Chapter 24

CHAPTER 24

H arry threw open the front door, inhaling the warm evening air as he watched his father-in-law charge up the steps. The man’s face was beet red, and he was in such a huff that Harry almost expected steam to come out of his ears.

Arabella’s hand tightened around his fingers, and rage rose inside him. No man was going to scare Harry Ridlington’s wife, not while he was around to stop it. It pained him that Arabella was so afraid of her father and that she had spent the past thirteen years dreading his mercurial outbursts.

“Father!” she called.

Lord Worcester looked up, and when he saw Harry, his pace instantly slowed, and his visage changed slightly. “I did not expect you to be home, Your Grace,” he said. “I heard you were in town and?—”

“Would you not have come storming into my home if you were certain that I would be here?” Harry demanded.

“I would’ve come anyway, but… Well, it is good that you are here, for I must speak with you. I must object to the scheme my daughter has involved you in.”

“What scheme is that?” Arabella asked, but she did not let go of Harry’s hand, as though his touch gave her strength. He was grateful for that.

“The scheme to set your sisters up with a viscount and a baron? Will you never cease to attempt to ridicule me?”

“I dare say it is quite an improvement, is it not?” Harry raised an eyebrow. “A few months ago, none of your daughters were married. Now, your youngest daughter is married to a duke, and the other two could perhaps marry peers as well. Most fathers would be grateful.”

“It is not that I am not grateful for what you have done,” Lord Worcester hissed as he came closer.

Harry smelled the alcohol on him. Yes, his father-in-law was bosky once more—but not so bosky as to not be able to stand straight, which was a shame.

Harry contemplated offering him a glass of cognac to calm his nerves, but he knew it was not good to encourage someone who already had a penchant for excessive drinking to drink even more.

“But you must understand my daughter, Your Grace,” Lord Worcester continued. “She seeks to humiliate me now that she is a duchess.”

“You admit that you set us up?” Arabella asked, her voice steady as she held onto Harry’s hand. “You tricked us into going to that library at the same time. You made sure that we were seen by someone other than you. You arranged this.”

Lord Worcester looked down at their entwined hands. “Judging by appearances, I was not entirely wrong. But I never expected gratitude from you. You and your sisters, your brother—the lot of you—are ungrateful. You have never appreciated anything I’ve done for you.”

“You have done nothing for us but fill us with rage and fear all of our lives. You have driven Alexander away. He doesn’t even want to set foot into England because of you.”

“Do you hear this, Your Grace?” Lord Worcester snapped. “Do you hear what I had to listen to for years? Is it not bad that I was robbed of a loving wife and a son who would have doubtless been honorable and followed in my footsteps? I have to be settled with an ungrateful second son and three wretches for daughters!”

Harry stepped in front of her. “You will not speak to my wife in such a way in her own home or anywhere else. I already made it quite clear to you that I would not tolerate such behavior. Yet, here you are again, deep in your cups.”

The Earl wet his lips and walked back and forth, considering his next steps. “You may be a duke, but that does not give you the right to speak to me in such a manner. Now, where are my daughters?”

“Your daughters, my sisters-in-law , are in my house, and they will stay here,” Harry replied. “I do not trust you to act properly if they leave with you tonight. I expect you to return home alone, think about what you intend to do, and reassess your priorities. Let me tell you this—just because one of your daughters is married to a duke does not make up for your rotten reputation.”

“I beg your pardon, Your Grace,” Lord Worcester said indignantly.

“You shall not have it,” Harry returned, fully aware that the man wasn’t begging his pardon but rather expressing his irritation. “Everyone knows that you are a drunk and that your son fled to Northern Ireland so he does not have to see you. Your daughters fear you, and the only reason they did not marry sooner was your reputation. I am grateful that you trapped me into marriage with Arabella, but you must know that without trickery, it would not have happened—not because she is not charming and beautiful and witty, for she is all three of them, but because of your reputation. It is the connection to you that is undesirable, not your daughter.”

“I will not stand for this!” Lord Worcester growled, stepping forward. “I will see my daughters, and I will bring them home. Hanna, Emma!” he shouted and then rounded on Arabella. “You will go inside and get your sisters immediately. Fetch them both, have them brought into the carriage, and then have someone bring the horses. I will not be treated this way.”

“No,” Arabella said firmly. “I will not fetch them. They will stay here tonight.”

“How dare you speak to me like this!” he spat out.

“I suggest you call the constables,” Harry said. “Let’s see whom they will listen to—a drunken earl or a well-respected duke.”

“How can you say this to my face? I am your elder. I have seniority in the House of Lords?—”

“Seniority?” Harry scoffed. “It has nothing to do with it. I am a duke, I outrank you by several ranks. I am also one of the richest men in the county. The same cannot be said for you. As to your reputation?—”

“My reputation?” Lord Worcester retorted. “Shall we speak about your reputation as well while we are at it? You may be rich, you may outrank me, but your reputation is tarnished. People talk about you behind your back, about how strange and secretive you are.”

“And yet, despite knowing his reputation, you forced me to marry him,” Arabella pointed out quietly, her words carrying more weight than anything else. “What sort of father are you? If you think he is so terrible and frightening, why would you force me into a marriage with him?”

“You have never been grateful for anything I have done for you,” Lord Worcester scolded and then attempted to push past her into the house. “Get out of my way.”

He pushed down the door handle and shoved the door so hard that it banged against the wall. Harry grabbed hold of it before it could hit Arabella in the back of the head.

“Hanna, come down here!” the Earl bellowed.

“Remain where you are,” Harry ordered. “Brandon, Baxter, our guest wants to leave but seems to have trouble finding the door and his carriage. I dare say the cognac has muddled his sense of direction. Would you be so kind as to help him find his way?”

Brandon came sprinting down the stairs, while Baxter appeared from the parlor. Baxter called for some of the footmen to join them, and a flurry of activity ensued.

“I will not be manhandled by your servants!” Lord Worcester shouted.

“I would rather not have to manhandle you,” Harry said, “but if you will not leave my property peacefully and willingly, I shall see to it that you are removed.”

“Arabella, call your husband to heel!” Lord Worcester demanded.

Arabella shook her head. “You will not speak to him like this,” she said. “Remember your manners. Is that not what you always taught me and my sisters?”

“How dare you speak to me like this!” Lord Worcester barked, lunging at her just as Brandon and Baxter were ready to grab him. They slowed his momentum, but as he had been mid-lunge, he knocked Arabella backward.

“Arabella!” Harry cried, but she had already lost her balance and fell.

Arabella let out a yelp as her side connected with the marble floor.

“Eject this man at once!” Harry ordered and bent down to help her up. “Are you hurt? Do you require a physician?”

“No,” she said. “I do not think so.” She watched Brandon and Baxter drag her father out of the house. She attempted to get up but then yelped. “I think my elbow is hurt. I banged it on the marble.”

Gently, Harry helped her up, but when she stood, she was unsteady on her feet and swayed slightly.

“Very well, this will not do,” he decided, scooping her up into his arms. The demi-train of her gown fell like a veil onto the floor.

He carried her toward the staircase, where Mrs. Blomquist and Mabel stood, their faces etched with concern.

“Mrs. Blomquist, fetch a physician,” he instructed. “Mabel, please have chamomile tea brewed and brought to her chambers.”

Mabel hurried away.

Arabella relaxed in Harry’s arms, her head resting against his shoulder. “Thank you,” she whispered. “I am so sorry about my father. I do not know why he is this way.”

“Sometimes those closest to us inflict the most pain,” Harry said. “But do not apologize. You are not your father. You have done nothing wrong. He should be the one apologizing.”

Arabella gave a small, grateful smile. “Thank you for protecting me.”

Harry found himself falling deeper in love with her with each passing day. He had sworn never to love, never to marry, and never to let his heart long for another. But since Arabella Hayward had entered his life, those vows had become increasingly meaningless. All he wanted was to be a devoted husband to his wife in every way possible.