Chapter 7 #3
She pulled back and looked at him with a smile. “You might have done so more successfully had we not been at the window already.”
His brows went up. “Because you were expecting me?”
“We had guests,” Arabella said. “They left just as you arrived.”
“My nephew,” Aunt Louisa explained quickly.
“And a few of his friends,” Felicity added.
Aunt Louisa gave a forced laugh. “Only listen to us keeping you when you are undoubtedly exhausted from your journey. You must be hungry.”
“I am,” Papa replied. “But I shan’t force you and Felicity to linger when you have other things you wish to do. Arabella, on the other hand”—he smiled at her—“I would like to join me.”
The servants were instructed to prepare something for Papa, and Arabella returned to the dining room with him.
She felt the impulse to show him the way, only to remember that he knew this townhouse better than she, for it was his.
She had come to think of it as Aunt Louisa’s, for that was the only way Arabella had known it—with her aunt giving orders.
None of the staff had been familiar to Arabella upon arrival, but Papa addressed the footman who served him by name.
It was strange to see him so at home in a place that had been foreign to her just a week ago.
How many times had he sat at this table and walked these streets?
She was accustomed to their life at Wetley, to thinking of it as both of their homes, but Papa spent nearly as much time here and at his estate on the outskirts of Town as he did at Wetley.
The realization sat strangely with her, making her own world, her own life, feel small and…inaccurate.
“Now,” Papa said, settling into his seat and picking up his utensils, “tell me about your time in Town.”
And so she did. While he ate a hearty dinner, she told him the places they had gone and the people she had met who had seemed so thrilled to make her acquaintance when they discovered she was his daughter.
“Most of them seemed not to know you had children,” she said, stealing a glance at him as she fiddled with the tablecloth. The surprise so many had shown was another thing that had sat strangely with her.
“I have not spoken freely of you or Mary or Catherine,” he said. “I do not care to have your names bandied about amongst the ton.”
“Ah,” she said, a weight lifting from her shoulders. He was always acting with the interests of her and her sisters at heart, even when it sometimes seemed like his protective measures were excessive.
The furrow on his brow when she mentioned Vauxhall was enough to keep her from going into more detail about the night. She had no wish to lie to him, but neither did she desire to cause trouble for Aunt Louisa.
“And what of these guests Louisa mentioned?” Papa asked.
“One is Mr. Fairchild—Aunt Louisa’s nephew, you know—and the others are his friends—the gentlemen he lives with.”
“Ah.” His expression was concealed as he looked down at the food on his plate, so she could not ascertain what he thought of this.
“Speaking of which,” she said, “I offered to introduce you to one of them—Mr. Hayes—for he is in Town on business and searching for investment opportunities. What is more, he has experience investing in the textile industry.”
Papa’s brows went up as he chewed, a look of casual interest in his eyes.
“Now that you have come to Town early,” she said, “you could accompany us to Lord Woodrow’s party, and I could introduce him to you.”
“I am agreeable, though that reminds me that I have some unwelcome news.”
Her heart sank, her mind flitting immediately to the possibility that they would have to return to Wetley.
He grimaced and took her hand, squeezing it. “I must go to Dover next week. Not for long, of course, but it is inevitable, I fear.”
She tried to conceal her relief. She would rather he be in Town with her, of course, but having him leave again for a few days was far preferable to their leaving London entirely.
She offered a bracing smile. “We shall manage our best without you, but do not stay away longer than you must.”
“Of course not. Duty will bring me back as swiftly as I may return, for I have both paternal and parliamentary duties here.” He broke his hand away to pick up his fork again, and only the light clanking of his cutlery on the china filled the room.
Life is too short to let important questions remain unasked.
Arabella’s stomach tightened with nerves, but Papa seemed to be in a good humor at the moment. Now was as good a time as any, surely.
“Papa.”
“Hm?” He gestured for the salt, and she handed it to him.
“Now that I have been in Town a bit and seen its fashions firsthand, I wondered if you would ever entertain the notion of my designing the window display in Burlington Arcade.”
His gaze swept to hers.
“I have received more compliments on my attire than I can count,” she hurried to say. “Aunt Louisa took us to see the shop last week, and the current display is well enough, but it could be so much more! I am certain I could help.”
Papa regarded her for a moment, and she met his gaze, unable to hide the hope in her face.
“Would it not be beneficial for you to have the inventory sell more quickly, making way for new fabrics?” she asked.
The edge of his lip tilted upward, and he smiled at her. “A persuasive argument.”
The hope within her bloomed. “If it proved to be unsuccessful, I would not press you further.”
He kept his eyes on her for what seemed like an age. “Very well.”
She grasped his hand impulsively.
“Provided”—he held up his other hand to check her enthusiasm—“everything goes well for the next few weeks.”
Arabella nodded, eager to show she understood what was expected of her.
“Acquit yourself well, as I know you shall—heed your aunt, be a credit to the Easton name—and you will be rewarded with this wish of yours.”
“Thank you, Papa. I promise you I shan’t give you any cause for concern or any reason to worry.”
She embraced him again, her mind already teeming with ideas for the display.