Chapter 18
Chapter Eighteen
Arabella and Timothy were outside, playing in the garden together, when a change took over the young boy that had her heart catching in her throat. He was running ahead of her, darting between bushes and hedges, laughing gaily and without a care in the world, when he suddenly stopped dead.
At first, she assumed that he was hiding. Often, he would do so, encouraging her to try and find him. Always too, when she did, he would declare that she had cheated, and then he would run away again.
This time, however, he stepped out from around the hedge with a face that was as pale as a ghost. His eyes were wide too, fear found in them, and that was when Arabella knew that something was wrong.
“Timothy…” Her voice cracked because she had never seen him so afraid. Nervous, perhaps. Unsure and cautious. But terrified as he was? It was anathema to the joyous child. “What is the matter? What has…” Her words caught in her throat when she saw the cause.
Timothy took another nervous step from the hedge, revealing that he was not alone. With him, one hand now resting on the child’s shoulder, stood Arabella’s father.
“Ah, Arabella,” he said pleasantly, laughter in his voice. “Look who I found.” He kept his hand on Timothy’s shoulders, squeezing it just enough to keep the boy from running away.
What is he doing here?
Arabella looked around the garden, confirming that they were alone. Her father must have sneaked in over the fence, lying in wait until she came outside to play with Timothy. Did he know that they often came outside at this hour? Had he been watching them? And for how long?
Such a thought made Arabella’s blood turn to ice…
“Ti… Timothy,” she stammered. “Come here, now. Come on…” She forced a smile as she waved him forward, praying that her father would not do anything drastic.
Thankfully, her father lifted his hand from Timothy’s shoulder, at which point Timothy sprinted forward. His face was still pale, his large eyes still held fear, and as he ran, he nearly tripped over in his bid to put as much distance between himself and her father as he could.
“I am sorry, Arabella,” he said, sniffing back tears. “I did not see him, and then he was just there.”
“You have nothing to be sorry about.” She maintained her smile, desperate to project strength. “And no need to worry, he is just my father.”
“He is?”
“Yes.” She added a laugh, praying it would help to ease the boy. “Now, go inside, Timothy. Find Mrs. Robertson until I return.”
“But…” He looked back at her father. “He… He scares me, Arabella.”
“There is no need to worry.” If only that were true. “Now, do as I say.” She raised a commanding eyebrow at him. “I assure you, you have nothing to worry about.”
It was clear that Timothy did not want to leave her, and that alone was almost a reason to smile. But he was also worried, scared of her father’s presence, and it took little convincing to see the young boy sprint across the garden and inside to safety.
And then, Arabella and her father were alone.
“You look nervous, Arabella,” her father said with a friendly smile as he walked toward her. “Upset to see me? I thought you might be pleased. It has been far too long.”
She said nothing.
For several weeks now, Arabella had grown into her role as duchess, blossoming into the woman she knew she was capable of becoming. She was striving to become her own person. She was no longer one to cower or ask permission for anything. She was powerful, in control, a woman reborn!
At least that was what she believed.
Alas, in her father’s presence, Arabella felt those feelings fade like a flower lacking water and sunlight.
As he approached her, she was transported back to her childhood, to a life spent as a prisoner, with no agency, no control over her own life, utterly at the mercy of a man who wielded such power that she could barely breathe in his presence.
I am a fraud, and I was a fool to think otherwise.
Worse still, her father knew it. He smiled as he approached her, but it was mocking, and his eyes shone with malicious pride and a sense of knowing.
That beak-like nose, those hollow cheeks, his receding hairline…
A bird of prey was how she always thought of him, and Arabella found herself trapped in his sights.
“Wha… what are you doing here?” Arabella stammered pathetically. She tried to meet her father’s gaze, but she could not summon the strength.
“I see that our time apart has not seen your respect for me develop,” he said as if it upset him.
“A shame, Arabella. As your father, you ought to be thrilled that I have come to visit my only daughter. And as a duchess, you should encourage such relationships. What will people say when they hear how you treat me?”
Arabella snapped her head up and glared at him. Her body trembled as she did, as if she instinctively knew that the result would end poorly for her.
“What are you doing here?” she asked again, that time with more authority.
Her father dropped the veneer of kindness. His eyes turned cold, and his thin lips turned into a sneer. “Ah, so perhaps marriage has provided you with a backbone. Or rather, the appearance of one.”
“Is it money?” she said. “If it is, you have wasted your time as well as mine.”
He scoffed. “Is that what you think of me? That I would come here and demand money from you?”
“You do not want to know what I think of you.”
She glared ruefully at him, determined that he see her as more than just his daughter. She was a duchess, and Arabella imagined how the Dowager might act if she were in this position.
“Oh yes,” he chuckled. “A backbone indeed. Had I not known you so well, I might have believed it to be real.” His expression turned flat.
“Stop this at once, Arabella. I am your father, and if you think that you can stand up to me…” He widened his eyes in warning.
“In my eyes, you are still a silly little girl, and that will never change.”
“I am not a girl. I am a duchess, married to—”
“Do not embarrass yourself by evoking your marriage to me,” he cut her off. “I know more than anyone what your marriage is, just as I know that His Grace cares nothing for you.”
Arabella winced at the cruel accuracy of his words.
Things might have been different had Caspian spoken to Arabella once in these last few days. As she had expected from him, he avoided her as if she were poison, confirming without having to say it that he wanted nothing to do with her.
Arabella was alone, without allies, and certainly not as powerful and as changed as she wanted to believe. And, as her father knew her so well, he saw this clearly. Just as he relished it.
“I do not want money,” her father said with a sneer. “What I want from you is a favor. Whether you know it or not, your husband spends an inordinate amount of time at Boodle’s Club in London. Mostly, he drinks, and rarely does he gamble with intent. But that is about to change.”
“What…” Arabella blinked through her confusion. “What are you—”
“In a few days, His Grace will be receiving a slew of invitations from fellow members of the ton. Some friends of his, other associates. All, however, will request that he join them at their table. Cards, mostly, are an easy way to find oneself in over one’s head.
More so when the player has an ego as big as His Grace does. ”
Arabella started with bewilderment, struggling to understand what her father was saying.
“You will convince him to accept these invitations,” her father continued. “How you will do this, I care not. But it is imperative that he does so. Within the week, I expect to see His Grace at Boodle’s Club, gambling as if his life depended on it. Do I make myself clear?”
“He will not…” She shook her head. “Why would he listen to me?”
Her father’s smile was a sickly thing. “As his wife, I am sure you can persuade him somehow. You have little power, Arabella, and do not think otherwise. But as a woman, persuasion is a skill you can surely employ.”
It took her a moment to understand what he meant.
When she did, Arabella almost retched. Her stomach twisted, bile rising in her throat. She turned away, disgust on her face, visibly shaking.
“Exactly,” her father chuckled. “I have no doubt that you can turn His Grace’s fancy if you put your mind to it. And you will put your mind to it.”
“No…” She firmed herself and turned back on him. “I… I do not…” She wanted to snarl. She wanted to dismiss. She wanted to stand tall and demand that he leave at once!
Alas, she was but a girl facing off against her father, and never before had she felt so weak and pathetic.
“Why?” she managed. “Gambling? It makes no sense.”
“It does,” he said with a sigh. “When a man gambles, he makes bets that he cannot keep. When those bets are owed, he is forced to offer alternatives. And as I fully expect His Grace to lose…” He smirked as he looked around the garden.
“This is a rather lovely home, you know. I cannot wait until it is mine.”
Her eyes widened as it came to her.
Her father wanted more than money. He wanted to own Caspian. And while she could not imagine what deals he had made with these lords who would soon be gambling with Caspian, she knew well what he would do once Caspian owed them more money than he could afford.
“I will tell him,” she said. “I will tell him what you plan.”
He scoffed. “I doubt it. Oh, you might think that you will. Right now, you might even believe it to be possible. But know this…” He stepped forward, so close that she felt his breath on her.
“I own you, Arabella. You might have married a duke, you might have dared to dream that you were free of me, but you will always be my daughter, and when I say jump, the only question you will have for me is how high.”
She turned away, disgusted with her father, but more disgusted with herself.
“And if you think to refuse me…” he growled. “You know what I am capable of. That boy… Timothy, was it? He is rather adorable. At least for now, he is.”
“No…” she gasped.
He scoffed as he stepped back. Then he straightened up and fixed a warm smile on his face as if they were having a very pleasant chat. “It was good to see you, Arabella, truly. So much, in fact, that I already look forward to the next time.”
With those words, her father turned and strode back across the garden, quickly vanishing behind the hedges as if he had never been.
And there Arabella stood. Shaking. Cowering back. Frozen to the spot with a sense of fear and helplessness that she knew too well. She was a fool to think that she had changed, as she was a fool to think that change was even possible.
Always, she belonged to someone else, and her life was never her own. It was only then that she finally was willing to admit it.