Chapter 2 #2
She knew it well because she had met Alexander there on many an occasion when they were learning about each other and beginning their journey of infatuation.
Following a moment of straining to hear it again, she sighed. It had probably only been the wind, taunting her with sounds of promise that would never be realized.
But as she turned a second time, she heard it again, and this time it was unmistakably a horse whinnying. Only this was not simply a generic animalistic sound, but a very specific sort.
When she and Alexander had confessed their love to one another, he would often meet with her past dark.
On these occasions, to signal that he had arrived, he would manipulate his sweet horse into making this awfully funny little whinnying noise that was a combination of a snuffle, a haughty laugh, and a cough.
It was quite unique and had always made Arabella smile.
She almost dropped a china cup but saved it as it went to slip from her fingers. She settled the crockery down upon the wooden surface and leaned towards the window, desperate to hear it again.
Alexander is dead. She had to remind herself of this devastating fact because her heart was hammering as if it hoped to see him.
He may have passed along that bridleway in years gone by, and he may have made his horse whinny for her in an amusing fashion that the wind now replicated, but he was dead.
Arabella experienced a wave of self-pity, a rare practice for her. As she pressed her palms into the wood, aching to hear the horse once more, her mind viciously recounted all her many woes.
She had lost the love of her life twice.
Firstly, through a horrendous scandal. Marcus reported that he had stumbled upon his brother in the study, covered in their father’s blood, and he’d encouraged his brother to flee as he was sure the magistrate would not view the scene favourably.
To Arabella’s keen eye, she felt there was more to Marcus’s story, even though she unequivocally trusted that Alexander could not have been the aggressor.
His abandonment was painful, but yet to come was the worst—Marcus’s secondary news of Alexander’s untimely death.
It was unclear, Marcus had reported, how exactly he had met his death.
Whether it was from exposure to the elements, as it had been a harsh winter when he ran, and, without any preparatory clothing or sustenance to aid him on his journey, he could have frozen or starved to death.
It was also possible, Marcus advised, that bandits had killed him. Dressed in his finery as Alexander had been, bandits would have assumed he was monied, and when he was unable to produce any coins to fend them off, they would have slaughtered him.
Either way, Marcus had regretfully told Arabella, Alexander had not sent word of having arrived safely at his agreed place of refuge. It must therefore be assumed that he had not, and Marcus must reluctantly accept the role of earl in his brother’s rightful place.
Arabella had mourned for Alexander in a torrent of unremembered grief. Six months had apparently passed when Edmund made his proposal.
She had married out of convenience and social expectation, the only alternative to being ostracized by society. It was obvious to everybody that being the betrothed of a man rumoured to have committed patricide and fled the scene would commit one to a life of insolvency.
She had therefore compromised a loving relationship with a man she adored for one of steady sensibility with a gentleman who was kind but did not stir her emotions in any particular way.
The conscious effort Edmund always made with her also reinforced her awareness that he did not feel marital love for her either.
Their partnership was civil and vaguely formal.
She felt eternally indebted to him for having saved her from ruin, though Edmund himself never fortified this notion; he did not flaunt his charitable gesture.
It was merely a feeling within Arabella—that he had sacrificed his own chance of love and freedom to grant her a secure and comfortable life.
They appeased one another constantly, but it brought neither party any joy.
This cheerless existence was a constant reminder that Edmund married her as a nod of respect to his deceased cousin, and this fact alone painted Alexander as the catalyst of her everyday comfort, even though he could not be there to live it with her.
Most days, the conflict in her heart felt unbearable.
As if these sadnesses were not abundant enough, the world had sent her further heartbreak when Edmund had succumbed to some unknown illness and died quite suddenly.
Arabella grieved again, though the depth of her melancholy did not hit as hard—losing Edmund was a tragic sadness, where losing Alexander had been catastrophically soul-destroying.
Why now, Arabella thought angrily, must the wind howling over the bridlepath mock her sorrow by contributing false hope in a dark, cold night?
Composing herself and throwing a polite smile in Sally’s direction, Arabella continued to prepare the tea, breathing through the palpitations and concentrating on her hands, which could not stop trembling.