Chapter 2
WINTER GAZE
“Well, that was just pure luck that we ended our walk right as the rain started,” Arabella said to her maid.
“You are right, Miss Arabella,” Winnie said. “And even better that it was so sunny before that.”
“It would have been quite inconvenient to shop for gloves in such a downpour,” Arabella chuckled. “And Alexandra is always so prone to getting sick in bad weather. I would just worry about her.”
“You are always so kind to your friends,” Winnie said sweetly. “Perhaps that is why you have so many. Even ladies that you met on the streets decided to join your company.”
Arabella looked out the carriage window at the grey sky raining heavily on the streets of London.
It was true, her friends, Alexandra and Kate, joined her, of course, but they seemed to be gathering more ladies as they went from shop to shop.
Some mamas even rushed their recently debuted daughters to join them.
“I didn’t like how Lady Heringhton talked to her daughter when we met in the bonnet shop. Perhaps that is why the young lady was so eager to join us for the rest of the day.”
Winnie nodded her head, agreeing with her mistress.
“I will make sure to invite her more to our outings.”
“You really are an angel, Miss Arabella,” Winnie said.
Arabella really had a good time and was now looking forward to some luncheon in her home, talking to her sister. Arabella looked out the window with a sigh. She really wished Bridget would join them, but she never did.
And that was exactly what she heard as she entered her house. Even from the hallway, she could hear her father’s voice.
“Your sister invited you three times this morning to go with her and her friends, and you turned her down without a good explanation.”
Arabella froze at hearing her father talking so harshly.
She knew exactly who was the recipient of his anger.
None other than her sister, Bridget. It was true, Arabella did ask Bridget to go with her like she did every other time.
Exactly like she did every other time, Bridget didn’t even respond.
She just shook her head and went back to her books.
“All you do all day,” her father’s voice echoed in the house, “is sit around with that gloomy face of yours—reading or simply looking out the window. You never talk, you never laugh, and we basically have to drag you out of the house for some functions.”
Arabella tightened her fists and hastened her step to reach the drawing room. Bridget had always been more shy and reserved, but lately, she rarely wanted to leave the house. That didn’t mean that her father had the right to talk to her like that.
“Arabella is out there, carrying our name, making friends, and being social. A proper lady of the ton. She creates a good name for us. It would be good for you and us if you were to assist her in this endeavor. Not to sit around making everyone as sad as you are.”
“I am not trying to—” Bridget’s voice carried brittle and small through the door.
“That is exactly the problem, you’re not even trying.”
Arabella took off her gloves and her hat as fast as she could and handed them to Winnie.
“Bridget,” their father’s tone went even more serious, “if life in London is so appalling to you, then perhaps I should just send you to your grandmother in Wales. Perhaps the change of scenery, or just being away, might help you improve your gloom.”
Arabella had heard enough. She pushed the door to the drawing room. The moment she stepped in, both her father and her sister looked at her. She carefully closed the door behind her.
“I want you to stop, Father.”
“Arabella, you’re back,” her father said.
“And just in time, so it seems.”
Arabella’s eyes found her sister’s. She was afraid she would find them teary, but Bridget rarely cried. She was just sad, feeling guilty of all the things that her father had accused her of.
“How was your walk with your friends?” Oswald asked pointedly, glancing at Bridget.
“It was quite pleasant ’till I had to return home and hear my own father accuse my sister of things that are not at all important.”
Oswald’s face went rigid.
“You find it of little importance that your sister is idling all day, avoiding human interaction? How is she supposed to secure a husband that way?”
“It may come as a surprise to you, Father, but marriage is not a goal everyone aspires to.”
Oswald’s face reddened, and his back straightened as he looked down at Arabella’s bright blue eyes, the same color as his. She moved to sit beside her sister, taking her hand in hers
“And I don’t want you to even mention sending Bridget away.”
“I was merely suggesting that perhaps Bridget would be happier away from London.”
“If Bridget leaves, I will too. And I will end my blissful spinsterhood days in Wales.”
Her father’s chin dropped at his daughter’s statement, and he looked at her with a menacing look.
“You will do nothing,” Oswald cut in, sharp and final. “You will attend your engagements, you will smile, and you will not interfere in matters you clearly do not understand.”
“Father—”
“I will have you learn your place, Arabella,” Oswald said with finality. “I demand respect when you are talking to me.”
“We demand respect too,” Arabella dared.
Arabella was usually kind, but that was ’until someone tried to step on her toes.
“Arabella, I would be very careful if I were you or else—” Oswald started.
Oswalt was ready to escalate the fight. It was not common for Arabella to talk back to him that way, and he was not ready to let it slide. But at that moment, the butler came in with a silver tray that had a calling card.
“You have a visitor, Sir.”
Oswald took the calling card and read the name.
“Duke of Albury,” he almost whispered as if the name would summon some kind of demon in their household.
“The Duke of Albury?” Arabella asked, trying to remember if he had met that Duke in any of the balls or events that she had frequently attended.
“Isn’t that…?” It was Bridget who spoke up. “Isn’t he the one they call the Cruel Duke?”
Arabella’s eyes widened. There was a reason that the name meant nothing to her. The Duke of Albury was rarely, if ever, seen at balls or functions. He attended very few, and the reason mostly stood with what Bridget had called him.
He was coined the Cruel Duke, and the rumors regarding his person ranged from alarming to absolutely terrifying.
As a result, despite his massive fortune and great political influence, the Duke did not enjoy the open arms that the ton would ordinarily offer to a man of his station.
Invitations were scarce, and most of them were declined.
Alexandra herself had warned Arabella when she once joked that she would marry practically anyone who wasn’t boring. Someone in her circle had offered the Cruel Duke as an option since the name suggested anything but dull. But Alexandra warned every young lady to stay away from the Duke of Albury.
“Why would he be here?” her father wondered. “I knew his father, of course, but not the son.”
“Can’t you just …” Bridget tried, “… turn him away?”
“Apart from the fact that I am curious, he’s really not the right person to make aan enemy of. Tell the kitchen to prepare tea with biscuits,” Oswald said to the butler, “and allow the man in.”
Arabella held Bridget’s hand tighter as she heard footsteps coming from the hallway.
Unhurried, measured, heavy footsteps. And then the Duke appeared at the threshold.
The moment he stepped into the drawing room, Arabella’s first thought was that the room was not big enough.
She had heard that the Albury estate was a massive building, and now, she knew why.
It was not for vanity; it was practical. The man had to fit somewhere.
The Duke of Albury was by far the biggest man she had ever laid eyes upon.
He was not only tall but also broad, his shoulders barely fitting through the door.
His face looked like it was carved into granite with high cheekbones that could cut through glass, a straight aristocratic nose, and a pair of luscious lips that remained plum even though they were firmly pressed together.
What made Arabella instantly feel like she was being stalked by a predator were his deep green eyes. They were slightly too big for his strong face, something that would perhaps soften it if it weren’t for the harsh look that they delivered.
“Welcome, Your Grace,” Oswald practiced his good manners despite the obvious shock he too was in.
The Duke said nothing for a few seconds while his look went over the room as if he was expecting some kind of danger to spring out from the pianoforte at the corner.
“I will not take up much of your time, Lord Lambourne. I am here on a contractual matter.”
“I do not understand, Your Grace. I am not sure we have any contractual matters. I was a close acquaintance with your father, but I’ve never even had the pleasure of being formally introduced to you.”
“It is exactly a contract between you and my father that I am here to talk about,” the Duke said.
Arabella tried to analyze the tone of his voice rather than the words he delivered in that deep, gravelly voice that seemed to stem from his chest. But it was as if the Duke had gone to great lengths to be able to deliver words that made absolute logical reason but carried none of the emotional weight.
“A contract between your father and me, you say?” Oswald was also surprised to hear this. “I am not familiar with something like this either. We were friends, but we were never business partners.”
The Duke seemed annoyed as he reached into his pocket. He procured a document and handed it to the Viscount. Then he calmly took off his gloves and stood still while Arabella’s father was reading the document.
“Oh,” Oswald chuckled. “I haven’t seen that one in years.”
Oswald looked down at the document as if reminiscing about simpler times. Arabella was now curious to hear what this document was that connected a duke with her father.