Chapter 24 #2
“You cannot know that. You have been cosseted and looked after your entire life—shielded from anything unsavory or painful.” He looked at her intently, a harsh light in his eyes.
“The truth would break you, Arabella. If you knew the things I have done to put those handsome clothes on your back and the finest roof over your head…” He stopped two feet in front of her.
Arabella regarded the man who had raised her, but she hardly recognized him with the expression he now wore. “What have you done, Papa?” she asked in a whisper.
Another flash of anger passed over his expression. “You think you can bask in the fruits of my labors, that you can reap the benefits of what I have sown out of love for you and your sisters, and then come down on me in self-righteousness?”
“I do not want handsome clothing or a fine home at the cost of your soul, Papa.” Her voice shook with emotion.
“It is too late for that now. Everything I have done has been with your well-being in mind—Langdon included. We are finally at the culmination of my plans. Lord Farnham will be here tomorrow evening for dinner. Then your future will be secure.”
Arabella shook her head and took a step back, unable to believe that he had ascribed the killing of Langdon to her well-being. “I cannot marry him, Papa.”
“I am losing patience, Arabella. We have discussed this. Countless times. You will accept Farnham’s proposal. Things are already arranged.”
She stared at him, trying to comprehend how he could stand here and lay the blame for his actions at her feet, saying he had done atrocious things for her benefit, and then demand she marry a man she knew she would be unhappy with.
The only reasonable explanation for it was that her marriage to Farnham was not truly for her benefit but for his—for the good of his investments.
But she would not be a puppet in his plans. Not anymore. And she would not allow him to ruin the lives of people like Mr. Yorke with her as an excuse. When she spoke, her voice trembled with a mixture of fear and determination. “Agreements must be adaptable as circumstances change.”
Papa’s brow snapped together as he recognized his own words being used against him. His face contorted with rage.
With every limb trembling, Arabella turned on her heel and left the room just as Felicity emerged from the parlor. She looked at Arabella questioningly.
Arabella, whose eyes were full of tears, shook her head, unable to speak.
Felicity’s face crumpled with sympathy, and she hurried over, wrapping an arm through Arabella’s and following her to her bedchamber.
Through tears and with Felicity’s hand holding hers tightly, Arabella recounted what had happened. The horrible truth.
“Is this my fault?” Arabella asked once she had finished, her cheeks wet with tears.
“What on earth do you mean?” Felicity asked incredulously, wiping the tears with her thumb. “Of course not!”
“Perhaps if I had not been so…worldly, Papa would not have felt obliged to—”
“No,” Felicity said firmly. “It is entirely normal for a father to wish and seek the best for his children, Bella, but plenty of fathers do so without resorting to murder.”
Arabella saw the sense in this, and in her heart, she knew her father’s actions were not her fault, but it made her sick to think that he might see it that way. That he should kill a man and use her as justification—it was unthinkable. And yet, it was true.
“You need to go out, Bella,” Felicity said. “You need distraction—a reminder that there is good in the world.”
She did need that reminder. But what she truly wanted was to see Mr. Yorke.
“There is a musical soirée this evening,” Felicity said. “You will come, won’t you? Music always soothes my agitation.”
Arabella considered the prospect. It felt wrong to seek entertainment when her mind was weighed down with such heaviness. But what good would it do to sit all alone with her unhappy thoughts at home? And what if she was obliged to dine with Papa?
She could not face him. Not yet.
“We will only stay as long as you wish,” Felicity reassured her. “I swear it.”
Arabella smiled sadly at her cousin, grateful to have someone who understood her, someone who was so eager to support her and buoy her spirits. “I fear I shall ruin an otherwise pretty evening.”
Felicity grasped her hands tightly, her mouth pulling into a pretty smile. “You could never do so. You shan’t regret coming—I promise.”
Arabella chose her plainest dress for the evening, one she had made plans to add to and embellish but had not yet managed. It felt wrong to put on display the things that had been bought with money Papa had gained through such unsavory means.
Felicity and Aunt Louisa were pulling on their gloves in the entry hall when she came down the stairs. Felicity’s gaze ran over the dress Arabella was wearing, and she gave an understanding smile.
“Just in time,” Aunt Louisa said. “I believe that was the carriage wheels I just heard outside. Come, child.”
Papa emerged from the nearest room, and Arabella stopped short a few feet from her aunt, her heart thumping.
He was dressed to go out, wearing gloves, a coat, and his hat. His brows rose. “Where are you going?”
“To a musical evening,” Aunt Louisa said. “We shall not stay out too late, though. I am quite tired already.”
“You may stay out as late as you wish, Louisa, but my daughter will not be joining you.”
Everyone’s eyes darted to Arabella.
She stared at Papa, and he met her gaze calmly.
Her nostrils flared, and she looked at Felicity and Aunt Louisa.
There was mutiny in Felicity’s eyes, whereas, Aunt Louisa looked torn between a sense of injustice and the knowledge that she had no right to challenge a father’s orders for his daughter.
“Go on,” Arabella said to them.
Felicity hesitated a moment, but after a nod from Arabella, she followed her troubled mother to the front door.
The echo of the door closing reverberated through the entry hall.
Arabella stared at it, not meeting Papa’s gaze.
“I have arranged for you to return to Wetley on Saturday.”
Her head came around, her eyes wide. Saturday was but four days away.
“You expressed such strong feelings about my methods of keeping you in a life of comfort,” Papa said, “that I can only conclude you will be happier without all the entertainments afforded by our ill-gotten wealth.” His eyes dared her to counter him.
She gave a stiff nod, still not meeting his eye. “Very well.” She gathered her skirts and made her way to the stairs.
“Arabella?”
She stopped on the second stair but did not turn.
“If you leave, I will know.”
She stayed a moment longer, and then, when she was satisfied he had said all he wished to, she continued up the stairs and to her bedchamber, a fire burning within her as the front door closed behind Papa.