Chapter Five

"What do you think you were doing, talking to Lord Drover?" Arthur threw his hands up as he continued to parade up and down the drawing room as soon as they got home. "Lord Drover is not the sort of gentleman any young lady ought to be introduced to and certainly not you ."

His sister sat quietly in her chair, her hands folded in lap as she continued to watch him. His mother also sat beside her daughter though her expression told Arthur that she, at the very least, knew what he was talking about.

"I do not know what it is I have done wrong," Isabella said, quietly. "All that took place was that I was introduced to a few new acquaintances and one was the Earl of Drover. You have never once spoken of him, never once remarked that I was required to stay away from him. Now, however, you rail at me as though somehow, I knew what I was doing wrong and did so deliberately!"

"It was also my fault, Crestwood," came his mother's quiet voice. "I forgot entirely about Lord Drover even though he is cousin to Lady Clara."

Arthur scowled at the very name and continued his pacing, absent mindedly running one hand down over his cheek. Lord Drover had once been a friend and indeed, had been the one who had introduced Arthur to Lady Clara, given that they were second cousins. In the months which had followed, however, Lord Drover had become something of an enemy, choosing to spout lies and foolishness about Arthur whenever he wished to and some of that had, unfortunately, become gossip. In his previous Seasons, before he had left for war, Lord Drover had told the ton that Arthur was a gentleman without fortune, that he had lost all in gambling dens and the like – and Arthur had been forced to defend himself. Lord Drover had been proven incorrect, of course, and he had then apologized for saying anything like that but had laughingly said he had been in his cups at the time and could not be held responsible for what he said. Because of his charm, his easy smiles and good natured remarks, the ton had quite forgiven him, believing what he had said about being much too drunk to make sense and thus, all had been forgotten.

Except, it had happened again. Arthur had heard Lord Drover whisper to another gentleman about Arthur's proclivities for a certain gambling den where ladies of the night might be found in number – and he had lost his temper in a dreadful way. He called out Lord Drover, had demanded swords the following morning so he might regain his honor and Lord Drover had done the honorable thing and had accepted, though he had begun by making as many excuses as he could for why he had spoken so. Arthur had believed none of them, of course, and thus, the swords at dawn had been accepted.

Lord Drover had not been as good as his word, however, and had not come to the field the following morning. In fact, it had been whispered thereafter that he had left London altogether and Arthur had not known the truth of what had happened to him. To see him here now, back in London, made his stomach twist so painfully, it sent red hot heat right through every part of him. The last thing he wanted was to see Lord Drover anywhere near his sister.

"Lord Drover is a decent gentleman, surely?" Still clearly confused, Isabella looked first to Arthur and then to their mother. "I do not think society would have accepted him if he was not."

"That is not how society works," her mother told her, before Arthur could speak. "There is a disparity there. Lord Drover had a foolish tongue and, for whatever reason, a dislike of your brother. He spoke gossip about him, gossip that was entirely false and when he was called out, when he ought to have drawn swords against your brother, he fled. That was before your brother went to war, of course, but all the same, it was grievous indeed."

"But society should have thrown him from themselves, then."

Arthur shook his head. "Society is a little less severe on the gentlemen who call themselves rogues," he reminded her, quietly. "Lord Drover can be charming – as you yourself experienced – and he made a good many excuses as to why he did what he did and for whatever reason, the ton accepted it without question. That does not mean that they were contented with what he had said and what he had done, simply that they were not about to throw him from their company because of it."

Isabella frowned. "That makes very little sense."

"I quite agree," Lady Crestwood sighed, shaking her head. "But society is a fickle creature and we must often bend to its will – though not in every regard, of course. One thing I will not stand for is for your brother to be demeaned merely because of how he appears."

"And that is a very kind and generous thing, Mother," Arthur replied, quickly, "though you need not come to my defence. I will always have people looking at me, people gazing at me as though I am some sort of creature. Your consideration ought to be for Isabella, given that she lacks some knowledge of others in the ton who might cause her some difficulty."

"Such as Lord Drover." With a nod, Arthur's mother looked again to Isabella. "You must not go near Lord Drover again, do you understand? He is a gentleman set on making a great many difficulties for your brother, though he has never explained his reasons as to why he attempts to do so."

Isabella ran one hand over her chin, clearly thinking about what had been said. "Did Lady Clara ever believe what he said of you?"

Arthur shook his head. "No, she did not."

"I see." Isabella frowned. "If he is determined to do you harm, brother, then what possible purpose might he have for being kind and generous to me? Why speak to me at all? Why ask me to dance?"

Arthur grimaced. "I do not know, Isabella, but what I am aware of is that Lord Dover is not a gentleman you ought to even think of considering. No doubt he will have had his reasons for asking you to dance and I am entirely disinterested in all of them." With a slight lift of his chin, he looked to Isabella, his expression firm. "You are not even to speak with him. Do you understand me?"

Much to his surprise, Isabella's chin tilted up in response and rather than looking at all upset or cowed, her eyes sparked with determination. "You need not speak to me as though I have deliberately done such a thing," she replied with temerity. "You may ask me not to speak with him and I will, of course, agree given what I have learned about his behaviour towards you. To demand it, however, is not required and not fair."

"Isabella, please." Reaching across, Lady Crestwood took her daughter's hand and squeezed her fingers lightly. "Just do as your brother asks. This Season is difficult enough already." Slowly, her gaze drew itself back to Arthur. "Though I did see Lord Townsend speak with you, however."

Arthur grimaced, his fingers curling up into a fist as tension ran through him. "Yes, Mother, you did."

"And were you introduced?"

Glancing to Isabella, who was watching the exchange with wide eyes that held clear confusion, Arthur sighed inwardly and then shrugged his shoulders. "Yes, I was introduced to his daughter, Miss Abigail Townsend." Ignoring the way his sister's eyes rounded all the more, Arthur continued on. "She is not unpleasant as regards her appearance though she was a little more forthright than I had expected, given what her father said of her character."

"That is good."

Blinking, Arthur let a frown pull at his eyebrows. "Why would her forthright manner be pleasing?"

"Because I do not like it when I hear that young ladies have very little to say for themselves," came the reply. "Young ladies ought to be able and willing to speak a little of what they think and feel rather than keeping entirely silent." Evidently seeing Arthur's frown, she smiled briefly. "You may not think that such a thing is agreeable but I can assure you, it is."

Arthur took in a breath, set his shoulders and turned his head away. "I have not yet decided, Mother, before you ask."

"Decided what?"

Fully intending not to speak directly to Isabella about what Lord Townsend had asked of him, Arthur opened his mouth to tell her that it was not her business, only for his mother to speak before him.

"Lord Townsend has debts. He wishes your brother to pay off such debts and, in return, he will marry Lord Townsend's daughter, Miss Abigail Townsend. It is a wise suggestion, of course, because your brother might struggle to find a young lady to marry – not because there is anything wrong with him but rather because the ton are much too foolish in their opinions." With a sniff, Lady Crestwood looked away but not before Arthur had caught the hint of tears in her eyes. Was she truly that upset on his behalf? His own heart softened for a moment but he drew strength into himself, pushing away all thought of emotion. He had to try his utmost not to care in the least bit what society thought of him. It was the only way he could survive the Season intact.

Clearing his throat, he lifted one shoulder and then let it fall. "It is only something I am considering."

Isabella's expression was inscrutable. He could not tell what she was thinking nor what she made of this new information. Arthur told himself that it did not matter in the least what she thought but all the same, when a flickering frown graced her forehead, Arthur caught his own forehead furrowing.

"What does Miss Townsend think of this arrangement?"

Arthur hesitated, finding himself entirely uncertain and therefore unsure as to how best he ought to answer. "I – I do not think it matters, Isabella. The lady will do as she is directed by her father."

Isabella's eyebrows lifted. "Goodness. I did not think you as unfeeling as that, Crestwood. Would you be willing to make that sort of arrangement for me? Would you be contented to set me into matrimony with a gentleman I did not know or care for without even thinking of my own feelings?"

With a cough, Arthur fought to find an answer, only for there to come a knock at the door. "Come in."

The butler stepped in, glanced to where Isabella and Lady Crestwood stood and then came directly towards Arthur, a calling card in his hand. "My lord."

Arthur took it, only for his chest to tighten, his eyes flaring wide as he stared at the card, barely able to take in who it was who had come to call .

"Crestwood?" His mother's voice cut through his surprise, making Arthur jerk his head up. "What is it?"

"My lord?" the butler murmured, not quite catching his eye. "What should I say?"

Swallowing hard, Arthur gave a brief nod to the butler and then, without a word, offered the calling card to his mother.

"Lady Clara?"

"Hush, if you please," Arthur murmured, finding himself walking across the drawing room to where the mirror hung on the wall, looking at his reflection. One glance at his scarred face had him turning away sharply, a ball of anger and confusion settling in his chest. Whatever was Lady Clara and her mother doing here? And why had he agreed that they could come in? Surely, after everything Lady Clara had done, he ought to be refusing to see her?

"Lady Clara is coming?" Isabella asked, her voice full of shock as Arthur nodded grimly, turning back from the mirror and standing directly in front of the fireplace, clasping his hands behind his back. "Why?"

"I suppose we shall find out," Arthur replied, gesturing for her to rise to her feet. His own heart betrayed him, however, pounding furiously as the door opened and Lady Templeton, followed by Lady Clara walked into the room.

"Good afternoon." Lady Templeton's smile was a little fixed, her eyes darting from one person to another rather than lingering on any face. "Thank you for permitting us to call upon you all."

Arthur bowed and then forced himself to look at Lady Clara. It was the first time he had been in company with her since she had ended their engagement though, to his eyes, she was just as beautiful as ever. A gentle glow in her cheeks, dark lashes framing clear blue eyes and golden curls that shone like the sun – she had retained all of her beauty, certainly, though he could not say the same about her character. That was quite ruined in his eyes.

"Good afternoon, Lady Clara," he said, before she could speak. "Might I ask why you have come to call on me?"

The question was direct and Lady Clara's eyes flared wide, as did her mother's. The two looked at one another though Arthur said nothing more, waiting for her to answer him rather than fill the silence with any sort of explanation.

"I – I wanted to make certain that there was no difficulty between us." Lady Clara's voice was soft, her words hesitant but Arthur felt no sympathy. She was the one who had caused this impasse, this brokenness between them. He had no reason to feel any sort of awkwardness, though it was there, nonetheless. "I had heard you returned to London and I thought it best to call so we might speak briefly. "

Arthur lifted his chin. "I have no intention of having any sort of connection between you and me, Lady Clara," he said, still speaking as plainly as he could despite the fact that Lady Templeton gasped at his boldness. "I shall leave you to visit with my mother and sister but, given that this shall be the extent of our conversation throughout the rest of the Season, I think I shall take my leave."

Without looking at anyone and hoping his mother would not be irritated by his decision to quit the room, Arthur walked directly towards the door, only for Lady Clara to put out one hand and catch his arm. Frustration burned hot and he turned sharp eyes to hers, only to see tears brimming there.

"I am sorry, Crestwood."

It was barely loud enough for him to hear, a quiet whisper spoken with a breathlessness that spoke of pain and regret. But Arthur said nothing, pulling his arm free from hers and walking directly to the door so he might escape just as quickly as he could.