Chapter 25
William sat in the window of his study, staring out at the grounds without seeing any of it. His mind kept returning to the moment the night before, when he had stood in Lady Conway’s front hall waiting for an answer he already feared.
The servant had approached him with careful steps, his voice respectful but firm as he informed him that Mrs. Shaw was not receiving visitors. Not even him.
The memory struck him again with sharp embarrassment. He had expected hesitation, perhaps a request for time, but not a complete refusal. The fear that followed had been worse.
She will not see me. She truly will not see me.
He inhaled sharply and looked toward the desk.
The letter he had written after returning home was fresh in his mind, every word shaped with care, every line meant to reach her.
He had sent it early that morning, hoping it might do some good, hoping she might read it and understand that he was trying to be honest, even if he had failed before.
If she reads it… if she allows herself to read it… perhaps she will believe I did not mean to hurt her. Perhaps she will not turn away forever.
He closed his eyes briefly.
I cannot lose her. Not like this. Not because I was silent when I should have spoken.
He stood up, knowing that if he wished to have any hope of repairing what had been damaged, he needed to begin by addressing the most immediate obstacle.
Lady Arabella deserved honesty, and he could not bear the thought of Mrs. Shaw believing he had encouraged any understanding with Lady Arabella. He would clear the air immediately.
He walked over, pulled out the chair at his desk and sat, reaching for a fresh sheet of paper.
He dipped his pen in the inkwell, steadied his hand, and wrote plainly.
Aunt,
I request that Lady Arabella attend Roxburghe at her earliest convenience. I wish to speak with her directly regarding matters of the household.
William
He read the lines once, ensuring there was no room for misinterpretation. He folded the letter, sealed it, and carried it to the bellpull beside the door. He rang for a servant, then waited with the letter in hand. When the footman arrived, William held it out to him.
“This is to be delivered to Lady Spencer’s estate at once.”
The footman bowed, took the letter, and left without delay.
The hours that followed were strained. He attempted to occupy himself with estate matters, but every task felt hollow. He found himself pausing in the corridor outside the schoolroom more than once, listening to the quiet that had replaced the lively bustle that Mrs. Shaw and Clara had brought.
The entire house felt different, as though the warmth they had carried with them had been extinguished. Even the servants moved with a subdued air about them, as if they too sensed the absence.
When Mrs. Hensley finally announced Lady Arabella’s arrival, William was on the landing outside Henry’s room.
He had intended to go downstairs immediately, but a soft sound drew his attention.
Through the half-open door, he saw Henry bent over a puzzle on the floor, his small shoulders curved inward, his expression solemn.
William’s heart sank as he saw that for the first time since Mrs. Shaw and Clara arrived at the estate, his son’s sadness had returned.
The joy they had brought him had vanished with them, leaving behind a quiet ache that William recognized all too well.
Henry placed the final piece with a trembling hand, and for a moment it seemed he might cry.
William stepped inside, keeping his voice gentle. “Henry,” he said softly.
Henry looked up at him, his eyes bright with unshed tears, but he still managed a small smile. “Papa, look.” He held up the completed puzzle with careful pride. “I finished it.”
William moved closer. “You did very well,” he said. “It looks perfect.”
Henry’s smile faded almost immediately. He lowered the puzzle piece he had been holding and looked down at the table. “Papa… is Lady Arabella going to replace Mrs. Shaw?”
The question left William speechless. He opened his mouth, closed it again, and sat beside his son.
“Henry,” he said, finding his words at last, “why would you think that?”
Henry hesitated, his voice small. “Because she is here. And Mrs. Shaw is not.” He swallowed. “I like Mrs. Shaw. I wish she could stay forever.”
“Henry…”
Henry’s voice wavered. “I miss Clara. Where is she? Why did she not come back yesterday? Why is she not here today?”
William reached out and smoothed Henry’s hair, trying to comfort him. “I know you miss her,” he said quietly. “I know.”
Henry looked up at his father, still waiting for an answer to his question.
William drew a slow breath, still searching for words he did not yet have, and feeling the sting of his own failure.
“I cannot tell you why she is not here,” he said, wanting to be as honest as possible with his son. “I cannot tell you because I am not fully sure myself. However, I can tell you that I miss her, too, and I hope she returns soon.”
Henry nodded and leaned against him. William held him for a long moment, wishing he could offer him something certain. When Henry finally reached for a different puzzle, William rose and left the room with a deep heaviness in his heart.
William walked down the stairs slowly. At the bottom, he paused and took a deep breath, steeling himself against whatever was to come. He crossed the hall and stepped into the drawing room.
Lady Arabella stood near the window, her posture straight, her hands resting neatly at her waist. She turned at the sound of his steps entering the room.
“Your Grace,” she said, her voice restrained.
William tilted his head. “Lady Arabella.”
She waited, her expression calm, although he could see the quiet tension beneath it.
William stepped farther into the room, stopping a respectful distance from her.
“Lady Arabella,” he said, his voice even. “I asked you here because there is something I must say clearly.”
She watched him, her expression cool and guarded.
“I will not waste your time. I must speak plainly. My heart belongs elsewhere.”
Her hands tightened slightly, though her posture did not change. “I see.”
“I have no intention of pursuing a courtship with you,” he continued. “I should have spoken sooner.”
Lady Arabella did not look away. “Yes,” she said quietly. “You should have.”
For a long moment, she said nothing else. When she finally spoke, her voice was controlled, yet a tremor edged the words.
“Was I ever truly a possibility?” she asked.
“I should have spoken sooner,” William repeated, shaking his head.
Her composure cracked. Lady Arabella stepped away from him, crossing a short distance toward the opposite side of the room. Her hands tightened into fists at her sides as she turned back to face him.
“You and Lady Spencer decided my future without ever asking what I wanted.” Her voice tightened.
William said nothing. He stayed where he was, letting her speak.
She moved again, a slow, restless step toward the window. “I endured weeks of visits, speculation, and comparisons because I believed it was my duty.”
She looked down briefly, then lifted her chin.
“I listened to your aunt’s assurances. I tolerated the scrutiny of society. I accepted the possibility of a match because I believed it was expected of me.”
She shook her head once, sharp and controlled. “And now I learn I was never truly being considered at all.”
The criticism stung because William knew she was right. “Lady Arabella,” he said quietly, “I am sorry. I was careless with your time and your reputation. I allowed my aunt’s ambitions to overshadow the truth, and you bore the consequences.”
She did not immediately accept his apology.
Her eyes glistened with restrained frustration as she looked away, taking a few steps toward the window, her movements tight and controlled. She paused there, her back half-turned to him, gathering herself before continuing.
Before leaving, she revealed the truth in a low, steady voice as she walked toward the door.
“Lady Spencer encouraged society to assume an understanding existed between us,” she said. “She made certain everyone believed it.” She stopped for a moment and sighed.
“I often felt trapped by expectations I never chose.” She continued across the room, her movements tight with frustration. “I was pushed toward a future I did not desire simply because it suited others.”
When she neared the door her voice softened, not with affection but with weary honesty.
“No one ever asked what I wanted.”
William remained silent, unable to find words. He watched her as she stood in the doorway, her hand resting lightly on the frame.
She turned back toward him.
“If you truly care for Mrs. Shaw,” she said, her voice calm, “stop apologizing and start proving yourself worthy of her trust.”
There was no bitterness in her tone to make him bristle. It was a clear, almost gentle statement that impacted him more than the fiercest reprimand would.
Lady Arabella turned and departed without another word.