TWENTY-SIX
TWENTY-SIX
Had Arabella seen Henry in the past five days since their enchanting outing to Sadler’s Wells Theatre, she might’ve been content to simply watch the twenty or so goldfish swim about in Mrs. Twickum’s fountain. The fish were a new addition and the reason for the current garden party, which, as fate would have it, was being held inside the protective glass walls of an orangery while the rain descended once again over London.
Admiral Twickum had built the haven as a gift to his wife in an attempt to make up for their time apart while he was at sea, and Arabella and her family had been invited there many times. Each visit was as pleasing as the last with the delightful smell of citrus in the air and the eye-catching array of flowers and ornately trimmed shrubberies. But for the first time, Arabella couldn’t enjoy any of it.
She’d hoped to see Henry escorting his aunt amongst the other guests, but so far, they’d yet to arrive.
“I wonder what could be constantly pulling your attention away, Miss Latham?” Lady Bixbee asked, a warning of annoyance in her tone.
Arabella snapped her attention back to her small party, which consisted of her mother and Lady Bixbee. They stood near the rectangular fountain, though the water’s calming ripples and the bright colors of the goldfish did nothing to ease Arabella’s growing feeling that something wasn’t right.
Her mother offered her a sympathetic smile. She knew of Arabella’s concerns and was certain Henry would have a good reason for his absence. His aunt had also not attended the last charity meeting at Lady Bixbee’s, which only unsettled Arabella further. His aunt was clearly against Henry marrying, and Arabella feared she was meddling again.
“I was admiring the goldfish,” Arabella replied, forcing a smile.
Lady Bixbee scoffed. “And I will be the next emperor of France,” she said, eyeing Arabella through her quizzing glass. “What do you think?” she asked, though the question was not posed to Arabella.
Looking to her left, Arabella startled to find Dr. Stafford standing beside her. He looked tired. There were dark circles beneath his eyes, and the smile he usually wore was weak. Her mind immediately went to Henry. She knew the two men had been trying to meet to discuss Henry’s sister. Had something happened?
“France would not deserve you, Grandmother,” Dr. Stafford replied.
Lady Bixbee heartily chuckled. “There, you see?” she said to Arabella, pointing a finger at Dr. Stafford. “Unabashed flattery. Now that is a quality you want in a husband.”
Arabella held back a groan. She didn’t have time for Lady Bixbee’s machinations. She needed to find a way to talk privately with Dr. Stafford.
“Dr. Stafford, have you been inside the Twickum’s orangery before?” Arabella asked, a plan to extract them both already forming.
“This is my first time,” he replied.
“Then you are in luck.” She smiled, grabbing him by the forearm and tugging. “I have been here many times. I will show you around.” He was kind enough to go along without any protest.
Lady Bixbee’s laugh followed them. “The girl is just like me.”
Arabella was no longer certain that was a good thing.
Directing them to a pair of lemon trees tucked farther away from the fountain but still visible to her mother for propriety’s sake, Arabella released Dr. Stafford’s arm and faced him. “Can you smell the citrus? I just love the smell of lemon,” she said loud enough for a nearby couple to hear. The smell was so strong she could taste it on her tongue.
Dr. Stafford raised a brow.
“Forgive me,” she said the moment the couple were out of earshot. “I know that was a silly question, but I did not want to draw any lingering ears.”
Dr. Stafford nodded, and a soft, genuine, smile crested his lips. “I prefer lime, actually.”
Arabella’s lips twitched, relieved he was teasing her. “I hope you will forgive my forwardness once again, but I must ask. Is everything all right? You look tired.” She flinched at her bluntness.
He shook his head and chuckled. “You continue to surprise me, Miss Latham.” He met her eyes, and she knew he meant that as a compliment. Letting out a breath, he rubbed a hand across the back of his neck. “To be honest, I am tired. What I have been trying to bring about for months has quite possibly fallen from my reach.”
“Are you speaking of Lord Northcott and his sister?” she asked, the pit in her stomach growing.
“You know about his sister?” Dr. Stafford asked, surprised.
Arabella nodded. “Lord Northcott has told me about his conversations with you and about his family.” Again Dr. Stafford looked shocked. “Please, if you know something, tell me. I have not seen him in five days, and I am worried.”
He briefly closed his eyes and let out a breath. “I have been trying to contact him as well, with no response.”
“Why? What happened?” she asked, resisting the urge to cling to his arm. But she couldn’t make a scene. She needed to know what happened.
“Miss Latham, I must ask—” His words were cut short by the sudden whispers that spread across the orangery.
Turning her head, Arabella’s eyes crashed like waves upon the dark rocky shore that was Henry as he descended the steps. Gone was the man who’d teased and smiled with her at the theater; instead, he was replaced by the ever-stoic visage of the Brooding Baron.
Her heart threatened to shatter, and without thinking or caring what others might say, she moved to be with him.
“Miss Latham.” Dr. Stafford’s hand stopped her. “Please, before you go, we have an opportunity here to help two people we care for.”
“How?” Her eyes darted desperately toward Henry and back.
“My honor as a physician prevents me from telling you the specifics, but what I can say is that I have nothing but the hope to repair a family that has been broken.”
Arabella’s chest grew tight, and she fought back tears. If she had the chance to repair her family and bring her father back, she would do anything.
“What must I do?” she asked, taking a fortifying breath.
“Can you arrange for Lord Northcott and me to meet privately, here, before he can leave?”
She nodded. “I could bring him to you behind there,” Arabella said, pointing through the row of orange trees, ferns, and palms to a wall of vines at the back of the room.
She knew the wall hid a door wherein the gardener could enter from the outside garden. The space was just big enough for a workbench, a stool, and some tools to be kept. It would be close quarters—especially with someone as broad as Henry—but in a room made of glass walls, it would have to do.
Dr. Stafford nodded.
Arabella took a shaky breath and quoted from Henry VI, Part Two to herself: God shall be my hope, my stay, my guide, and lantern to my feet.