Chapter Five

Y ou don’t matter enough to hate.

As she returned to the house, Arabella wiped her eyes and suppressed a sob.

How dare he!

How dare he look into her eyes and know her—know that while she might be the lady on the outside, on the inside she was nothing.

No—worse than nothing. She was a prisoner of her position in Society. Helpless, unable to do anything. Not even able to command her fate.

But she could command the fate of others.

I showed you—peasant!

Yes, she’d shown him.

Why, then, could she feel nothing but shame and self-loathing? After the brief burst of triumph as the fire had flared, the flames licking around his possessions, the realization had stuck her. It wasn’t his freedom, or life, that had turned to ashes in that moment.

It was hers.

Tears splashed onto her cheeks, and she lowered her gaze to her fingertips. In striking out at him, she’d only succeeded in striking out at herself. Three parallel lines were scored across her heart, to match those on his face.

Aunt Kathleen’s form came into view.

“There you are!” she huffed. “Where have you been? Just look at you!”

“In the garden, Aunt.”

“Don’t speak with such an insolent tone! What have you done to get yourself into such a state?” She wrinkled her nose. “Oh, you stink ! Have you been near that gardener fellow despite my telling you not to fraternize with his sort?”

Arabella opened her mouth to explain, then closed it again.

Tell and be damned , Lady Arabella.

“Let me look at you, child.”

A bony hand grasped Arabella’s chin and thrust it upward, and she let out a soft groan at the ache in her neck.

“Aunt…”

“I said silence! You look like you’ve been dragged through a bush.”

She squeezed her chin, and Arabella let out a low cry of pain as tears spilled onto her cheeks.

“And that’s quite enough of that,” her aunt said. “Women of our rank should not be given to such outbursts. Such histrionics belong in the schoolroom.”

“I can’t help it if—”

“Yes, you can!” Her aunt thrust her face close, her poisonous eyes glittering with contempt. “Who do you think you are, disgracing the family name like this?”

“It’s my family name, not yours.”

“Don’t take that tone with me, young lady! Remember your position. You’d be nothing without me, do you hear? After all I’ve done for you—the sacrifices I’ve made—you repay me with this? You’re on the brink of securing our triumph, yet you threaten it, behaving like a guttersnipe! Get yourself inside, before somebody sees you.”

“Who’s to see me out here?”

“Your betrothed, for one thing,” her aunt said. “Do you think he’ll maintain his interest if he sees you like this? With a blotchy face and puffy eyes? Your appearance dictates your future.”

“I thought that was my fortune,” Arabella said bitterly.

Slap!

Her aunt struck her cheek, then gripped her wrist and led her inside.

As soon as they’d passed the footman guarding the main doors—who, though he tried to stare straight ahead with nonchalance, couldn’t help a glance in their direction—Arabella wrenched her arm free.

“Do not defy me,” her aunt warned.

“I’ll do what I like,” Arabella said, forcing a frost into her voice. Then she tilted her head to one side and gave her aunt a cold smile. “What do you think the duke will do once he’s secured my hand? Do you think he’ll have further use for you? I certainly won’t.”

“You’ll still need me to teach you decorum.”

“I’ll need no one,” Arabella said. “Isn’t that what you’ve always told me? Isn’t that why I have no friends?”

“You’d have plenty of friends if you associated with the right sort.”

“What of Juliette Howard?” Arabella asked. “She was my particular friend until last Season.”

“I’ve told you before not to speak of that whore!”

“What did Juliette do to cause such offense?” Arabella asked. “Dunton himself was enamored by her until she disappeared. I always thought he’d offer for her.”

“He’d never offer for someone with her background—daughter to a common shopkeeper. But she got what she deserved in the end—banished to the country to live out her disgrace. That’s all her sort deserve.”

“Her sister Eleanor secured the hand of a duke,” Arabella said.

“By spreading her legs, no doubt,” her aunt sneered. “How else could that ungainly little imbecile have snared a man?”

Arabella winced at her aunt’s vicious words directed at a young woman who, though beneath her in station, had seemed perfectly harmless, if a little reserved.

“Aunt…” she began, but Kathleen pushed her up the staircase.

“I’ll have no more of your insolence,” she snarled. “Your fiancé understands my worth, and he’d punish you for disrespecting me. Once you’re married, he can treat you how he wants, with the full endorsement of the church and the law. So, if you wish for an advocate in your married life, you’d do well to give me the respect I deserve. Now, go upstairs and make yourself presentable before he returns. It’ll be the worse for you if he chooses not to wed you. You won’t want to suffer Miss Howard’s fate.”

Banished to the country to live out her disgrace.

In truth, Juliette Howard’s fate seemed less abhorrent with the passing of each day.

Aunt Kathleen hailed a passing footman.

“Fetch Lady Arabella’s maid— now! ”

“Yes, ma’am.” The footman bowed and scuttled off as Arabella’s aunt marched her toward her chamber, opened the door, and pushed her in.

“Calm yourself, child, and make yourself presentable. Then I’ll decide how to punish you.”

“But I’ve done nothing wrong.”

“Don’t answer back!” Aunt Kathleen snapped. “I see there’s much I must do with you before your marriage—though I’m sure your fiancé is more than capable of taking you in hand.”

Arabella’s gut twisted at the notion of Dunton taking her in hand .

“Ah, there you are, girl,” Aunt Kathleen said as Arabella’s maid appeared. “See if you can fix… that .” She gestured toward Arabella. “Make the best of her, or I’ll have you punished also.”

The maid curtseyed, then waited until Arabella’s aunt had gone before rushing toward Arabella.

“Oh, miss! What’s happened?”

“Nothing,” Arabella said. Despite the girl’s expression of sympathy, she might be like the rest of the servants creeping about the place—ready to spy on her to ingratiate themselves with her aunt, or worse, with Dunton.

“Is it the gardener? Has he done something to distress you?”

So—her maid had been spying on her.

“No, Connie. I’m tired, that’s all.”

The maid placed a light hand on her shoulder, and Arabella’s heart threatened to crack at the pity in her eyes. The last thing she wanted was to be pitied —not by that insolent man in the garden, and certainly not by her maid.

“I only want to see you happy, miss.”

Arabella brushed the maid’s hand aside. “I am happy,” she retorted. “What nonsense you speak, Connie. Fetch my evening gown. I wish to change for dinner.”

“It’s not yet six o’clock, miss, and—”

“I didn’t ask what time it was,” Arabella said. “I told you to fetch my gown.”

The maid’s smile disappeared. “As you wish.”

Arabella sat at dressing table and stared at her reflection.

She looked like a farm girl who’d been cavorting in the hedgerow. No wonder her aunt had been so angry!

“Connie, fetch me some water,” she said. “I must wash my face.”

“Very good, miss. And perhaps some of that tincture for your skin. You don’t look at all well.”

“Do you mean to insult me?” Arabella snapped.

The maid cringed, then shook her head. “I spoke only out of concern, Lady Arabella. Forgive me if I gave offense.”

She bobbed another curtsey and exited the chamber, leaving Arabella with her reflection and her conscience.

“Oh, Connie, there’s nothing to forgive,” she whispered. “ You’ve committed no sin. Whereas I…”

Unwilling to face her image, she turned toward the window.

Shortly after, Connie reappeared carrying a small phial and a pitcher of water. Arabella resumed her position but closed her eyes, relishing her maid’s gentle ministrations while Connie dabbed her face with a cloth that gave off the faint scent of lavender, then ran a brush through her hair in a soft caress—her touch gentler than Arabella deserved.

Were their positions reversed and Connie was the mistress, Arabella would have sought retribution for her harsh words—scrubbing her face a little too hard, then driving the hairbrush into her scalp, running through the tangles without mercy. And, had Connie treated her with such roughness, she might have weathered it. But the kind, gentle touch—kindness she didn’t deserve—threatened to breach her defenses.

When Connie finished, Arabella opened her eyes and studied her reflection. Gone were the blotches on her cheeks—concealed cleverly under a layer of powder. Her hair shone, the intricate array of curls catching the light as she moved her head.

Her maid had worked a miracle. Gone was the sorry creature who’d had a taste of passion before tearing it apart with her hands. She had been replaced by Lady Arabella Ponsford—Society beauty and duchess-in-waiting.

We don’t thank the staff—it gives them ideas above their station.

Her aunt’s words echoing in her mind, Arabella gave a curt nod, then stood. Connie curtseyed then exited the chamber, leaving her alone.

Alone—and friendless.

But, as Aunt Kathleen said, she had no need for friends. Why would she, when she had a houseful of paid subordinates at her beck and call? She could live out her life in the manner to which she had been born—unimpeded by the need to open her heart to another living soul.

Her future as a duchess was all she needed.

Being happy was not a part of that.