Chapter Eighteen
Dominic was becoming increasingly frustrated with the slow progress of the investigation. It had been half an hour since the ex-Bow Street runner had left his study in Arlesford House and Dominic was musing over the scraps of information the man had delivered. Despite five days of intense questioning, tracking and bribing, it had proved impossible to find the silversmith who had crafted the unusual head of the walking cane. And all enquiries to discover its owner had so far met with a wall of silence.
Dominic’s other lines of enquiries had been more fruitful. He knew that Smith had attempted to buy information concerning Arabella in her guise as both Miss Noir and Mrs Marlbrook from a variety of sources, including the servants both in his and Arabella’s households. He knew that enquiries had been made concerning who was paying the rent on the town house in Curzon Street, who had ordered and paid for the furnishings and who had arranged for and paid the servants.
The missing manservant from Mrs Silver’s had been found in a gaming house in Brighton, frittering away the last of his enormous bribe on the tables, with not a one of his debts cleared, and a very ugly posse of creditors at the door. Five hundred pounds was an extraordinary sum to have been paid for a description and confirmation of the fact that the Duke of Arlesford had bedded Miss Noir on her first night in the place and bought her the next evening from Mrs Silver. And although Dominic did not yet know the identity of Smith, he did know that someone very rich had gone to a lot of trouble to find Arabella.
The obvious next step was to go up to Amersham and speak to Arabella, but there was a risk that if he did she would tell him nothing, Smith would get word of it and then would discover her whereabouts. He needed to find this Smith first. And he wondered again why the hell Arabella had not come to him for help. No matter the threats Smith had made about revealing her identity, Dominic knew he could have protected her. He massaged the tightness from his temple and poured himself a brandy.
There came the sound of the front door being opened and then quietly closed again. Dominic barely noticed it. What he did notice was the light running footsteps that pattered quietly across the marble flags of his hallway. He felt the warning whisper against the back of his neck and goosepimple his skin. Dominic stopped lounging, sat upright and set his glass down on the desk. His hand was slipping within his desk drawer just as the door burst open and a small dark cloaked figure rushed into his study to stand before him.
She gave a small scream when she saw him sitting behind the desk. ‘They said that you would not be—’ The woman bit off what she had been about to say. ‘That is, I—I….’ She twisted her small black gloved hands tight together.
Dominic’s fingers relaxed around the handle of his pistol for he recognised the voice and he knew who it was standing there before him. ‘What are you doing sneaking into my study, Lady Marianne?’ He raised one eyebrow and looked at her with his sternest face.
‘Then you know that it is me,’ she said softly and slipped the hood back to reveal her fair hair scraped back in a severe chignon. Lady Marianne Winslow stood there, her cheeks flushed with embarrassment, her eyes huge and frightened. She clutched the cloak to her as if he were a beast about to ravish her.
‘You have not answered my question,’ he said without the flicker of a smile.
Lady Marianne’s face drained of all colour. She began to edge towards the door. ‘I fear there has been a dreadful mistake,’ she said and he could hear the slight tremor that shook her voice. ‘I should not be here.’
‘No, Lady Marianne. You should not.’ He rose and in one swift motion was across the floor to block her exit.
Lady Marianne gave a gasp and stopped where she was. ‘Please, your Grace. Let me leave unaccosted.’
‘You may leave once you have told me what you are doing here.’ His words were so cold and hard that she actually shivered.
She nodded her submission. ‘I was told that you would not be here, that I was to steal in unnoticed and leave a letter upon your desk. After which I must leave again as quietly as I had entered.’ She slipped a hand into her pocket and held out a neatly folded letter. He could see the paper shaking between her fingers.
He took it from her, noting that the front was addressed to his name alone. ‘Who sent you?’ he asked as he broke the sealing wax.
Lady Marianne gave no answer.
He began opening up the letter. ‘Spit it out, Lady Marianne, or rest assured I will keep you here until you do.’
The girl shook her head. ‘I will not tell you,’ she whispered.
He opened the last fold of the letter. And he knew then who had sent her and what this was about. For the paper was blank.
He moved swiftly to the bell and rang it. His butler appeared almost immediately.
‘Escort this young lady out via the back door, Bentley.’
Bentley was experienced enough not to reveal anything of his surprise at finding a young woman alone in his master’s study. ‘Shall I summon a hackney carriage for the lady, your Grace?’
‘No.’
Bentley glanced up at Dominic, the question clear in his eyes before his lowered them again.
‘I am sure that she has her papa awaiting outside this house even as we speak,’ he said to the butler, and then to Lady Marianne, ‘Am I not right?’
Even if she spoke not one word, she was betrayed by the blush that stained her cheeks.
‘Get her out of here as quickly as you can, Bentley,’ he commanded, knowing that he was right about what had been planned for this night.
But it was too late.
Already he could hear the hammering of fists upon the front door and heard the men enter the house without the decency of waiting for an invitation.
‘I will fetch Hillard and Dowd immediately, your Grace.’ As Bentley opened the study door two men rushed in.
‘There is no need, Bentley. I will deal with this. Leave us.’
The butler looked unconvinced, but he left all the same just as he had been told.
Dominic moved back to resume his seat.
‘Good evening, gentlemen. I have been expecting you,’ said Dominic as he surveyed the Earl of Misbourne and Viscount Linwood who were standing between him and Lady Marianne. ‘What a nice family reunion .’
‘Papa! Francis!’ She cried and hurried to her father and brother. ‘Thank goodness you are here. It has all gone horribly wrong!’
‘No, Lady Marianne, I suspect it has gone entirely according to plan,’ said Dominic grimly. He gestured to the two chairs on the other side of his desk. ‘Do take a seat, gentlemen.’
Misbourne ignored him and stayed where he was. He puffed out his chest. ‘Look here, you scoundrel, Arlesford. What do you think you are doing with my daughter? You have abducted her with the intention of seducing her.’
‘What are you saying, Papa? You sent me here to deliver—’
‘Silence, Marianne! Do not dare to utter another word, you foolish chit!’ roared the earl.
The girl’s face paled and she rapidly closed her mouth and backed away to stand by the door.
‘Well, Arlesford?’ demanded the earl.
‘Well?’ echoed Dominic.
‘You must know that she is ruined just by being here—a gently bred innocent alone in the house of one of London’s most scandalous rakes.’
‘If it becomes known that she is here, then, yes, I agree, your daughter’s reputation would not remain unscathed.’
‘Then you will do the gentlemanly thing and save both her honour and your own by offering for her hand?’ Misbourne’s eyes glittered as he said the words. He could barely keep the smile from his face.
‘Indeed not, sir. As you have already pointed out, I am known as a rake. Why should I care that Lady Marianne is ruined? She is your daughter.’
‘Good Gad! Where is your sense of honour, sir?’
‘In the same place as yours, Misbourne. I care not if you strip her naked and sit her upon my doorstep for all the world to see.’ From the corner of his eye he saw Lady Marianne clutch a hand to her mouth and he felt sorry that she had to witness this. ‘You may publish the story in every one of your newspapers and still I tell you most solemnly, sir, I will not marry her.’
Misbourne’s face turned an unhealthy shade of puce. And then paled to an ashen shade as he realised his plan had failed. ‘You have reneged on a contract that was agreed by your father. This betrothal has been in place since before my daughter was in her cradle.’
‘As I told you before, Misbourne, I will not be bound by a contract that never existed. I thought that we could maintain some degree of civility between us because of our political association.’
‘You led me to believe that you would consider taking her as your wife.’
‘If I did, then I am sorry, sir, for it was never my intention.’
‘You have made us a laughing stock before all of London, you damnable cur!’ the earl growled. ‘I should call you out!’
‘I would be only too happy to oblige you, sir,’ said Dominic coldly.
‘No, Papa!’ he heard Lady Marianne cry in the background.
‘A moment, sir.’ Viscount Linwood laid his hand upon his father’s shoulder. ‘We have not concluded our negotiation with his Grace.’
‘On the contrary,’ said Dominic, ‘I consider the matter closed.’
‘But we have not yet touched on Mrs Marlbrook, or should I call her Miss Noir? And then there is the consideration of the boy. I believe his name is Archie. What a startling resemblance he does bear his papa.’ Linwood smiled a dark dangerous smile, and Dominic’s gaze dropped to see the tiny glint of emeralds and the shape of a wolf’s head in the handle of the walking cane beneath Linwood’s palm.
Dominic’s stomach turned over. He felt his blood turn to ice. ‘It was you,’ he said, hardly able to believe it. Smith. And in that moment all the answers slipped into place. Linwood part-owned his father’s newspapers. He had journalistic connections. He had money in plenty. And an interest in seeing that Dominic did not marry Arabella.
‘Think of what it would do to the boy were the truth of his mama and his most famous papa to be published throughout the capital. The duke, his doxy and their bastard—what a headline that would make!’
Dominic reacted first and thought later. His fist smashed hard against Linwood’s jaw. It happened so fast the viscount did not see it coming and was left staggering and clutching a hand to his bleeding lip.
‘That is what you used to threaten Arabella when you went to Curzon Street, is it not?’ Dominic grabbed at Linwood’s lapels and backed him against the wall.
‘That and the threat of violence against your person if she told you. Did you think that I would just let you get away with how you have treated my sister?’ snarled Linwood. ‘The snub you have dealt us? You arrogant villain, Arlesford! Marry Marianne or I swear to you I will print every damn word of it.’
Dominic looked Linwood straight in the eye and watched the viscount pale. He allowed the deadly intent to show for the briefest of moments before masking it once more. And when he looked again at Linwood he was more under control and ready to play the biggest game of bluff of his life.
‘Sit down, gentlemen. Let us discuss the matter.’ He gestured once more to the chairs by his desk. ‘I am sure you will forgive my outburst…given the provocation. The urge to protect one’s blood is strong. I think we, all of us in this study, understand that. You have seen what young Archie’s mother was prepared to sacrifice. Can you expect his father to be any less protective?’ He resumed his seat behind his desk.
Both Linwood and Misbourne still looked wary, but Dominic could see that they thought victory was at hand. This time they sat down as they were bid.
‘A father has a duty to his son…and his daughter,’ said Misbourne. ‘By marrying my daughter you would be protecting your son. Only think if the scandalous story were to come out, what it would do to the child.’
‘I do, sir, and thus I will do all in my power to avoid its publication.’
Misbourne nodded and could not quite hide the triumph in his smile. ‘I am glad you begin to see sense, Arlesford.’
‘Indeed.’ Dominic returned the smile, but it was a smile that would have frozen the Thames. ‘However, it does occur to me that the story Lord Linwood outlined is perhaps not the best one to fit the facts.’
‘How so, sir?’ Linwood’s eyes narrowed slightly.
Dominic smiled again. ‘Let us review the facts: firstly, there is the blonde masked courtesan, Miss Noir, whom, in contrast to my previous custom, I have gone to great lengths to keep secret. Secondly, there is the Earl of Misbourne’s desperate insistence that I marry his daughter, his blonde daughter. And finally, there is the small matter of his daughter’s presence here, at Arlesford House, the home of a dissolute bachelor, late at night.’
‘What are you saying, Arlesford?’ Misbourne demanded.
‘Why, that the woman behind the mask of Miss Noir is none other than Lady Marianne Winslow, your daughter, sir.’
‘Damnable lies, sir!’ The words exploded from Misbourne as he jumped to his feet.
‘So you say, but what would the ton make of it, I wonder?’
Linwood got to his feet too, staring daggers across the desk at Dominic. ‘We have a witness to place Arabella Marlbrook as Miss Noir in Mrs Silver’s brothel.’
‘Do you? Have you tried to contact him lately?’ Dominic’s gaze was glacial and deadly. He rose and stood taller than the other two men. ‘It seems you did not pay him quite enough for his creditors to be completely forgiving. I fear for his health. And as for the rest of Mrs Silver’s household, I am sure that they will back my account of events.’
‘People will see that you paid for their lies,’ said Misbourne.
‘People already know why a notorious rake would pay Mrs Silver and her girls. But why would an upstanding gentleman like Viscount Linwood be paying Mrs Silver, other than for her silence over his setting up his own sister as a doxy to trap a duke.’
Misbourne shook his head. ‘That is too far-fetched for anyone to believe.’
‘On the contrary, sir, people will see it as a bold and ambitious plot that will only enhance your already formidable reputation. Your daughter’s reputation, I fear, will not fare so well.’ Dominic smiled a cold hard smile. ‘No, Misbourne, it is you who will be seen as the liar. And the blackmail of a respectable widow as a final act of desperation on your part.’
‘Damn you, Arlesford!’ Linwood’s knuckles gripped white against the wolf’s head handle of his cane.
Dominic glanced across at a white-faced Lady Marianne and felt the sting of his conscience. ‘Thank you, gentlemen, I see that this business is now concluded. You may use the back door if you care to save the girl from further scrutiny.’
He watched while Bentley and two footmen escorted his unwanted guests away. The door closed behind them and Dominic relaxed back down into his chair. He would weather the storm if he had to, to protect Arabella and his son, but he doubted it would come to that; instinct told him that Misbourne and Linwood now realised they had overplayed their hand.
Dominic stared at the glass of brandy on the desk before him, the tawny amber of the liquid burnished red by the warm glow from the fire. He knew now why Arabella had refused to marry him. He knew now why she had lied and said that she did not love him. And he knew why she had not come to him and told him of Smith’s threats. She had sacrificed herself to save him and their child.
He lifted the glass, and took a sip of the brandy, breathing his relief as the heat and strength of the alcohol burned his throat. He resisted the urge to run out to the stables, climb upon his horse and gallop off in the direction of Amersham. There were matters to be dealt with before he left London, matters that he would attend to at first light. He schooled his impatience and let his mind run to thoughts of Arabella.
‘Archie is in fine health this morning, Mrs Marlbrook,’ Doctor Roxby smiled.
Arabella was just about to speak when her mother rushed in there before her.
‘Indeed, Doctor,’ agreed Mrs Tatton. ‘Your visits have made all the difference to my grandson’s health.’
The doctor glanced away, slightly embarrassed. ‘I am sure the improvement is down to Mrs Marlbrook’s intervention at the school.’
‘Miss Wallace is keeping a close eye on Archie and the boys who were taunting him.’
‘Archie certainly seems to have taken a shine to you, Doctor,’ said Mrs Tatton.
‘And I, to him. He is a pleasant child, ma’am,’ said Doctor Roxby politely. ‘And a credit to his mother.’
‘Would you care to stay for dinner, Doctor?’ Arabella heard her mother ask and could have cringed in disbelief.
Doctor Roxby’s eyes met Arabella’s and she saw in their clear blue-green gaze both question and interest. She looked away, not wishing to encourage him.
‘Thank you for your most kind offer, Mrs Tatton, but I am afraid I must decline upon this occasion. I have other patients to call upon and the hour grows late.’
‘Perhaps another day, Doctor.’ Mrs Tatton smiled.
‘Indeed,’ said Doctor Roxby and he smiled as his gaze once more went to Arabella. He gave a bow and, lifting up his black leather bag, he left.
Arabella waited until she heard the creak of the garden gate before she rounded upon her mother. ‘Mama, what on earth did you think you were doing inviting him to stay for dinner?’
‘It was a simple enough offer, Arabella,’ her mother protested.
‘I do not wish to give him the wrong impression.’
‘Nonsense, Arabella,’ said her mother brusquely. ‘He is a respectable gentleman. I can see in his eyes that he is kind, and look how well he takes to Archie, and Archie to him.’
‘He is only doing his job. Do not read more into it than there is.’
‘Oh, stuff, Arabella. I am not yet in my dotage. I see the way he looks at you, and why not? You are still a young and comely woman. As a doctor within our community, young, handsome, and not yet married, he must be in want of a wife.’
‘Mama, it is just a matter of time before he hears the village gossip about…’ She could not bring herself to say Dominic’s name. The pain was still too intense. ‘About Archie’s parentage. Indeed, I am surprised he has not heard already.’ She knew she sounded bitter, but she could not help it. She just felt so miserable.
‘You imagine the gossip to be something it is not,’ chided her mother. ‘And have I not already told you the truth? Of course there are whispers, but the villagers are our own people, and it was not as if you were left unwed with a child. They know you married Mr Marlbrook, and would have accepted you and Archie just the same. And, yes, it is unfortunate that the boy is the very image of…’ her mother’s voice hardened as it always did when she spoke of Dominic ‘…that man, but it was the old duke who forced us from this village, and nothing else.’
‘Perhaps you are right, and indeed I pray that you are, for I want more than anything for Archie to be happy here.’
‘And he will be.’ Her mother patted her hand. ‘The children will soon tire of their taunting.’
‘I hope so,’ said Arabella.
Her mother looked into her face. ‘I can see that you are unhappy and I do not blame you after all that you have been through with that villain Arlesford. But you must move on, Arabella, both for your own sake and for Archie’s. The boy needs a father and you, a husband.’
‘No, Mama,’ Arabella objected. ‘We are fine as we are. We do not need another man.’ She knew her mother meant well, but Mrs Tatton did not know the truth. She did not know the terrible lies that Arabella had told. She did not know the guilt and the misery that weighed heavy on her heart.
‘Will you hide yourself away here in this cottage for the rest of your life because he broke your heart? That is not you, Arabella. You have pride. You have spirit. You are a strong woman. A woman not unlike myself when I was younger.’
Her mother smiled at her, but in the smile was sadness and her eyes were filled with worry. Arabella felt all the worse, because it was her own fault. One lie upon another, and too many of those that she loved were suffering because of it.
‘You must do what is best for Archie,’ said Mrs Tatton.
‘I always have,’ said Arabella, ‘and I always will.’ No matter how hard that would be. No matter what it cost them all.
‘And I am glad of it. I know you do not believe me when I tell you there will come a time, not so very far in the future, when the affection of a good and kind gentleman will heal your heart, Arabella, and make you forget all about Dominic Furneaux.’
No one and nothing would ever make her forget Dominic. She would never stop loving him. But she knew it would be a mistake to say this now to her mother. She did not want to talk any more about such a tender subject, especially one about which she could not tell her mother the truth. So she just smiled and gave her mother’s hand a gentle pat.
‘I know you have ever had my best interests at heart, Mama, and I thank you for it, but matters are still too raw. It needs to be just you, me and Archie for now.’ And then she rose from the table and went to check on her son.
Dominic dealt with matters as speedily as he could the next morning. He visited the Archbishop of Canterbury, Moffat, his man of business, and finally Hunter, who, despite the afternoon hour, was only just up following an ‘all nighter’ at the gaming tables, but who nevertheless rallied to Dominic’s request.
‘And so Smith was really Linwood all along,’ said Hunter as he stood there in his bedchamber with his chin up, letting his valet tie his cravat in some wonderful new knot. ‘Damn the man. You should have run the villain through.’
‘No doubt,’ replied Dominic drily. Around them was a flurry of activity, as servants hurriedly took Hunter’s clothes from their drawers and wardrobe and packed them in a travelling bag.
‘Does Arabella know you are coming?’
‘No. A letter would not arrive significantly before we do, and besides, I think what has to be said would be better in person.’
‘I’ll say,’ said Hunter with a grin. He glanced at the coat that was being folded into his bag and spoke to his manservant. ‘No, no, Telfer, my best one, man, the black superfine from Weston.’
In a matter of fifteen minutes Hunter was ready in his riding coat and breeches, his fully packed travelling bag strapped behind his saddle, and the two men geeing their mounts out on to the Aylesbury road.
Dominic waited until they had left London behind and were trotting along in the countryside before he spoke again.
‘There is one other thing that I ought to tell you before we reach Amersham, Hunter.’
‘What is that?’ Hunter glanced across at him.
The small matter of his son. And Dominic told his friend all about Archie.
‘Hell, Dominic, I had no idea. So Arabella married Marlbrook because she was—’ He stopped himself just in time.
Dominic raised an eyebrow and drew him a droll look.
Silence, and then Hunter asked, ‘Did Linwood know of the boy?’
‘Most definitely.’
‘Ah, I think I understand your feelings towards Linwood. Bad enough threatening your woman, but your son too?’
Dominic’s eyes darkened at the memory. Linwood was lucky to have walked out of his house alive.
‘Anything else you have not told me?’ Hunter asked with a grin.
‘Nothing you need know,’ said Dominic, and smiled. ‘Now, you’d better get that horse moving if we want to reach Amersham before midnight.’
Hunter laughed and kicked his horse to a canter. And Dominic thought of Arabella in the little Tatton cottage in Amersham, and he raced his mount past Hunter.
It was late by the time they reached Amersham. A waxing moon near to fullness hung high in the dark night sky and helped guide their way. The glow of light from the edges of windows shone in some of the cottages down in the village, but all was silent, all was still. Dominic glanced in the direction of the Tatton cottage, and although he was tired, travel stained and saddle sore he was restless to spur his horse down there and knock upon Arabella’s door. Was she awake? Was she thinking of him as he thought of her?
‘Do not even think it,’ warned Hunter’s quiet voice by his side. ‘You want her to see you in your best light, Dominic, not when you are in need of a bed, a bath, a shave and some fresh clothes. Besides, I need a drink, very, very badly. I hope you have got some of that rather fine brandy of yours up here.’
Hunter was right. Dominic wanted everything to be readied and perfect when he saw Arabella again. He wanted to take her in his arms and tell her that everything was going to be all right. ‘Come on then, five minutes to the Hall. And then you may have your brandy.’ With one last longing glance towards the Tatton cottage he turned and spurred his horse along the road towards Shardeloes Hall.
At half past six the following evening Arabella bathed Archie. Once he had been dressed in his nightclothes with his hair dried by the fire and his supper of honeyed toast and warm milk long since eaten, she settled him in his little truckle bed. Then she drew the curtains across the small bedchamber window to block out the light, which was still bright. With the curtains closed the room felt dim and safe. Archie yawned as he snuggled down beneath the covers.
She bent to give him his goodnight kiss. ‘Sleep tight, little lamb,’ she said as usual, determined not to let her son see how miserable she felt.
‘Mama,’ he said quietly, ‘I miss Dominic.’
‘I miss him too, Archie.’ She stroked his hair and kept her voice light.
‘Will he come to visit us soon?’
‘I do not know.’ She forced the smile to her face. ‘No more questions, my darling. You must go to sleep like a good boy, for it is Sunday tomorrow and we have church.’
‘Not church, Mama,’ he grumbled, but snuggled down and closed his eyes just the same.
Arabella walked down the stairs to the parlour, where her mother was sitting waiting for her.
‘How is he?’
‘Fine, because there is no school. I only hope he is well enough come Monday.’ Arabella pinched the bridge of her nose and curbed the rest of her worries for Archie and his future.
‘That Dominic Furneaux has much to answer for.’
Arabella did not feel strong enough to withstand another argument with her mother over Dominic. Her confidence felt shaken and her normal calm disposition ruffled. She was tense and anxious. ‘Mama, please let us speak no more of Dominic.’
‘No more? We have not spoken of him at all for the sake of the boy. And I have held my tongue long enough.’
Arabella gave a sigh and sat down in the armchair by the window. She lifted her needlework. ‘Mama, there is nothing to be gained by this.’
‘He abandoned you, not once but twice, Arabella, and in the worst possible of ways. Publicly announcing a betrothal only to break it off again. Of all the cruel most humiliating ways that he might—’
‘Mama!’ Arabella said quickly. It had been cruel. It had been humiliating. But for Dominic, not for her. ‘Remember that it is Dominic who gifted us this cottage and Dominic who is paying us an allowance that we may live a comfortable existence.’
‘It is only right that a man should pay for his own child, Arabella. Especially a man who is now as rich and powerful as Dominic. Archie is his son; heaven knows he has done precious little else for the boy. Casting him off without a care—it breaks my heart to see it. The boy should be heir to a dukedom, not suffering the taunts of illegitimacy or begging for the crumbs Dominic deigns to spare him!’
Arabella felt the blood drain from her face. ‘Cease this talk at once, Mama! I will not hear you say it.’ If only Mama knew the truth. I am guilty of all of these accusations, not Dominic.
‘I cannot, Arabella, for it needs to be said,’ cried her mother. ‘The spite of that man! The cruel arrogance! How you can still have a care for such a scoundrel defies logic.’ Mrs Tatton was leaning forwards in her chair in full rant. ‘I should have gone round to Arlesford House and given that man a piece of my mind before we left London. I should have told him exactly what I thought of him. That snake in the grass, that conniving, ill-mannered—’
Something snapped within Arabella. She could not hear her mother vilify Dominic for one minute more, blaming him for what she had done. The words blurted from her mouth,
‘It was not Dominic who broke the betrothal, Mama, it was me. I did it, not Dominic.’
Silence followed her words. A great roaring loud silence.
Mrs Tatton gaped at Arabella in confusion and shock. She gave a strange little disbelieving laugh and then smiled. ‘Come now, Arabella—’
‘It is the truth. I told him that I did not love him and was leaving him and still he gave me this cottage and an allowance.’
The smile slipped from her mother’s face. She looked as if she could not fully comprehend what Arabella was saying. ‘But why would you do such a thing, Arabella? Why, when I know that you love him?’
‘I do love him.’ It was the first time she had admitted it aloud.
‘Then why?’ All vestige of colour had drained from Mrs Tatton’s face. ‘Why would you ruin it for yourself and for Archie?’
Arabella sat very still upon the chair; her hands lay slack. The floodgates had been opened, and there was no way to close them again. So she told her mother about Mr Smith and his threats. She told her everything, even of Miss Noir and Mrs Silver’s.
‘Oh, Arabella,’ he mother whispered as she came to stand by her side. ‘Why did you not tell me?’
‘I could not risk that you would go to Dominic. Smith will send his ruffians after him if you reveal any of this. Dominic’s life hangs in the balance. And so too does Archie’s, for Smith will publish the story and there will be no going back from that. I have hurt them both, terribly, but it was only to protect them from Smith. Dominic must never know. You do understand that, do you not?’
Her mother nodded.
‘And as for Mrs Silver’s, well…’ Arabella fidgeted with her fingers and could not look up to meet her mother’s gaze. ‘I knew what the knowledge would do to you, and I could not bear to burden you with such shame.’
‘I already knew, Arabella.’
Arabella glanced up at her mother. ‘But how could you know?’
‘Dominic told me where he had found you, that day he came to Curzon Street and you had taken Archie to the park.’ There were tears rolling down Mrs Tatton’s cheeks. ‘You should have told me, Arabella. I would never be ashamed of you when all you have done has been to save those you love. You are the best of mothers to Archie. And you are the best of daughters to me.’
Arabella got to her feet and put her arms around her mother’s shoulders, holding her and laying her cheek upon the top of her mother’s head.
‘Thank you, Mama, and bless you. Bless you for all that you have suffered because of me.’
Her mother looked drained and worried and Arabella felt more guilty than ever.
Mrs Tatton’s health was too fragile. Arabella knew she should not have weakened and burdened her mother with the truth. It seemed to Arabella that however hard she tried, no matter what she did, she hurt the people she loved the most.
Dominic’s voice echoed in her head. I love you, Arabella.
And she winced. The weight of the pain and the guilt was growing heavier with each passing day. And she wondered when Dominic would come, and she wondered how she was going to bear that meeting when eventually it happened. She felt as if she were suffocating from the weight of worry.
‘Mama, I do not think that I will sleep feeling the way I do. Would you like to go for a walk along the woodland path, to help clear our heads a little?’
‘I am tired, and would prefer to sit by the fire. But you go, Arabella.’ Her mother took Arabella’s hand in her own. ‘Do not wander too far and be back before it is dark.’
‘Yes, Mama.’ Arabella dropped a kiss on her mother’s head.
From outside she could hear the blackbirds calling and the soft rustle of leaves in the evening breeze.
Wrapping her shawl around her shoulders, Arabella slipped from the cottage out into the fresh air. She walked to straighten the thoughts in her head and to revive her resolve.
‘What do you mean you are going out alone?’ Hunter grumbled. ‘We have not stopped all day. And we are supposed to be attending to other matters tonight, such as drinking and making merry and celebrating the joys of the bachelor life in all the most carnal of ways.’
Dominic threw his friend a speaking look.
‘You are a changed man since you became reacquainted with Arabella, Dominic. A changed man, indeed.’ Hunter shook his head in a sorrowful way.
‘So you keep telling me. We will see how changed you are when you meet the woman you wish to marry.’
Hunter gave a disgusted snort. ‘I assure you I have no plans in that direction for a good many years. And if I must eventually succumb to such a fate there will be no changing involved.’
‘We shall see,’ said Dominic.
‘Indeed, you shall,’ sniffed Hunter and helped himself to another brandy. ‘All is ready for tomorrow?’
‘Almost,’ said Dominic and he thought again of Arabella.
‘I shall be glad of the return to London. I do not know how you can stand it out here in the sticks. I bet they do not even know how to play faro or macao.’
Dominic laughed. ‘I am sure they do not. Indeed, I doubt there is such an inveterate gambler as yourself within the whole village. You will have to wait for your return to London for that.’
Hunter sighed and sipped his brandy. ‘Dear, dear London town, how I miss her sweet allures.’
Dominic laughed again and, gathering up his hat, gloves and riding crop, departed the Hall.