Chapter 7
Mistaken Identities
“But Miss, you have such exquisite taste. And yellow is not your color. This color is barely anyone’s color. Are you sure this is what you are going to wear?”
Winnie was looking at the yellow gown she wore especially for the promenade with the Duke with disgust. Arabella wouldn’t, of course, look at her best for the occasion.
It didn’t matter that the Duke had figured out her plan.
She refused to yield. The endgame was still the same, only the rules changed.
To underline her determination, she took out a hatbox she had opened just once. It was a gift from an aunt. And it was horrid, over the top, adorned with fake flowers and fruits, a fashion abomination.
Arabella looked at the hat, and her heart constricted. She loved fashion, she had an eye for color and texture, and had designed several of her gowns on her own. To be publicly seen wearing this breakfast table centerpiece pained her heart. But this was war, and sacrifices had to be made.
“And fetch me the green shawl, Winnie.”
The doorbell rang, and Arabella’s heart jumped. Just nerves, she decided to ignore it. She descended to meet the Duke. The door was open, and she stood in front of him, a fake sweet smile on her lips.
He threw one look at her, and she saw the moment he realized what she had done.
She waited for the flinch, for the excuse, the barely suppressed horror.
Or even better, for the outburst that would have her sent to her room to change.
He was all dressed in strict black, and she had wax grapes dangling close to her ears, for crying out loud.
Instead, his expression did something strange. It softened. Arabella realized with dread that she had lost the first bout.
“Miss Arabella, you look… delectable,” he said, amused.
Arabella blinked in irritation, but the battle had just begun, and she was not going to be deterred by a setback. Perhaps he thought she didn’t have the nerve to walk among the ton looking like… this. He made the wrong bet.
“Thank you, Your Grace,” she said with a smile. “Shall we?”
“Of course,” he offered his arm. “The day is warm. I expect Hyde Park to be filled with people.”
Arabella wanted to kick him in the shin. He was provoking her openly. He didn’t take into account that she would walk around with tangerines on her heard everyday if it meant not marrying him.
She took his arm, and they walked out on the street, Winnie following them away from earshot. The day was indeed splendid, with the sun shining, and Arabella started to worry if the wax fruit would withstand the heat.
Then again, if the horrible exhibition of bad taste that someone decided to call a hat as a practical joke started to melt, it would be an excellent opportunity to ridicule the Duke more, which would surely hasten the end of their outing and perhaps give up on his plans.
They entered the park, and Arabella all but clapped to see that practically everyone was there, the paths riddled with couples and companies walking slowly under the sun. If one is to throw a performance, the bigger the audience, the better.
The moment they made their way down a path, all eyes turned to them, to her gown, to her hat. They took a path by the Serpentine, and she walked with her chin up, straight back. By her side, he too was unaffected, spine straight. And too darn good-looking.
“Miss Marriot,” Lady Whitemore and her husband approached.
Arabella smiled and pulled the Duke to meet the couple. Lady Whitemore was earnest and always spoke her mind, not in malice, but sheer naivety.
“Lady Whitemore,” she said in glee. “Lord Whitemore,” she greeted the stunned man, too.
Lord Whitemore, in a perfect opposite-attract situation, was a sharp individual, clever and perceptive. And he looked at the Duke with a look of openly conveyed condolences.
“Miss Arabella,” Lady Whitemore said in her shrill voice, “Your hat is… eye-catching.”
“It is my first promenade with His Grace, and I wanted to look at my best,” Arabella said with a wide smile.
“And decided that this,” Lord Whitemore looked at her with dread, “is your best?”
For sure, the Duke would be embarrassed to be seen with her like this. Ruse or no, she was nevertheless exposing him to public ridicule.
“I find,” the Duke said in his dry manner, “that Miss Arabella looks particularly charming.”
Arabella’s eyes widened. That was not the reaction that she expected. And obviously neither did Lord Whitemore, who looked at the Duke as if he was expecting an inevitable ‘but’ to be added to the claim that she was ‘charming’. But none came.
The Duke guided with a short bow away from the couple, who were left stunned, looking at them. She looked up at him as he guided them slowly and tried to see what was going through his brain.
“You are staring, Miss Arabella.” He said, looking ahead.
“I am trying to see if you are feeling alright, Your Grace.”
“I am feeling wonderful, thank you for your concern.”
“So, you do find me charming today?” Arabella pushed.
The Duke didn’t even miss a step, but his face shifted to what seemed almost like a smile.
“I do find your attempts endearing.”
“Endearing. Such a nice word to use when one is mocking the other.”
“I do assure you, Miss Arabella, that I do not mock you. On the contrary, I find your commitment very inspiring. Tell me, Miss Arabella, was this hat purchased especially for me?”
“Do not flatter yourself, Your Grace.”
“I rarely do.”
She looked up, only to find him looking at her with a slight smirk.
This was not going as planned. Arabella knew they made quite a, objectively, ridiculous.
spectacle. And yet the mere fact that he, the notorious, Cruel Duke, was walking by her side as if he accompanied a queen made looks of mockery less inclined to rise in people’s faces as they crossed them on the path.
Arabella saw her plan not only failing but completely backfiring.
She wouldn’t be surprised to see the most fashionable of ladies walking around with various shades of yellow and fruits on their heads.
Instead of making the Duke embarrassed, the only thing that Arabella had managed to do was to create a new fashion trend.
Thankfully, Arabella was prepared and had more arrows to fire. So she decided to go to the next step. As they turned to a new path, he saw a group of friends that she knew and happily recognized that among them was the greatest gossip of the whole ton, the Duchess of Basset.
“Oh, Gerald,” she said with surprising familiarity and a little whining voice, “I do not like uneven paths.”
She could almost taste victory. Upon hearing his first name with such ease and the little whiny addition, she saw a little crack in the mask.
Finally, she had coaxed a reaction out of the Duke.
For sure, he would chastise her for being so familiar with him, calling him by his first name.
The Duchess would hear, and the embarrassment would ensue.
“I thought you would enjoy the rose garden, Arabella,” the Duke responded.
Arabella tripped, and the Duke had the satisfaction of assisting her to stay in an upright position. She looked up and glared at him openly.
“I see what you mean,” he said right on the verge of proprietary closeness, “the path is quite uneven, Arabella.”
Now he was openly taunting her, mocking her, and Arabella felt rage and wrath rise within the depths of her soul. The merry company that would have witnessed the Duke’s outburst passed them by with soft giggles.
“You can let me go now,” Arabella hissed.
“And why would I do that,” the Duke asked, “when you feel this good in my arms?”
If one took a nice cold bucket of water and threw it over her head, Arabella would have maintained her composure better than she did at this very moment. Instead, heat rushed to her cheeks.
Oh no, he didn’t.
She dared look up to make sure that the Duke was still the one accompanying her when she saw his smile.
She knew she could read it well; it was a taunting smile, one that someone offers to a toddler when they indulge him in their fantasy games.
It was supposed to be enraging for Arabella to see him smile down at her like this.
Yet, even though she knew the emotion she should be invoking was anger, she got lost in that smile.
Her heart leapt to her throat, and her mouth fell slightly open.
If she had any other plans to annihilate all the wedding procedures, they evaporated along with her logic, which probably decided to stop for a nice cup of tea instead of assisting her in navigating the situation.
“You look quite lovely when you are confused,” the Duke added.
A single, breathless sigh left her mouth. Low, almost inaudible. But the Duke caught it and smirked knowingly.
Arabella decided that she needed an immediate distraction to counter the warfare that the Duke was deploying.
Right at that moment, a big dog passed them by, barreling down the hill to the lake. In its path, an elderly lady became the victim of that happy stroll. The dog passed by the elderly woman, his feet tangling in her skirts with such force that the woman was dragged down.
Arabella was ashamed to admit that she was happy that this happened.
“The poor woman,” she said honestly, but also with relief. “We need to help her.”
The new improvised plan was very well established. Either the Duke would refuse to help an old woman in need and reveal his true colors, or he would do the gentlemanly thing, and all his flirting advances would have to cease.
The two of them, along with Winnie, made their way to the old woman. Her own maid was trying to get her up, but the Duke insisted they should check if she was hurt before moving her.
“Is there anywhere you feel pain, my lady?” The Duke asked, crouching down.
This was a side effect that Arabella hadn’t foreseen. The caring, softer side of the Duke. A tinge of panic came over her. He was not supposed to be this considerate. Then, the old woman looked up, her face rejoiced, a smile bloomed on her lips, and with the sweetest voice, she said
“Peter?”
The maid was petrified. She looked at the Duke and then at her mistress.
“You must excuse my lady,” the maid explained. “Her husband died years ago. But lately you see, she is not very well…”
“Peter,” the old woman said, “I thought you wouldn‘t be accompanying me today.”
Arabella studied the Duke’s face, and all confusion evaporated. The Duke looked at the old woman with utter disbelief and almost undignified horror.
“Help me up, Peter,” the woman insisted.
The Duke was frozen and wouldn’t move. Arabella put her gloved hand in front of her mouth to dampen the echoing of her laughter throughout the whole of Hyde Park.
Still crouching, the Duke turned and threw her his most intimidating look.
It would have a greater effect if there weren’t an elderly lady wrapping her arm around his.
“You are enjoying this,” he accused her.
Arabella saw no reason not to accept the accusation.
“It is quite enjoyable, Your Grace.”
The Duke helped the old woman up and left her in the care of her maid. He turned his back and eyed Arabella with a look that said she would very much regret mocking him.
“You are not leaving, of course, Peter,” the woman persisted. “You have promised to escort me today on our promenade.”
The Duke‘s face stiffened in shock. His body froze, and he wouldn‘t dare turn back and face his… wife.
“Your Grace,” Arabella said, sniggering, “you did promise to accompany your wife.”
His eyes narrowed in a way that openly sent the message that he was very close to throwing Arabella in the Serpentine and keeping her underwater. Then he took a deep breath and turned to address the confused woman.
“My lady,” he said in a surprisingly soft way.
Annabelle realized that he was trying to wiggle his way out of this situation, but she was not ready to give up her entertainment.
“Of course, your husband will accompany you, my lady,” she interrupted him, “but you are hurt, so perhaps we should make our way back home.”
If looks could kill, Arabella would be lying dead on the green grass in the middle of Hyde Park simply because the Duke looked at her with such distaste.
“I do feel a little dizzy,” the old woman complained. “Please, Peter, help me back home.”
The Duke looked from the old woman to Arabella, from Arabella to Winnie, and from Winnie to the other maid, as if he was trying to make sure that this was the reality he was now living in. All four women looked at him expectantly and he seemed quite confused about what was expected of him.
“Your Grace,” Arabella said in a very generous spirit, “take your wife’s arm and accompany her through her carriage.”
The old woman didn’t need to be told twice. She leaned upon him and took one little step towards the exit of the park. The Duke looked absolutely dumbfounded. But there was no escaping the situation without accentuating his ruthless reputation.
So finally, with a look of abandon on his face, he took the old woman’s arm and led her to her carriage, with a gleeful Arabella following, unwilling to miss the spectacle.
And yet, when the Duke turned to her once more before entering the carriage, the look he gave her made it abundantly clear that she would soon regret her triumph.