and accomplishments who might serve as both chaperone and friend during her first Season.
The position would, naturally, remove you from London society for a time, allowing the current gossip to die a natural death. "
Arabella felt the blood drain from her face. Not marriage, then, but exile disguised as employment. The humiliation was almost more than she could bear.
"You are suggesting," she said with careful precision, "that I should hide myself away like some fallen woman whilst you continue to move freely through society?"
Devon's expression grew more serious, and for a moment, Arabella glimpsed something almost vulnerable in his dark eyes.
"I am suggesting a mutually beneficial arrangement.
Livia has been reluctant to enter society.
She requires someone with both patience and strength of character to guide her.
In return, you would be provided with an honourable position, excellent wages, and the opportunity to rehabilitate your reputation gradually. "
"As a paid companion," Arabella said flatly.
"As a valued member of my household," Devon corrected gently. "With all the respect and consideration that such a position entails."
Lady Greystone was looking between them with barely concealed hope. The prospect of her daughter avoiding complete social ruin was clearly more appealing than the alternative, regardless of the circumstances that had created the necessity.
"And what of marriage?" Lord Richard asked bluntly. "Honour would seem to demand..."
"Honour," Devon interrupted with a slight hardening of his features, "would be better served by preserving Miss Arabella's reputation than by forcing her into an unwanted union.
I have no intention of marrying, Lord Richard, now or ever.
Any woman who accepted my proposal would find herself wed to a man incapable of providing the devotion she deserves. "
The words were spoken so matter-of-factly, with such casual dismissal of matrimony as a possibility, that Arabella felt something twist painfully in her chest. She had not realized until that moment that some small, treacherous part of her had been hoping for a different sort of proposal entirely.
"I see," she said quietly, surprised by how steady her voice sounded when her entire world felt as though it were crumbling around her. "And this arrangement? How long would it be expected to last?"
"Until Livia is successfully established in society," Devon replied. "A season, perhaps two at most. Long enough for the current scandal to fade from memory and for you to emerge with your reputation intact."
"It is a generous offer," Lord Richard said slowly, though his tone suggested he was still grappling with the implications. "Most generous indeed."
Arabella looked around the room at her family's expectant faces, seeing her own fate written in their expressions.
Cordelia appeared worried but hopeful, clearly believing that her sister's association with a duke, even as a servant, was better than social exile.
Lady Greystone was practically radiating relief at the prospect of avoiding complete disgrace.
And Lord Richard, practical man that he was, obviously recognized the offer for what it was, a lifeline thrown to a drowning woman.
"I require time to consider your proposal, Your Grace," Arabella said finally, though they all knew she had no real choice in the matter.
Devon rose from his chair with fluid grace, his dark eyes holding hers with an intensity that made her feel as though they were alone in the room.
"Of course. Though I confess I hope you will look favourably upon the arrangement.
I believe you would find Livia's company quite agreeable, and my household staff is instructed to show you every courtesy. "
He moved toward the door, then paused, turning back with an expression that was suddenly, startlingly sincere. "Miss Arabella, I want you to understand that this situation was never my intention. I regret any distress I may have caused you or your family."
Before Arabella could respond, he was gone, leaving behind only the faint scent of sandalwood and bergamot and the echo of words that seemed to carry far more weight than a simple apology.
"Well," Lady Greystone said into the silence that followed his departure, "I believe we must count ourselves fortunate indeed. To be offered such a position by a duke..."
"I am to be a servant," Arabella interrupted, her carefully maintained composure finally beginning to crack. "A paid companion to ease his sister's social anxieties whilst he continues his debauched existence without a thought for the lives he has destroyed."
"You are to be preserved from utter ruin," her father said firmly. "And if you conduct yourself with dignity, you may yet emerge from this scandal with your honour intact. Many young ladies would count themselves fortunate to receive such an offer from a man of Ravenshollow's standing."
Arabella wanted to laugh at the bitter irony of it all.
Twenty-four hours ago, she had been Miss Arabella Greystone, respectable daughter of a baron, free to reject suitors and speak her mind and live her life according to her own principles.
Now she was a fallen woman, dependent upon the charity of the very man who had orchestrated her downfall.
"When must I give His Grace my answer?" she asked quietly.
"I believe," Lord Richard said with gentle sympathy, "that we all know what your answer must be, my dear. The only question is whether you will accept gracefully or allow pride to make a difficult situation even more trying."
Arabella nodded slowly, acknowledging the truth of his words even as her heart rebelled against them. She had no choice but to accept Devon's offer, to place herself under his protection and pretend that it was salvation rather than a different sort of imprisonment.
But as she sat in the morning room, surrounded by her family's well-meaning sympathy and the detritus of her former life, Arabella made herself a promise.
She would accept the Duke of Ravenshollow's bargain, would serve as his sister's companion with dignity and grace.
But she would not, would never, allow herself to forget that he was the architect of her current circumstances.
And she would certainly not allow herself to remember the way her pulse had quickened when his fingers had traced the line of her jaw, or the shameful longing that had coursed through her veins when he had looked at her as though she were the most fascinating woman in all of London.
Those were luxuries that a paid companion could not afford.