Chapter Sixteen

A rabella dreamed she was being chased by a too-friendly dog. The dog jumped all over her and tore her dress, hassling her until she developed a headache. She woke up with her head pounding and something giving her face a thoroughly unnecessary washing.

“Go away,” she grumbled. “It’s not morning yet.”

“The only reason it’s not morning is because it’s almost dinner time,” announced an entirely too-cheerful voice.

She knew that voice. She opened her eyes, then blinked. Why was she sleeping outside? No wonder her whole body ached! She sat up and looked around groggily. She had fallen asleep in the front garden. She’d originally come here hoping to capture the precise color of lavender leaves. She had lain down, intending to rest for a moment. Now her head hurt, she needed to visit the water closet, and a large brindled puppy was gnawing on one of her charcoal pencils.

“Stop that!” She tried to take the pencil away from the dog, but it mistook this for an invitation to play. It backed away, growling under its breath, and threw a play bow. Arabella looked up at her husband. “Whose dog is that?” she asked, though she was afraid she could guess.

“It’s ours!” George looked inordinately pleased with himself.

Arabella closed her eyes and put a hand to her head. The dog came bounding back and licked her in the face again. She shuddered and pushed the puppy away.

“I don’t really like dogs,” she whispered.

“What’s that, love?” George flopped onto the blanket next to her. “I didn’t hear you.”

Arabella cleared her throat and tried again. “I wish you had asked me before you brought a puppy home, George.” She used the gentlest voice she could muster, not wanting to hurt his feelings. “I don’t really like dogs.”

Her husband stared at her, his forehead wrinkled with confusion. “That’s right,” he said at last. “You never did care for dogs, did you? I’m sorry, Belle. I forgot that.” He gently pulled the puppy away from her. “But Bowser’s not really a pet. I got him to guard the house. You know, so Peggy didn’t have to keep watch over the kitchen.”

Arabella’s face relaxed a little, though she couldn’t quite smile yet. “That was well thought of you,” she said. She had never been easy about the idea of leaving Peggy in the kitchen at night. Not only was it a terribly uncomfortable place to sleep, but it left Peggy in danger if a stranger did break into the house. A guard dog would be much better protection against would-be treasure seekers.

“You needn’t have anything to do with Bowser,” George assured her. “I imagine he’ll stay in a kennel when he’s not on duty. Or he’ll sleep in the kitchen. I’ll have to see what Mrs. Hastings thinks.” He scratched the puppy behind its ears, sending it into ecstasies.

A genuine smile tugged at the corners of Arabella’s mouth. “I don’t think Mrs. Hastings is likely to want a dog in her kitchen,” she warned.

George grinned back at her. “No, I suppose not. But Hastings can put together a kennel near the house. This dog should be a natural at guarding. His mother’s been the watch dog at Waterbury Lodge for years.” He kissed the dog on the top of its head and was rewarded by a canine tongue lashing.

Arabella shook her head. Bowser seemed like a charming animal, if one liked dogs. She supposed she couldn’t object to George keeping a pet, if he wanted one—though it would have been nice if he’d consulted her first. But she couldn’t share George’s confidence about the dog’s ability to guard the property. Based on the pup’s gregarious personality, she suspected it might befriend anyone who walked into the house, regardless of the intruder’s intentions.

“Anyway, that’s settled.” Unlike Arabella, George had no doubts about whether so friendly a puppy would actually keep the house safe. “In other news, we’ve been invited to dine at Waterbury Lodge tonight.”

“Tonight?” Her eyes widened with surprise, and nervousness made her voice higher than usual.

George stopped petting the puppy and stared at her. “Is something wrong with that? We don’t have any other plans, do we?”

“No, but...” But I can’t do a dinner party with no notice! Arabella closed her mouth with a snap, not at all sure how to explain herself.

“What’s wrong, then?” George’s soft brown eyes looked as gentle as his voice sounded.

Maybe it wouldn’t be that hard to explain. “I like having advance notice when I have an entertainment or dinner to attend.” Arabella clasped her hands together anxiously. “If you wish, we could invite them to dine with us next week, instead.” Though she had no idea whether Mrs. Hastings could cook a meal fit for the local squire.

That skeptical line formed between George’s eyebrows again. “But I already accepted the invitation. It would be very rude to cancel at the last minute. Next time, I promise to let you know ahead of time.” His eyes looked downright beseeching. He might have been a needy puppy himself.

Arabella gulped. “What time do they dine?” She had no watch with her, but judging from the position of the sun, it must already be late afternoon.

“At six,” George told her. “The Cawleys will send a carriage for us at five thirty, so we need not worry about getting dirty on the walk there.”

Five thirty? That did not leave much time to clean up and dress! Arabella licked her lips nervously, trying to decide whether to argue further.

“I am very sorry if you don’t like it, Belle.” The apology in George’s tone sounded sincere. “I thought it would be good to get to know the Cawleys. We may spend the rest of our lives here. We would do well to cultivate good relationships with our neighbors.”

Arabella nodded stiffly. She could not dispute any of that. As the daughter of a baronet who preferred country life to London, Arabella knew all about the dinner parties, morning calls, house parties, picnics, private balls, and church fetes that constituted rural social life. George was right: they did need to be on good terms with the Cawleys, their nearest respectable neighbors. If she’d had enough warning to mentally prepare herself for the dinner, she might even have been grateful to George for accepting the invitation.

The problem was that there was no time . Even with the help of her lady’s maid, she would have to dress in a hurry. There would be no time for talking herself into the right state of mind for dining with strangers. A dinner party where she knew none of the other guests was the very worst kind of social event!

George must have seen how unhappy she felt, because he leaned toward her and pressed a soft kiss against her forehead. “If you don’t feel that you can do it, I will send in your regrets. But I would like to go myself, regardless of whether you accompany me.”

“Of course.” Arabella swallowed the lump in her throat. Would she rather stay home without her husband, or go dine with strangers? Neither option seemed at all appealing. Must they really change their plans at the bequest of strangers?

George studied her face for a moment, then sighed. “I see how it is. I’ll tell them you are indisposed, shall I?”

Her heart sank, as she registered the disappointment dripping from his voice. He no more wanted to dine without her than she wanted to dine without him. I am being childish , she decided. Dinner parties with the neighbors were a natural part of country life. It was foolish to try to avoid them.

“I will go with you.” The grudging words falling from her mouth sounded as heavy as paving stones. “I had better hurry, though. I will need to wash up and dress.”

George’s face lit up. “Splendid! I am sure you will enjoy yourself.” Before Arabella could cast any doubt on his prediction, he added, “If you need to go home early, just let me know.”

“I will,” she promised, feeling relieved that he understood her well enough to know she might not be able to stay for the whole evening. Dinner parties could last for hours, particularly if the hosts brought out the card table afterward. Arabella could not possibly maintain conversation with strangers for that long. She’d better bring a book.

Her lady’s maid seemed far more enthusiastic about the last-minute dinner party. Jenny kept up a stream of cheerful chatter as she arranged Belle’s hair into an elegant, restrained knot. Arabella never minded such prattle, because Jenny did not expect a response. Arabella sat with her eyes closed, letting the words flow over her without paying them much mind, until one sentence caught her attention.

“...and of course Mr. Kirkland always looks dignified, even when his clothes are not in the best condition. It is a pity he has no valet. I don’t think Mrs. Hastings has any idea how to remove ink stains from his shirt sleeves, you know, but a good valet would have methods—”

She interrupted Jenny. “Does Mr. Kirkland have ink stains on all his shirt sleeves?” She was so used to seeing him covered in ink that she hadn’t even noticed. Whatever else he might do when he closeted himself in the study, he clearly splashed ink about.

Jenny wrinkled her nose. “He might have one shirt that’s still clean,” she said dubiously. “But I know Mrs. Hastings was complaining that lemon juice doesn’t get all the ink out.”

“I see. I will talk to Mr. Kirkland about the possibility of hiring a valet.” George had never told her what their income was or how much should be budgeted for servants, so she had no idea whether they could afford a valet. But if they were to circulate socially, he needed to look presentable.

When Arabella met her husband in the front hall downstairs, she scrutinized his appearance, from his polished boots to his rakishly placed top hat. She paid special attention to the cuffs of his sleeves. No sign of ink stains! He looked perfectly respectable, albeit not in the height of fashion. A relieved smile broke across her face.

“Do I pass muster tonight?” George raised his eyebrows and adjusted the angle of his hat the merest fraction. “Or are you ashamed to be seen with me?”

He sounded amused, but heat rushed into her face anyway. George was not always careful about his appearance, and she had been worried that... well, that his evening wear would not do him credit.

“You look very handsome.” Her face burned hotter as her blush deepened. She had only meant to say that he looked well tonight! “I mean, very dashing.” Was that any better?

George’s grin deepened. “Thank you, my dear. You look lovely yourself. But I don’t know why you are blushing like a schoolgirl, when we’ve been married more than a fortnight.” He brushed one gloved hand against her burning face. “I look forward to showing you off to everyone.”

Arabella gulped. Everyone? “Isn’t it only the Cawley family we’re meeting tonight?” She reached up, intending to wrap one of her curls around her finger, only to remember that Jenny had arranged a neat coiffure, leaving no loose strands with which Arabella could fiddle. Instead, she took hold of the little cross pendant hanging around her neck.

George shrugged. “I think they might have a few other guests, but I don’t know who. Does it matter?”

Oh, it mattered. Arabella had been overwhelmed by the prospect of an unexpected dinner party even when she thought it would involve only a few members of the Cawley household. Now she had no idea who to expect, nor even how many people she would meet. Worse, since it this was her first social appearance in the neighborhood, everyone would be watching her, evaluating her, and finding fault with her.

In the past, Lady Canning had told Arabella that people did not constantly watch her behavior. “They are more concerned about themselves than about you, pet,” she would say whenever Arabella felt particularly self-conscious. “If you make a mistake, they won’t notice. And even if they do notice, they won’t care.”

Arabella had never entirely believed her mother on that point, but she knew for a fact that Mama’s advice did not apply to this situation. In the country, every new addition to the community mattered. Since the Kirklands had only been here a week, everyone would be curious about them. And they would be particularly curious about Arabella.

George wasn’t entirely an outsider the way she was. He’d visited Dogwood Cottage often in the past. Even if no one remembered him, they certainly would remember his uncle. But the people who made up local society would know nothing about Arabella, and they would be curious. They would ask questions, and they would gossip about her answers. If she said or did the wrong thing, everyone would know about it. That was how life in the country worked!

“Belle? Is something wrong?” George tipped her chin up to make her look him in the eyes. His face was creased with worry.

“Nothing is wrong,” Arabella croaked. She forced a smile to her lips, even though her stomach had already begun to roil. She could only hope she would not be sick all over the carriage that Mr. Cawley was thoughtfully sending for them. Probably she would, though. That was the sort of thing that tended to go wrong when Arabella dined out.

Please , she silently prayed, don’t let tonight be a disaster!