Chapter Seven

T he bonfire crackled, distorting the air with ripples of heat as smoke rose into the sky. Flames licked over the book, curling around the pages like a caress, until they twisted and distorted, then finally surrendered, disintegrating into ash.

But her triumph was replaced by self-loathing and a deeply rooted throb of fear, a thick, advancing tide. And in the background…

The shadow of death.

Bella!

Her name, uttered in a shrill scream, crackled in the air as the fire raged before her, angry red wraiths reaching out with clawlike fingers…

“Mama!”

She thrust out her hands to fend off the inferno, then threw back her head and screamed. Pain exploded in her mind, and she fell back. The ground met her body with a jolt, and she opened her eyes.

The flames had gone—replaced by the cold blue light of the dawn.

“That’s quite enough of that ,” a sharp voice said.

Arabella blinked, and her vision cleared.

She was in her bedchamber. Aunt Kathleen stood beside the bed, in her dressing gown, reams of lace rippling in the air as she moved.

“F-forgive me, Aunt,” Arabella said. “I was dreaming.”

“I don’t care. You could be heard halfway across the house. Most unbecoming.”

“But…”

“Don’t answer back!”

“But I always have that dream,” Arabella protested. “I’ve told you before. It ends with a burning building, and a voice calling my name—like a memory reaching out. Then it slips away.”

“There’s nothing to remember, child,” her aunt said. “Your parents were killed in a fire, and your cousin sent you to me to take care of you. And I’ve been taking care of you ever since. Rather than waste your time trying to remember that , you should remember everything I’ve done for you and be grateful.”

“I can’t help having bad dreams.”

“Yes, you can, Arabella. It’s a matter of self-control—a quality expected in a woman of your rank. You must act with decorum in private as well as in public. What do you think the duke would do if he knew of your nighttime ravings? He’ll not want a bride who suffers from insanity.”

“I’m not insane!” Arabella cried. “How can you—Ouch!”

She let out a shriek as her aunt slapped her across the face a second time.

“I said , that’s enough! Even if the duke didn’t hear you, the servants are about. And you know what they’re like.”

Arabella flinched at the contempt in her aunt’s tone. “Tell me what they’re like, Aunt.”

“They gossip about their betters. And your reputation is vulnerable until you’re safely married. The lowest of the low will relish the slightest drop of gossip about their betters, because it gives pleasure to their pathetic lives.” Aunt Kathleen turned toward the door. “Isn’t that right… you .”

Connie stood in the doorway.

“Well?” Aunt Kathleen prompted.

The maid curtseyed. “Yes, Lady Smith-Green.”

“You sent for my maid?” Arabella asked.

“Of course I did!” Aunt Kathleen gestured to Connie. “Come here, girl—see to it that your mistress doesn’t disturb the household again.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

The maid approached the bed, holding a beveled glass filled with white liquid.

“What’s that?” Arabella asked.

“It’s milk,” Aunt Kathleen said. “To settle your stomach.”

“Ma’am, shouldn’t we—” Connie began.

“That’s enough, girl! Do as you’re told, or I’ll have you whipped again.”

Again?

Connie flinched, then pressed the glass into Arabella’s hand. “Please drink this, miss,” she said. “It’ll help you sleep.”

“B-but it’s morning,” Arabella protested.

“It’s early yet,” Aunt Kathleen said, “and the duke’s taking his rest. He’s not long returned from his outing, and I doubt he’ll want to be disturbed. That girl”—she gave Connie a look of contempt—“can bring you breakfast in your chamber. We need to ensure you’re fully recovered before the duke sees you.”

Arabella shifted her gaze between her aunt and her maid—two women with the same purpose. But that purpose was driven by two different emotions. In her aunt’s expression, she saw determination and self-interest. In her maid’s, she saw terror.

She took the glass and swallowed a mouthful of milk. The sugar her maid must have stirred in couldn’t completely disguise the bitter taste of laudanum. She hesitated and looked up, and Aunt Kathleen raised her eyebrows in expectation. Accepting the futility of defiance, Arabella tilted the glass and drained the contents.

“I’m glad to see you can sometimes respect the wishes of your elders and betters.”

Elder Aunt Kathleen may be. As to better…

The one consolation from marrying Dunton was that Arabella would outrank her aunt and therefore be free of her. That was worth any inconvenience she must suffer now—including a dose of laudanum intended to keep her quiet. And, in truth, oblivion would give her respite from her dreams.

But nothing could give her respite from her conscience.