Chapter 10
TEN
ARABELLA
Papa was introduced to Aunt Louisa’s friend, Mrs. King, who exchanged a few polite words with him, then excused herself.
Arabella looked to the refreshment table for Mr. Hayes, but he was not there.
“Are you looking for someone, dear?” Papa asked, trying to follow her gaze.
“Mr. Hayes. The gentleman I told you of—the one who is looking for opportunities to invest.”
“Ah, yes. Where is he?”
“On my errand,” Aunt Louisa said. “He went to fetch us refreshments, for this room is on the verge of boiling over.” She fanned herself.
Arabella searched the room, a little furrow on her brow, until she finally spotted him with a leap of her heart.
He was not making his way toward them, however, and his hands were empty. In fact, he seemed to be heading for the door, his gait quick and purposeful.
He reached it, then disappeared.
“He should have returned by now, surely,” Aunt Louisa said, making her own search for him near the tables. She frowned, the perimeter of her hunt expanding. “I do not see him anywhere.”
“Perhaps he went to give Mrs. King her punch,” Arabella said, her stomach tight with emotions she could not put a name to.
“Mrs. King is over there,” Papa said, indicating the woman a dozen feet away. “And she has no punch.”
“Perhaps he was called away urgently.” Arabella could hear the pathetic hope in her voice, even though she herself did not believe the excuse. Had he not done something similar at Vauxhall? He had not ever revealed why he had done it then, either.
I am an impulsive man.
That was all the explanation he had provided, and it was no explanation at all.
“If he cannot be troubled to make an appearance for an introduction,” Papa said, “I have no interest in discussing investment with him. Shall I fetch your drink, Louisa?”
“Would you? And a ratafia for Arabella.”
He nodded and went off, just as Mr. Hayes had done. But unlike Mr. Hayes, Papa returned.
Arabella’s good humor was not quite as quick to do so, however. For a quarter of an hour, she found herself looking toward the doorway through which she had seen Mr. Hayes depart, hoping to see him hurry through it, full of excuses for his strange behavior.
But she looked in vain, and the effect on her was to make her feel low and confused. The longer he remained absent, the more her emotions shifted toward vexation.
“Why did you and Mr. Hayes not stay for the second dance of the set?” Felicity asked when Mr. Drake returned her to her mother’s care.
“Mr. Hayes left,” Arabella replied coolly, sipping from her glass.
“After you introduced him to your father?”
“He did not meet Papa. He simply disappeared. Again.”
Felicity gave a little scoff. “How very curious of him!”
“I would rather call it infamous. One sudden disappearance might be excused. Two begins to take on the appearance of a habit.”
Felicity threaded her arm through Arabella’s. “Oh, Bella. You needn’t be so upset. It is not as though you are courting one another. He is playing a game, and if you ask me, you should be playing it too. There is no feeling quite like beating someone at their own game.”
“I do not at all understand, Felicity,” Arabella replied in a defeated voice.
“When I play games with my younger sisters, it is one we agree upon together, with clear rules and goals. How am I to play a game, to say nothing of winning it, when I have no idea what the aim is?” She simply could not understand what purpose Mr. Hayes’s disappearances served except to confuse her and make her feel forgettable and easily discarded.
Felicity took both of Arabella’s hands and smiled at her.
“The only rule to a game like this is never to allow your opponent to believe he has bested you. Do not give him the satisfaction of even noticing he disappeared tonight. It is sure to drive him mad!” She looked positively joyful at the idea.
But Arabella had not thought of Mr. Hayes as an opponent. She had come to think of him as a friend.
Evidently, she had been wrong to do so.
But she would not be so taken in again. She would, however, heed Felicity’s counsel and not allow Mr. Hayes to know that his actions had bothered her.
The window of The Silk Room in Burlington Arcade was mostly clear, save a few smudges from hands which had pressed against it.
Behind the glass, wooden racks held two dozen bolts of fabric, arranged in an orderly manner but with little rhyme or reason.
Most of the fabrics seemed targeted toward gentlemen—grays, deep blues, browns, and blacks meant for tailcoats, with one crimson for a waistcoat, perhaps.
It was well enough, but Arabella could not help imagining how much better it might be with more artistry and vision.
At Wetley, she had an entire room full of fabrics and ribbons and thread, and she had come to find how the arrangement of it all sparked her own desire to sew.
If it grew disorganized, that desire faltered.
Might it not be the same for those passing by the shop window? What would more color, more embellishment, more imagination do?
“You think you can improve upon it?” Papa asked as they stood before the window.
He had agreed to allow her to accompany him to The Silk Room this morning before his departure for Dover.
“I do,” Arabella responded with quiet confidence.
“Hm.”
She smiled to herself. Papa would find it difficult to entrust her with such a thing. Not her only, though. He was a man who was accustomed to control. He did not merely hope things went his way; he ensured they did.
If he would let her have free rein, though, he would see how a woman’s touch could draw more customers, making way for new inventory and building a reputation for the place among the ton.
And he had agreed to entertain that possibility—thanks to Mr. Hayes’s suggestion that Arabella pose the question.
A sliver of annoyance lodged itself in her chest. Gratitude toward Mr. Hayes was not what she wished to feel at this particular time, and yet she doubted she would have asked Papa if it had not been for Mr. Hayes’s urging.
Well, she would not go out of her way to thank him this time.
The knock on the front door while Arabella read in the sitting room did not bring her head up, but the sound of Mr. Fairchild’s voice in the entry hall did. She listened for any voice besides his, hardly knowing whether she wished to hear it or not.
But Mr. Fairchild was alone, a fact which was confirmed less than a minute later when he came through the sitting room door.
Felicity set aside the newest edition of La Belle Assemblée as though Mr. Fairchild had been precisely the excuse she had been wishing for to do so.
“I was passing by and thought I would stop in and see how you are getting on,” Mr. Fairchild said.
“Terribly bored,” Felicity said.
“Where is my aunt?”
“Resting. Have you any news?”
Mr. Fairchild frowned pensively. “It has been rather dull since I saw you last.”
“We have not been alone in our boredom, then. But perhaps we can change that now that Uncle Drayt—” Her gaze darted to Arabella, and she hastily added, “Never mind that.”
Arabella suppressed a sigh. She wished Felicity and Aunt Louisa were not so intimidated by Papa.
He had left for Dover yesterday and was expected to be absent for a few days.
There was no telling for certain when the shipment he was awaiting would arrive.
Arabella’s feelings upon his departure were mixed.
On the one hand, she had been glad for his presence; on the other, there would be a greater degree of freedom without him, and wretched though it made her feel, she was not opposed to this.
“Have you come to extend an invitation to us?” Felicity asked. “Some party or other which would be unbearably dull without us, no doubt.” Her eyes fixed hopefully on Mr. Fairchild.
“Erm, not exactly.”
“Nothing?” Felicity said. “Not a single event of note?”
“There is an art auction on Friday. Silent, I believe. Proceeds to charity. That sort of thing.”
Arabella set down her book, her interest piqued. “What sort of art?”
He shrugged. “Paintings and drawings done by members of the ton, as I understand it.”
Felicity’s nose scrunched. “Are they any good?”
“You will have to answer that question for yourself. But even if they are not, it is in the Egyptian Hall, which may be of interest to Miss Easton in and of itself.”
“What is the Egyptian Hall?” Arabella asked, even more intrigued.
“Oh, it is the most curious building,” Felicity said.
“Only a few years old. The man who commissioned it had it built to display his own collection, but it is full of curiosities. You will adore it, Bella. What do you say? Shall we go?” Felicity’s eager expression made it abundantly clear what answer she expected.
Happily for her, Arabella could provide it, for she was every bit as enthusiastic at the prospect.
She adored art, and she was curious just how much talent would be on display.
But the venue itself would have been enough to draw her in, for she had read a great deal about Egyptian civilization.
“I would quite like that—if Aunt Louisa agrees, of course.”
“She will,” Felicity said without another thought. “And we may wear our new dresses.”
“True,” Arabella said, even further convinced that this auction was precisely what she needed. Papa would approve too, if he knew. There could be nothing untoward about a charity auction full of the ton.
“Will you accompany us, Benedict?” Felicity asked.
He frowned. “I told Yorke and Hayes I would go with them.”
Arabella was already lost in thought deciding what gloves and jewelry she would wear to the auction, but this comment had the effect of unceremoniously pulling her from the pleasant endeavor. Mr. Hayes would be there?
“Never you mind, then,” Felicity said to Mr. Fairchild. “We will see you there.”
“Good,” he responded. “If you have no commissions for me to fulfill, I shall be on my way. I will send Aunt Louisa the direction for the auction.” He gave a small bow, then left them to themselves again.