Chapter 3
DRAWING ROOM
All Arabella could hear was the ticking of the clock, the soft whisper of her slippers against the carpet, and the relentless pounding of her own heart.
She paced the length of the drawing room again and again. The heirloom Aubusson beneath her feet had endured three generations of Lambournes. It might not survive her agitation.
“You are making me anxious,” Bridget said at last.
Arabella stopped mid-stride.
“I am making you anxious? Not the fact that our father is up there, possibly brokering a marriage deal with the infamous Cruel Duke?”
Bridget’s spine went rigid, and she clasped her hands together, knuckles white. Arabella knew that she had misspoken and made matters worse for her delicate sister.
“I am sorry, that was not my intention,” Arabella said as she sat down beside her sister.
Bridget was almost shaking, and Arabella held her hands softly. She hated seeing her sister like this. Her eyes went to the door of the drawing room with a deep scowl. This was all the Duke’s fault and his ridiculous contract. It may not be legally binding, but the scandal would be very real.
“I burdened you again,” Bridget whispered.
“What are you talking about?”
“You had to defend me twice in the span of two hours. First with Father and then speaking up for me to the Duke.”
“I plan to defend you for longer than that. You are my sister, and I love you.”
Bridget looked down at their twined hands, and her face went even gloomier than it was before.
“If I could just be more like Father wishes, then—”
“I don’t want to think like that. You are beautiful and clever and compassionate. You don’t need to be anything else.
“Father is right. I am always gloomy and distant. If I were more… like you.”
“It would be hardly a hospitable environment in here if you were,” Arabella chuckled. “You are perfect exactly how you are, and people who love you see that.”
Bridget looked down again with an incredulous look on her face. It broke Arabella’s heart to see her sister take all the blame to herself for the mere reason that she didn’t react or act as people wanted her to. For simply being herself.
Arabella sat up. Being herself! That would be an excellent notion. Arabella looked ahead as a plan formed in her quick mind.
“I have an idea!” Arabella announced.
“You do?”
“Listen to me.” Arabella turned to her sister with renewed energy. “It is true, the Duke has us in a tight position. That document may have no real value other than the gossip it would cause if it were publicized, butthe Duke seems determined to have a bride. You could reject him of course.”
“Reject the Cruel Duke?” Bridget asked, already nervous.
“Exactly!” Arabella agreed. “He doesn’t look like a man who would gracefully accept rejection. With his money and influence, he can truly harm our family.”
“If this is your plan to make me feel better,” Bridget said, fidgeting, “let me inform you that it is not working.”
Arabella chuckled and grabbed Bridget by the shoulders, a wide smile on her face, the dimples on her cheeks appearing.
“Bridget,” she said with a mischievous look, “while you can’t reject him, nothing stops him from rejecting you.”
“What?” Bridget said, confused.
Arabella leaned closer, lowering her voice as if the very walls might be listening.
“You cannot refuse him. That would wound his pride, and a man like him would punish us. But you can be… unsuitable.”
“Un… Unsuitable?”
“Unsuitable, incompatible, unfit for the role of the Duchess!” Arabella said, proud of her plan.
“And how exactly am I supposed to accomplish such a deceit?” Bridget tightened the grip on Arabella’s hands. “I am sweating just hearing about it.”
“That’s the beauty of it. All you have to be is yourself. Just… more.”
“Arabella, excuse me for saying this, but… are you feeling well?”
“I feel excellent. Bridget, all you need to do is be gloomier, more introverted, more of this sweet self you are, but emphasize the parts that very elegantly say ‘leave me alone,’ and I believe that he will in fact leave you alone.”
“You want me to provoke the Duke?”
“I want to do what you already do but to a superlative degree. Be distant and detached. Talk in sentences with no verbs. Stare at the carpet. Bury your head in a book. We want him to realize what a terrible mistake he made.”
“And if that doesn’t work?”
“I have faith in your gloom.” Arabella chuckled before she went serious again. “We need to try something. We can’t just sit idly while you are married off to that brute mountain of a man.”
“I will do my best,” Bridget said with renewed determination.
“No, we want you to do your absolute worst,” Arabella corrected.
Bridget nodded, still confused. She got up slowly and looked at the door.
“All this excitement and planning exhausted me,” she said lightly. “I think I will retire.”
Arabella got up and hugged her sister. Bridget hugged her back, and the two sisters stayed like this for a while, sharing their bond. Then Bridget left, and Arabella stayed in the room alone.
She started pacing again. What could her father and the Duke be talking about all this time? Arabella decided to go up into the study and confront the men. She opened the door then she noticed that the Duke was coming down the stairs on his own.
The moment the Duke took that last step, Arabella grabbed him by the wrist. She needed answers and many more explanations than a piece of paper, and she really needed to give the Duke a piece of her mind.
She dragged him the few steps it took for him to be inside the empty drawing room. He offered no resistance, and Arabella realized the benefits of an ambush. When they were both inside the room, she closed the door and turned to face him.
“Your Grace,” she said, looking at him.
“Miss Arabella,” he simply replied in his cold tone.
“I hope that you came to your good senses and decided not to marry Bridget.”
The Duke took one step closer to her, his strict face dissolving into a fierce grin with bared teeth. Arabella had never felt more unsafe in her own home, but then again, nobody had let in a predator with a calling card.
“You will be pleased to hear that I am not, in fact, marrying your sister.”
Relief washed over Arabella after the first shock. She knew that her sister’s introverted demeanor would be a deterrent for the wrong kind of men.
“I am not marrying your sister,” the Duke repeated, taking one step more, “because I have decided to marry you.”
If a bucket filled with cold water somehow fell from the ceiling onto her right at this moment, Arabella would have reacted with less shock.
At his announcement, heat rushed to her face then drained just as quickly.
Her knees threatened to betray her, and she was forced to straighten her spine to keep from swaying.
“What…?”
“The contract stated any of the Marriott daughters, and I have chosen you.”
Shock had done its job, stayed a little more for good measure, only to leave to make space for the inevitable rage.
“This is not a shop where you can choose your cufflinks from.”
“Indeed, it is not,” the Duke said. “The variety is quite disappointing.”
Never in her life had Arabella felt the need to slap someone across the face though there were many that deserved it. But standing in front of the Duke of Albury talking about her and her sister as if he was merely window shopping made her hand twitch and itch.
“I thought you would be delighted with the result,” the Duke commented as he calmly put on his gloves. “After all, it was you who pointedly said you would not allow me to marry your sister.”
Arabella opened her mouth to counter something, but nothing came back except pure fury. This man was not only here to claim one of them like cattle, but he also seemed to be enjoying the havoc he was wreaking in their household.
“We are not cattle you can choose from to add to your herd,” Arabella hissed.
“I should hope not. I am not here looking for a cow,” he teased, his head tilting a little. “I am here selecting a duchess.”
“Then you made the wrong choice, Your Grace,” Arabella almost spat back. “For I refuse to be your wife.”
The Duke froze for a few seconds, pausing in the middle of putting on his gloves. Then he resumed, slowly, surely, seemingly unbothered.
“I see,” he said, looking down at the task at hand.
“It is, of course, well within your rights to decline my proposal. But then again,” the Duke smiled wickedly, “I came to an arrangement with your father, an understanding, if you will. If you are adamant on not accepting the position of the Duchess, I guess I will have to marry your sister instead.”
Her hand lifted instantly and violently, pointing at him with all the resentment this situation had brought in her.
“No! Never!” Her voice burned.
He looked at her, his eyes taking her all in, from the scowl on her face to the fire in her blue eyes to the pointed finger and her tense body. His eyes drifted back to her eyes with an icy determination.
“I guess it is settled then,” he said, adjusting his black suit. “I will make arrangements for the wedding.”
Arabella felt all her fire extinguished and flared at the same time. She was cornered. She didn’t want to marry him, not in a million years. But the alternative… Bridget was already too fragile. Being pushed like that would surely break her.
“Fine,” she hissed through gritted teeth.
The smile that bloomed on his face was startling as it was insufferable. The urge to turn violent was rising again, but she held back.
“We are in agreement then?”
“I will… marry you,” she said, the word putrid in her mouth.
“Excellent,” he triumphed. “I will make the appropriate arrangements.”
“Your Grace!” Arabella stopped him, grabbing his wrist once more.
He looked down at her hand touching his, the glove not exactly covering all the skin around his wrist. Arabella released his hand as if it were on fire.
“Just a request, Your Grace.”