Chapter Ten
‘I am so glad that you persuaded me to come. It is a lovely day and Archie is having such a fine time.’ Her mother smiled as she and Arabella strolled along arm in arm, with Archie running before them breathless with excitement.
‘Ooh, do look at that display, Arabella!’ Mrs Tatton pulled Arabella over to admire the array of perfume bottles in the shop window. ‘All the way from Paris and with matching scented soaps. How lovely.’
‘This is the place of which I was speaking to you of—the apothecary who is highly recommended. Gemmell was telling me that he bought some liniment for the stiffness in his joints and it has worked wonders for him. And Cook swore that a tonic brought her sister back to health when she was dreadfully weakened following a fever. I was thinking we could buy some remedy for you, Mama.’
‘If you think it would help.’
‘There will be no hurt in trying.’ Arabella raised her eyebrows. ‘And perhaps we might treat ourselves to some of that fine French soap while we are on the premises.’
Mrs Tatton laughed. And when Archie copied her, even though he did not understand what his grandmother was laughing about, Arabella could not help but join in.
The bell rang as they entered through the door, making the women who were standing in the middle of the shop floor beside a display of glass bottles glance round and notice Arabella and her family. The bottles which the women were inspecting were the same expensive Parisian perfumes as displayed in the shop’s window. On seeing that Arabella was no one that they knew, the ladies ignored her and went back to choosing their perfume. Arabella watched them taking great pains over sniffing the scents that the shop assistant had touched to their hands using a variety of thin glass wands.
Two of the women were older; Arabella would guess of an age similar to her own mother’s. But they were as haughty as Mrs Tatton was not. One look at their faces and Arabella could not help but draw a less-than-flattering conclusion as to their characters. The third woman was much younger, barely more than a girl. In contrast to the older women, one of whom Arabella was sure was the girl’s mother due to a faint family resemblance, the girl seemed very quiet and eager to please.
‘What do you mean, you like the sandalwood, Marianne?’ demanded one of the formidable matrons. ‘It is quite unsuitable for a young lady. Whatever would Sarah say were she to receive that as her birthday gift?’ The matron looked quickly to her companion. ‘Forgive Marianne, Lady Fothergill, she can be such a silly goose at times. I am quite certain that she will admit that the rose fragrance is quite the most appropriate scent for her friend, albeit one of the most expensive choices.’
Arabella felt a pang of compassion for the girl. Life with a mother like that could not be easy, she thought as she turned her attention back to the apothecary who had arrived at the counter to serve them.
In the background she could hear the drone of the women’s conversation, but Arabella was not listening. Rather she was concentrating on showing the apothecary her mother’s hands and explaining about her mother’s lungs. He suggested a warming liniment for Mrs Tatton’s joints and a restorative tonic for her lungs, and disappeared off into the back of the shop to prepare them.
Mrs Tatton fitted her gloves back on while they waited and Arabella looked down at Archie. He was crouched by her side making his little wooden horse, Charlie, gallop around his feet and clicking quiet horsy noises to himself. Arabella smiled at the look of absorption upon his face. It was then that she heard the name ‘Arlesford’ spoken as clear as a bell. She tensed and could not help but listen in to the women’s conversation.
‘Close your ears, Lady Marianne, this is not talk for you,’ one of the women was saying.
‘Yes, Lady Fothergill,’ said the girl, and Arabella resisted the urge to turn around and see if Lady Marianne had actually put her hands over her own ears. Then in lower quieter tones as if it were the greatest secret, Lady Fothergill continued, ‘I am afraid I have to tell you the latest word, my poor dear, but they say that he has a mistress, and not just any mistress, one he bought from a bordello. Can you imagine?’
Arabella felt her blood run cold. She tried to keep her face clear and unaffected. The apothecary returned carrying a dark blue bottle and a small brown jar and placed them both down upon the counter.
‘Might we also view your perfumed soaps, the ones that you have displayed in the front window?’ she managed, and the smile fixed upon her face was broad and false.
‘This is such a treat, Arabella,’ said her mother.
‘Yes.’ Arabella nodded, still smiling, but almost the whole of her attention was focused on the conversation taking place behind her.
The other woman’s voice stiffened with a defensive tone. ‘Lady Fothergill, gentlemen will have their little foibles, but Arlesford is a duke and he knows his duty. I am sure that he will make a good husband.’
Arabella saw her mother’s ears prick up at the mention again of Dominic’s name and her stomach clenched all the tighter. She felt Mrs Tatton nudge her arm in a not altogether subtle way, and then her mother gestured with her eyes in the direction of the women behind them.
Arabella gave a tiny nod of acknowledgement to show that she understood the message.
‘So is he still interested in Lady Marianne, Lady Misbourne?’
Arabella felt her blood run cold. Misbourne? An image of the masked bearded man from Vauxhall garden flashed in her mind, and she remembered the anger that had simmered within Dominic at their meeting, and his glib reply when she had asked who Misbourne was. No wonder he was so put out; meeting one’s prospective father-in-law with your mistress on your arm was hardly the done thing.
The apothecary returned with the soaps, but Arabella and her mother were still listening intently. Arabella heard Mrs Tatton ask him to unwrap each soap that they might compare the smells, but Arabella could not move. She was frozen, holding her breath while she strained to hear Lady Misbourne’s answer.
‘Let us just say,’ said Lady Misbourne, her voice less friendly than it had been at the start of her conversation with Lady Fothergill, ‘that we are expecting an offer in the not-too-distant future. But that little piece of news is for your ears only, Lady Fothergill,’
‘Of course,’ said Lady Fothergill and there was something in the silky way that she said it that Arabella knew Lady Misbourne’s news concerning Dominic and her daughter would be all around London by tomorrow. ‘I think I shall choose the jasmine, Lady Misbourne. It is so exotic and so very expensive.’
The apothecary was clearing his throat and she felt her mother give her arm a little shake.
‘Arabella, you are wool-gathering.’ Mrs Tatton gave a false little laugh and slipped a hand to cover the white shining knuckles of Arabella’s hands where she was gripping so tightly to the counter. ‘I have come over a little unwell, my dear. Would you mind terribly if we were to come back for the soaps another day?’
Bless you, Mama. Bless your kindness, when her mother did not even know the full extent of the shock.
‘Not at all,’ Arabella said and then searched in her reticule for her purse to pay the apothecary. Her hands were trembling slightly in her haste to be gone and she set the money quickly down upon the counter, hoping that the apothecary would not notice. With the jar and bottle wrapped up in paper and tied with a handle of string, she took hold of Archie’s hand and followed her mother out of the shop.
‘Arabella, do not even think about that man. He is not worthy of it. From what I saw in there Dominic Furneaux is moving in all the right circles and most deservedly so I say. I wish him unhappy,’ Mrs Tatton said, pure venom in her voice. She tucked Arabella’s free hand into the crook of her arm. ‘Now, we will not let their words bother us.’
‘Indeed we will not,’ said Arabella resolutely but she felt numb and chilled to the marrow and her mind was still reeling from what she had heard. Dominic was to marry. It should not have been such a very great shock. He was a duke. It was his duty to beget an heir, but she felt sick at the thought. Sick to the pit of her stomach at the memories those words stirred.
Her mother hurried her along the street and she just wanted to get away from this place and those women.
She heard the shop door-bell ring behind them.
‘Excuse me, ma’am.’ The girl’s voice was tentative and as gentle and unassuming as her mother’s was harsh and arrogant. Arabella did not need to turn round to know that it was Lady Marianne who had come out behind them. Lady Misbourne’s daughter. The girl that Dominic was to marry.
Arabella did not want to look round. She wanted to keep on walking, to run away from this nightmare. But her mother had already stopped and turned.
Arabella had no choice.
‘Your little boy, he left this behind.’ There in the girl’s outstretched pink gloved hand was little wooden Charlie.
Lady Marianne was short and slender. A few fair curls that had escaped her pins peeped from the straw of her bonnet. She was dressed in an expensive pink walking dress and pelisse overloaded with lace and ribbon, chosen by Lady Misbourne Arabella guessed. But the outfit did little to detract from the girl’s beauty; her sweet face was stunning. Her skin had the smooth creamy opalescence of youth, her features were fine and neat, and her eyes were large and a deep dark brown.
‘Thank you,’ Arabella said with a smile that would not touch her eyes no matter how hard she tried to make it, and she took the little wooden horse from the girl’s hand.
‘Thank very much, miss,’ said Archie politely so that even given the strain of the situation, she was proud of him and his manners.
Lady Misbourne’s daughter smiled at Archie. ‘You are very welcome,’ she said to him kindly. ‘He looks as if he is a very special horse.’
‘Oh, he is,’ said Archie. ‘Gemmell made him for my birthday, and my mama took me to the park and let me and Charlie ride upon a real horse.’
‘That is quite enough, Archie. I am sure that the lady is too busy for your stories.’
‘Oh, not at all,’ said Lady Marianne shyly. ‘He is such a sweet boy.’
‘Marianne!’ Lady Misbourne appeared in the doorway and cast Arabella and her mother a haughty look of dislike.
‘Please excuse me,’ said Lady Marianne to Arabella and Mrs Tatton, ‘but I must not keep my mama waiting.’ She gave Archie a big grin and then she hurried back to where her mother’s face was growing sourer by the minute.
Arabella, her mother and Archie walked on along the street.
‘I liked that lady,’ said Archie and gave a little skip. ‘And so did Charlie. I think when I am a grown-up man I shall marry her.’ His innocent words drove the blade deeper, right up to the hilt.
‘Archie, stop talking such nonsense and walk smartly,’ she heard her mother say brusquely.
Arabella’s heart was throbbing. And this time she could not force herself to smile. She felt bitter and angry and unbelievably hurt. He had lied to her and betrayed her. He had bought her to keep as another one of his possessions. All of that and yet she was overwhelmed with such a terrible sense of grief, a raw keening agony that gouged at her heart.
The journey home seemed never ending. But, at last, she was able to climb from the coach outside the town house in Curzon Street and make her way in through the opened front door to the welcome of Gemmell, while her mother and Archie stayed hidden in the coach until it drove round to the stables.
Dominic sent a note to say that he could not visit that evening, and Arabella lay alone in bed that night, mulling over the dismal mess of the situation. Everything she had done had been for Archie, everything she was still doing was for her son. She had sold herself, swallowed the humiliation of becoming Dominic’s mistress. Worse than that, she had given herself to him in love, because even after everything she could not pretend that her heart was so divorced from him. But now she had to consider the implication of his impending marriage.
He was a duke. Of course he was required to marry. How na?ve she had been not to think of it. Once upon a time it was Arabella who would have been his wife. Now she was his whore. The knowledge hurt, as did the thought of him making another woman his wife. And what would it mean for her when he married? Would he still expect their arrangement to continue? Would he come seeking her bed at night before going home to that of Lady Marianne? The thought was anathema to Arabella. She could not bear to think of it.
She climbed from the bed and went to stand by the window, to look out upon the moonlit street. The hour was late and the street was empty except for the night-soil cart that was travelling slowly past and the squat man that walked by its side. She stood and watched, knowing that she was not going to find sleep that night. And in the dark shadowed corners of her mind was the image of the Whitechapel workhouse not so very far from Flower and Dean Street.