Chapter Fifteen
Two weeks after Dominic’s proposal, at nine o’clock on Friday evening, Mrs Tatton was still fussing at the looking glass within her bedchamber when she heard a carriage draw up outside.
‘Is it the carriage he has sent, Arabella?’ Arabella could hear the anxiety that edged her mother’s voice; much as she was feeling nervous herself, she sought to reassure her.
Arabella peeped from the edge of the drawn curtains down on to the road below. ‘It is, Mama, but there is time enough yet to compose yourself.’
‘Compose myself? I swear that I shall not be composed the whole of this evening. I have never felt so nervous in all my life!’
‘You have nothing to worry over.’
‘Save the fact I may let us all down before the Prince of Wales.’
‘Mama…’ Arabella’s gaze met her mother’s in the looking glass ‘…you could never do that.’
‘But what if they discover the truth of us—that we have not lived so quietly since Mr Marlbrook’s death?’
‘They shall not discover any such thing; Dominic has taken care of everything. Now take a deep breath, Mama, and let us have one last look at your outfit.’
Mrs Tatton turned back to the looking glass.
Arabella’s gaze roved over the purple silk which her mother was wearing. The colour suited her mother’s skin and brought a healthy glow to her complexion. It was high necked, the bodice closed over by a line of amethyst buttons that sparkled in the candlelight. On Mrs Tatton’s head was fitted a small turban in matching purple silk; the hair beneath had been curled and coiffured to soften the turban’s edges. The shimmer of purple silk picked out silver highlights in the grey curls. Arabella had not seen her mother look so well in years.
‘You are quite lovely, Mama.’
‘Thank you, Arabella.’ Her mother smiled, her nerves forgotten for the moment. ‘You look lovely yourself. Every bit a duchess-in-waiting.’
Arabella glanced down at the deep blue silk gown. It was plainly, but expertly, cut in the latest fashion to do justice to her figure. In the candlelight her skin looked pale and creamy beside the dark intense colour of the dress. The sleeves were short and sitting off her shoulders and the long evening gloves and reticule were of a shade that exactly matched the dress. Her décolletage was bare and Arabella touched her fingers against the skin and thought fleetingly of the golden locket that had meant so much more to her than the diamond-and-sapphire ring that was now upon her finger. She pushed the thought aside, knowing that she must show nothing of her true feelings, that tonight was all about playing the role of a respectable widow who had captured a duke’s heart.
‘Thank you, Mama. I shall just have a quick peep at Archie before we leave.’
‘He will be sleeping, Arabella.’
‘I hope so.’ Arabella smiled, but it was all for her mother and there was nothing of happiness inside. ‘But I will check so that I am certain. And ensure that Anne knows what to do if he should wake before we have returned.’
Dominic had always thought Arabella a beautiful woman, but the sight of her with Mrs Tatton coming in through the hallway of Arlesford House quite took his breath away. She was lovelier than he could have imagined. Wearing a shimmering silver shawl, under which he could see a plain dark blue dress that was expensive, respectable, and perfectly in keeping with her role as a widow of two years. And yet the dress showed off the curves of Arabella’s figure in just the right way. Her hair was an elaborate arrangement of golden curls piled upon her head. Several loose tendrils framed her face and wisped softly around her neck. Even Mrs Tatton appeared to have more colour in her face and was wearing a purple outfit complete with turban, and a purple-and-blue fringed shawl.
He bowed to them both, although it was hard for him to drag his gaze from Arabella for long.
‘Your Grace,’ she said and curtsied, all formality, just as it had been between them in private these past two weeks.
He could hear the murmur of curiosity amongst the guests that already packed the ballroom.
‘And Mrs Tatton,’ he said and bowed to her mother.
The hundreds of candles in the three chandeliers in the ballroom sparkled on the sapphire-and-diamond betrothal ring on Arabella’s finger as he raised her hand to his lips. The surrounding murmur grew louder.
He spoke to Arabella and her mother in the politest of terms, knowing that their every word was being listened to even above the singing of the violins that sounded so clear and sweet from the musicians up on the balcony.
‘You are well, Mrs Marlbrook?’ he enquired and his gaze was intent upon hers. He gave her hand that was tucked within his arm a little squeeze as he led her and Mrs Tatton to a small collection of chairs that he had been keeping just for them. He wanted to know how she was bearing up to such pressure, for he knew that beneath that mask of cool tranquillity she would be worried.
He felt the return of the slight transient pressure of her fingers against the muscle of his arm. He gestured to a passing footman carrying a silver salver of filled champagne glasses and passed Arabella and her mother each a glass of champagne. They chatted for a little while, about the weather, about how she and her mother were enjoying London, about horse riding. And then he took Arabella and Mrs Tatton over to where the Prince of Wales was holding court and presented them.
The wave of whisperings and staring was passing right through the room. Dominic was looking forward to making the announcement. He watched Arabella and the prince together and knew that Prinny was giving her his royal approval. No one would dare question her respectability now. He gave a small nod of acknowledgement at the prince and saw Prinny give a nod back. A royal prince needed his allies every bit as much as a duke. And then Dominic signalled to the musicians to cease playing. It was time.
Arabella was so busy keeping an eye on her mother and guarding her conversation with the prince that she did not notice what was happening until the music stopped. A hushed chatter filled the silence.
Dominic’s ballroom was large and there must have been at least a hundred people packed within its glittering splendour. Arabella could see what seemed like the flicker of a thousand candles sparkling against the myriad of faceted crystal drops on the massive chandeliers. The ceiling, the top of the walls and the front of the balcony were decorated with the most pure and beautiful plasterwork. The walls themselves were painted a cool pale green, which lent the room an airy spacious feel. Above the massive fireplace, which thankfully had not been lit, was a huge looking glass that reflected the light from the chandeliers and made the room even brighter. The oak floorboards had been scraped and polished until they gleamed like a rich dark chocolate. Around the room were tables and chairs, and wall sconces that dripped with crystal in a fashion that mirrored their parent chandeliers. It was beautiful and elegant and most luxurious.
And then Dominic’s butler was ringing a small bell. ‘Pray silence your majesty, my lords, ladies and gentlemen. The Duke of Arlesford wishes to make an announcement.’
She heard the buzz of whispers go around the room. Arabella was standing with the Prince of Wales on one side and her mother on the other. Dominic was on the other side of the prince. Although most of the attention in the room was fixed on Dominic, she could see a few of the gazes upon herself. Every pair of eyes in the room was filled with question. Everyone wanted to know what was so important that the Duke of Arlesford intended making an announcementr.
And then Dominic took her hand and drew her over to stand by his side. And she saw the shock and surprise on some faces and the confirmation of guesses on others. His fingers closed around hers and she felt all of his support flowing through that warm touch.
Dominic began to talk, and her heart gave a little jump, her stomach a little jitter and she realised that this was it.
‘I would like to present to you all, Mrs Arabella Marlbrook.’
She could hear him talking and she stood there so still, so calm, facing that sea of faces as if she were the very proper, very respectable widowed Mrs Marlbrook whom Dominic was describing. He was still talking.
‘I am very happy to be able to tell you that Mrs Marlbrook has accepted my proposal of marriage. We are to be married as soon as matters can be arranged.’
Which would be in two months’ time, at the height of the summer, in Westminster Abbey, if all went according to plan. She would be a duchess, and Archie, his father’s son and heir to a dukedom. Her mother would never again go cold. Her son, never go hungry. There would always be enough money for food and medicines and coal. He had made her respectable again. He would make her his wife. But Arabella could not smile.
Dominic raised her hand to his mouth and placed a kiss against it. Every person in the ballroom began to applaud and she could see her mother smiling by her side, and she could see, too, the look in Dominic’s eyes when he looked at her—dark and possessive and filled with all they had not said to one another in the past two weeks. She forced herself to smile because it was what everyone was expecting. She smiled as she met the gazes of Dominic’s guests. Smiled sadly at the good will she saw in those faces because she knew, if they knew the truth, there would be nothing of good will there. And then her gaze passed over two faces that were not smiling.
One was the grey bearded man whom she had seen in Vauxhall on the night of the carnival—Lord Misbourne—and the other was a taller, younger, dark-haired man by his side. The younger man’s expression was filled with such coldness that it shocked her and sent a shiver down her spine. Arabella’s feigned smile was all the broader to hide her sudden unease.
Beside her she heard the prince raise a toast to Dominic’s and her future happiness. She was obliged to curtsy her acknowledgement to him and take the glass of champagne from the footman who appeared by her side, so that she might raise it in response. And when she looked again to find the face that had so distressed her, it had gone and so had Misbourne’s. Her eyes scanned the crowd, searching for the men, but there was not one sign of them.
And then the cheering began, and although Dominic was smiling she could see the darkness in his eyes, and she was smiling even more to hide her unhappiness and discomfort. The band began to play again and people pressed forwards to offer their congratulations. But Arabella’s eyes were still searching for the man and, although she took every step to mask it, the unease that he elicited remained. And it seemed that in the background of all the laughter and music that surrounded her she could hear a whisper of foreboding.