Chapter 24
Twenty-Four
Alasdair joined an almost full breakfast table. The entire party was present save Arabella and, of course, the marchioness. Lady Painswick, the marquess declared, was still asleep.
Rebecca was seated next to Alasdair and turned to him. “And Mrs. Andrews?”
“I think she might break her fast in her room?” Alasdair said.
Everyone else had already started eating.
Perhaps, he thought, he had voiced an opinion in too confident a manner. After breakfast, when Arabella was calmer, he would apologize. His regret was real even if he did not understand her rage. Where was the offense in saying women were less susceptible than men?
“There's no sign of the snow letting up,” Lord Morpeth said and wiped his mouth and threw down his napkin after only a few bites of his breakfast. “We are stuck inside for another day.”
Stuck inside with the villain Morpeth who had tried to open the bedchamber door last night and get to Alasdair’s Arabella. At least, Alasdair had thought she was his Arabella. He was not so sure now.
And smarting under Arabella’s rebuke, he loathed this man even more. This man whom Arabella had said she wanted years ago when Alasdair had been yearning for her, far away at Sommerleigh.
“It’s a good thing you have such a fine cellar laid by, Morpeth,” the marquess said. “Otherwise, we should all go mad, and you would have yourself a little Bedlam here.”
Rebecca Dalrymple spoke. “Do you think Arabella will be down later, Dr. Andrews?”
“I am sure of it, my lady,” Alasdair said, not feeling sure at all.
“I am so glad to meet you,” Rebecca said.
“Arabella told us all about you—oh, it must have been three and a half years ago. She described you perfectly, and she was in despair at that time because she could not think how to meet you again. But I told her you would find each other. I didn’t tell her this then, but I’ll tell you now, if you like.
I secretly knew you two would someday be wed. And, you see, I was right.”
“Aye.”
“My sister,” Juliana said from across the table, “is prone to knowing things but not announcing she knew them until they manifest as reality.”
“I foretold we’d have snow, didn’t I?” Rebecca said.
“You didn’t predict we’d have this much, though. And that would have been the useful prediction, sister!”
Juliana turned to the Swintons to discuss the possibility of a game of whist later.
“I hope I didn’t disturb you very much last night,” Rebecca said in a very low voice.
“I couldn’t sleep, and in the old days, when Arabella came to stay with us, I would sneak into her room when I couldn’t sleep, and she would tell me a story.
Last night, I thought . . . well, I had forgotten that sometimes husbands and wives sleep together. Please do give her my apologies.”
It had not been Lord Morpeth trying to get into the bedchamber in the middle of the night. It had been Arabella’s friend.
Alasdair looked at the head of the table again and noted the large size of Morpeth’s hands. The man was still despicable.
After breakfast, Alasdair spoke to Morpeth. The baron was irritable and terse. He gave his permission in a very surly manner, and Alasdair went and knocked on the door of Lady Morpeth’s room. However, Nurse Gastrell opened the door and told him her lady was asleep.
“Would ye have someone tell me when she is awake and would permit a visit?”
Nurse Gastrell nodded and closed the door.
Arabella did eventually come downstairs and sit with Juliana and Rebecca on a sofa in the drawing room.
She made a small curtsy to Alasdair when she came into the room, but she did not speak to him or smile.
She did not join the others at cards and neither did Rebecca.
When Juliana got up from the sofa to play, Alasdair made sure to slide into her vacant seat in order to prevent anyone else—like, say, Lord Morpeth—from doing so.
Arabella kept herself turned towards Rebecca, but Rebecca leaned forward occasionally and tried to include Alasdair in the conversation.
After a time, Rebecca left the room to fetch a book she wanted Arabella to read. Alasdair was now alone on the sofa with Arabella.
“I am nae certain what to say to ye,” Alasdair started, thinking out his apology.
“I think it best you say nothing at all, then, Dr. Andrews.” Arabella stood and straightened her dress and walked to the sideboard across the room.
She had not looked at him. Her tone had been polite but without warmth.
This was not the Arabella he knew. Even when she had been angry with him in the carriage because he was trying to apologize for not writing to her and she had declared she wanted to forget herself and her past, she had been fiery.
And he loved that fire. Yes, it cowed him a little, but he already knew that rising to meet that fire would make him a better man.
Had it not been her fire that had led him to kiss her?
And all the wonders that had followed from that kiss.
And now she was cold to him.
He had not known how much he would miss flirtation until it was gone. And he was still lost as to how he had upset her so grievously. Hadn’t he made it clear women were more noble, less base than men? She should have been flattered, not angered.
There were decanters on the sideboard, but Arabella made no move to pour herself wine. Instead, she went up on her toes, leaning forward, trying to examine some engravings hanging on the wall there.
He saw Morpeth approach the sideboard and pour himself a glass of claret.
Viewed from behind, it was hard to believe Arabella and Lord Morpeth were part of the same species.
He so large, so hulking. She so small, so delicate.
It was obscene that they had coupled. It was impossible Arabella had been a willing party to that. He could not believe it of her.
Alasdair stood, having suddenly developed a fierce thirst that required a glass of claret from the sideboard.
Morpeth walked around Arabella, his hand trailing over her bottom, the bottom that Alasdair himself had never touched, had restrained himself from touching even though he thought it might be the next territory to explore.
Morpeth settled himself on the wall right next to Arabella, facing her, and leaned down as if to kiss her.
Arabella wasn’t ready to speak with Alasdair.
Yes, she was still angry at him and what he had said about women and lust. But, in truth, she was far angrier at herself for losing her temper, for shouting at him.
Couldn’t she have reasoned with him? And now she didn’t know how she could withstand hearing an admonishment from him when, so far, he had only been loving to her.
She couldn’t hear he didn’t want her anymore.
She couldn’t know she had ruined everything between them. She wouldn’t be able to bear it.
She had to delay this pain, somehow. So she crossed the room and pretended interest in some engravings.
She felt Giles’ presence next to her at the sideboard before he spoke.
“You have been in my thoughts constantly these last years, Arabella,” he said.
“Mrs. Andrews,” she corrected him and rocked back onto her heels.
“Mrs. Andrews, yes.”
“That is so strange, Lord Morpeth, because I have not thought of you at all. But these are some handsome engravings you have hanging here.”
“Yes.” Giles took a decanter and poured himself some wine. “I value beautiful things. I collect all kinds of lovely trinkets and rare curios.”
“Such as gloves, Lord Morpeth?” Arabella couldn’t help herself. Today, she was in a rage against all men. “Gloves and scraps of silk. And flowers, I seem to recall.”
Giles walked around her, briefly stroking her bottom with one of his large hands, and then turned himself so he was leaning on the wall, just next to her.
“I am not averse,” he whispered, stooping down and leaning forward, his lips just inches from hers, “to revisiting flowers I may have already collected.”
Arabella was taking a step backwards and preparing a cutting retort—something along the lines of the lie that she was irrevocably in Alasdair’s permanent collection or the truth that Giles might find her a very poisonous bloom indeed these days—when she became aware of a sound that was halfway between a growl and a cry of pain.
A glimpse of movement and Giles’ shoulders were back against the wall with Alasdair pressing him there.
Alasdair raised his fist, but then his face changed, and he hesitated and lowered his arm.
Giles sneered and ducked out of Alasdair’s grasp, moving very quickly for a man of his size, grabbing Alasdair’s arm and twisting it behind him.
“Alasdair!” Arabella tried to get to him, but she was shoved out of the way by Lord Painswick who had gotten between the sideboard and the two men.
“Don’t spill the claret, Morpeth,” said the marquess.
Arabella darted around the marquess and could see Alasdair was not resisting or struggling against Giles’ hold on him. His face was white, and he held still as Giles twisted his right arm up.
“Let go of him!” Arabella screamed.
“My shoulder joint is out of place,” Alasdair said quietly. “I assure ye I am nae danger to ye.”
Giles laughed. “I was never worried you were a danger to me.” He grimaced and let go of Alasdair, who stumbled forward a step.
Arabella was by Alasdair’s side and put her hand on his uninjured left arm. “Come with me, Doctor.”
Alasdair pulled out of her grip, and Arabella was forced almost to run to stay near him as he strode out of the room. His right arm dangled oddly. But when he got out of the room, he clutched his right arm with his left hand and bent his head and gagged.
“Alasdair,” Arabella whispered in horror.
His eyes darted around the hall as if he didn’t know where to go or what to do. Arabella could see his legs were trembling.
“I broke my word to ye. I didnae control myself. I was going to strike him.”