Chapter 18 #2
Lady Spencer glanced between them, satisfied with the exchange. “Arabella will stay here with me for the rest of the afternoon,” she said, as though the decision required no agreement from anyone else.
William nodded once, the movement controlled. “Of course,” he said, his voice strained.
She has already planned the day. She always does.
Lady Spencer rose from her seat with deliberate composure. “We will remain for a time,” she said, her tone firm. She guided Lady Arabella toward the corridor, choosing the pace and direction without hesitation.
The hours passed in quiet activities arranged by Lady Spencer. She led them through the garden, keeping Lady Arabella close to William as they walked the gravel paths. Lady Arabella matched his stride with careful attention.
“Your Grace,” she said, her voice quiet, “do you spend much time out here?”
“When I can,” William replied. “Henry enjoys the gardens.”
Lady Spencer walked just behind them, listening. “Arabella has always appreciated well-kept grounds,” she said, an artificial lightness in her tone. “She understands the work required to maintain them.”
Lady Arabella nodded shyly. “My mother insisted I learn the basics of estate management.”
William acknowledged her with a polite tilt of his head. “It is useful knowledge.”
“She has been praised for her attention to detail,” Lady Spencer said, leaning in closer.
William cleared his throat, pushing back a surge of annoyance, not wanting to be rude
Lady Arabella hesitated for a moment, then added, “She thought it would be wise, since my father’s lands are extensive. He is often away, and my brothers are still young. Someone must understand the ledgers, at least to know enough to notice when something is amiss.”
William nodded. “Where do you usually reside?”
“At Marwood Court,” she said. “It is in Gloucestershire. Close enough to visit when my mother wishes to spend time with Lady Spencer or when I am summoned, but far enough that I am not underfoot.”
“Yes,” William said, nodding. “Your father is the Marquess of Marwood.”
“Yes,” Lady Arabella replied. “My mother manages most of the household matters when my father is traveling, and thought I should be prepared to do the same one day, should it ever be required.”
“And do you enjoy learning the books?” William asked, forcing himself to further a conversation he did not truly wish to be part of.
Arabella gave a small, self-conscious smile. “I do not know if enjoy is the correct word, but I understand why it matters.”
William nodded. “It does matter, and it is sensible of your mother to insist upon it.”
They continued along the path. Lady Arabella glanced toward a row of trimmed hedges. “Do you oversee the gardeners yourself, Your Grace?”
“I review their plans,” William said. “They manage the daily work, but I work out here as much as I can. I truly enjoy being outdoors.”
Lady Spencer added, “Arabella has experience with seasonal planning. Her father trusted her judgment.”
Lady Arabella blushed. “I enjoyed assisting him.”
“It is good to have confidence in one’s staff,” William answered, growing tired of the forced courtesy.
Lady Spencer guided them toward a small stone bench. “Arabella is accustomed to responsibility,” she said, her tone controlled. “She does not shy away from it.”
Lady Arabella looked to William. “I try to be dependable, Your Grace.”
William gave a polite nod. “Dependability is important.”
Lady Spencer listened to the exchange with clear satisfaction.
When they returned indoors, Lady Spencer directed Lady Arabella to the pianoforte. Lady Arabella sat with composed precision, her hands moving across the keys in controlled, practiced motions. William stood nearby, listening with courtesy, although he could not stop his jaw from clenching.
She is forcing the girl to perform for me, and she expects me to pretend I do not see it.
Lady Spencer watched him closely, noting every reaction.
By the time the maid announced tea, Lady Spencer had completed arranging the afternoon exactly as she wished. She kept Lady Arabella close to William during tea in the drawing room, guiding the conversation toward topics that further allowed Lady Arabella to display her refinement.
William answered her questions with courtesy, yet he felt the increased pressure of his aunt’s intentions with every passing moment.
Lady Arabella was pleasant and intelligent, and she was not unattractive, but the arrangement was unmistakable.
His aunt wanted him to consider her as a potential wife, and she had no interest in pretending otherwise.
During tea, William noticed at once that Mrs. Shaw was seated in the corner of the drawing room, her posture tense and her hands folded too precicely in her lap.
Lady Spencer had insisted she join them, even though she would not normally have been part of the arrangement.
William knew the placement was deliberate.
Lady Spencer wanted him to see both women at once.
Mrs. Shaw remained quiet. Whenever her name was mentioned she responded politely but did not offer anything further.
She did not leave the room, but she kept her attention on Clara and Henry, choosing tasks that would keep her occupied and out of the conversation.
She avoided any moment that might draw notice to herself.
William could plainly see that Mrs. Shaw was clearly uncomfortable with being placed in the center of his aunt’s scheme. Yet he found himself watching her more than he watched Lady Arabella.
As the plates were being cleared, William thought back to the conversation he had had earlier that morning in the village. He had gone into town first thing before tending to business at home, to see if the gossip about Mrs. Shaw had died down.
“It is slowing down some, but everyone seems to have an opinion about her. You know they talk because they have nothing better to do. But you look more troubled about this than I thought you would be,” James had said.
“I do not like that they speak of her so freely,” William had said. “She has done nothing to deserve it.”
James had watched him closely. “Is that the only reason you’re bothered?”
William had hesitated, then said, “No. It has become personal. I think about her more than I intend to.”
James had leaned back, his tone cautionary. “Then you cannot keep pretending you do not care. If you stay silent, your aunt will decide everything for you.”
William had not answered at the time, but the words had stayed with him throughout the day.
A slight movement in the drawing room pulled him back to the present. The maid finished clearing the last plate, and Lady Spencer rose. She adjusted her gloves, then looked toward Lady Arabella.
“We will conclude our visit shortly,” she said. “William, I would like to speak with you in your study.”
William excused himself and followed his aunt down the corridor. She entered the study ahead of him, and when he closed the door behind them, she turned immediately.
“William,” she said, “Henry requires a mother. You know this. And the restoration of the family name depends on a suitable marriage.”
“Aunt, you have made your concerns clear,” William said, forcing himself to stay calm.
She lifted her chin. “Lady Arabella can offer you both. She is prepared, accomplished, and entirely suited to the position.”
William’s jaw tightened. “What of affection?”
Lady Spencer scoffed. “Affection is a luxury, not a necessity for a successful marriage.”
He did not answer.
Instead, he thought of Mrs. Shaw sitting beside Clara’s bed all night when the girl was sick.
He thought of her patience with Henry, her quiet strength, and her gentle way of guiding the children without hesitation.
He thought of the warmth she brought into the house, and how everything seemed so comfortable and natural.
He could not think of anything to say, because for the first time in years, the idea of marriage without affection felt unbearable to him.
Lady Spencer mistook his silence for agreement, leaving satisfied that she had made her point, and Lady Arabella departed with polite grace.
William remained in his study long after they were gone. He stood at the window, looking out across the grounds, and knew that everything had changed.
He could not pretend indifference any longer.
Not to his aunt.
Not to the expectations placed upon him.
And certainly not to Mrs. Shaw.