Chapter 12 #3
"Miss Greystone is quite right," Whitmore said with malicious satisfaction, straightening his rumpled clothing with obvious dignity. "Which is why I have come to offer her the protection of my name once more. Marriage to me would silence all speculation about her current circumstances."
"Over my dead body," Devon snarled, his hands clenching into fists at his sides.
"That can be arranged," Whitmore replied with cold precision. "I am prepared to call you out, Your Grace, for the dishonour you have brought upon an innocent lady through your selfish refusal to do what honour demands."
The challenge hung in the air like a poison cloud, and Arabella felt her world begin to crumble around her as she realized the full implications of what was being proposed.
A duel between Devon and Whitmore would destroy any hope of containing the scandal, whilst the outcome, whatever it might be, would leave her position even more precarious than before.
"Stop," she said quietly, though her voice carried clearly through the charged atmosphere. "Both of you, stop this madness immediately."
She moved to stand between the two men, her chin lifted with the sort of regal dignity that her circumstances should have made impossible to maintain.
"Mr. Whitmore, I have already declined your generous offer of marriage, and my position on that matter remains unchanged.
As for you, Your Grace," she turned to face Devon with eyes that blazed with desperate determination, "I will not allow you to risk your life and reputation for my sake.
The time has come for me to remove myself from this household before any further damage is done. "
"Arabella, no," Devon said with raw desperation, reaching out as though to prevent her from leaving through sheer force of will. "You cannot...
"I must," she interrupted with quiet finality.
"Surely you can see that my continued presence here serves only to fuel speculation and place those I care about in impossible positions.
I have savings enough to establish myself independently, and it is past time I claimed the freedom such independence provides. "
The words were like daggers to Devon's heart, and Arabella saw him flinch as though she had struck him physically. Yet beneath his pain, she glimpsed something else; a reluctant understanding that her departure might indeed be the only solution to their impossible situation.
"Where will you go?" Livia asked with obvious distress, tears gathering in her dark eyes at the prospect of losing the companion who had become so dear to her.
"I have not yet decided," Arabella replied with forced composure.
"Perhaps Bath, or one of the smaller cathedral cities where a lady might live quietly without exciting comment.
The important thing is that I remove myself from circumstances that can only cause further pain to those I hold most dear. "
"How very convenient," Whitmore observed with sarcastic satisfaction. "The fallen woman flees to avoid facing the consequences of her choices, leaving chaos in her wake."
The cruel assessment sent Devon's barely controlled temper exploding into open violence. Before anyone could intervene, his fist connected with Whitmore's jaw with a sound like a pistol shot, sending the other man crashing to the floor in an undignified heap.
"Get out," Devon snarled, standing over his fallen opponent with the sort of predatory menace that made even Arabella take an involuntary step backward. "Get out of my house before I forget that I am a gentleman and give you the thrashing you so richly deserve."
Whitmore struggled to his feet with obvious difficulty, his jaw already beginning to swell from the force of Devon's blow. Yet rather than retreating, he smiled with malicious triumph.
"You have just provided me with all the witnesses I require," he said with cold satisfaction. "No gentleman of honour strikes another without providing satisfaction. You will meet me, Your Grace, or be branded a coward before all of society."
"Name your seconds," Devon replied with deadly calm, his rage crystallizing into ice-cold determination. "I shall be delighted to accommodate you."
"No!" Arabella cried out in desperation, moving to place herself between the two men once more. "I will not allow either of you to risk your lives over my tarnished reputation. Mr. Whitmore, if you withdraw your challenge, I will... I will consider your proposal of marriage."
The stunning reversal sent shock rippling through the room, and Arabella saw Devon's face go white with the sort of devastation that suggested she had just delivered a mortal blow.
"Arabella," he whispered, her name carrying all the weight of a prayer and a plea. "You cannot mean what you are saying."
"I mean it entirely," she replied with desperate composure, though her heart was breaking with every word. "Mr. Whitmore, do we have an understanding?"
Whitmore's smile was sharp with vindictive satisfaction. "Indeed we do, I am glad you see that any other option for a woman of your stature would be worse than death, my dear. I shall call upon your father tomorrow to arrange the settlements. I trust you will find married life educational."
As he departed with obvious triumph, leaving chaos and heartbreak in his wake, Arabella found herself facing the wreckage of everything she had come to hold dear.
In trying to protect Devon from the consequences of society's malicious speculation, she had instead trapped herself in a marriage that would be little better than a living death.
Yet as she looked into his stricken eyes and saw the devastation her decision had wrought, she knew that she would make the same choice again. Better to sacrifice her own happiness than to see the man she loved destroyed by scandal or violence.
The game was over, and society had won. All that remained was to face the consequences with whatever dignity she could muster, and to hope that someday, somehow, the memory of their brief happiness might prove sufficient compensation for a lifetime of regret.