Chapter 26

CHAPTER 26

O n the morning of the ball, Arabella was halfway down the stairs when she heard that Harry had returned from town. She beamed at him when she saw him, and to her delight, he returned the same smile.

“Where are you coming from in such a hurry?” he asked.

“From my chamber,” she replied, a touch of mischief in her voice. “So?”

He looked at her, confusion evident on his visage. She realized then that he had forgotten. They had spoken about attending the ball together, and he had told her to remind him on the morning of the ball so he would know whether or not he would be busy that day.

“Lady Morley’s ball,” she reminded him, trying not to sound exasperated.

“Ah, yes.” He sighed. “I do have to beg your pardon, my dear. I will not be able to attend. My uncle is coming to have tea with us, and I believe he intends to stay the evening. I’m afraid I must entertain him with dinner, rather than going to a ball.”

He sighed again, and Arabella felt as though this might well be the truth. She had gathered over the last few weeks that Harry did not care for his uncle very much, though she wasn’t certain why.

She hadn’t met Richard more than a handful of times, and even then, it had been in passing.

Suddenly, her mouth dropped open. Had her husband just said that his uncle was coming here to have tea with them? As in, the both of them?

“Am I included in this tea?” she asked, astonished.

“I am afraid so,” Harry replied with a grimace. “My uncle says it is about time that he got to know you better.”

She caught the undertone in his voice and knew at once that he did not think this was a good idea. Arabella herself wasn’t certain if she wanted to spend time with Richard. He always struck her as severe and judgmental, not unlike her father, though without the obvious attachment to alcohol. She imagined her father would be something like Richard if he weren’t in his cups constantly.

“Very well. When is he coming? Should I cancel my plans for the ball?” she asked, although she truly did not want to. She had promised her sisters that she would be there, for the presence of the Duchess of Sheffield would certainly draw attention to them.

To her relief, Harry shook his head. “No, do not fret. He will be here in an hour or so. We will have tea, and then you can excuse yourself, saying you are going to your ball. He does not expect you to be here all evening. He knows about Lady Morley’s ball.”

Relief washed over Arabella, though she felt a little guilty for leaving Harry behind.

“Are you quite certain you cannot get out of it?” she asked, hopeful. “I want us to go to the ball together.”

His eyes darkened, and he looked past her, out the window. He was as difficult to read as ever. Granted, he was kinder, softer, and had sought out her company over the last few days, which had delighted her. Yet, he still kept some distance between them, which she could not quite comprehend.

“I am certain. But perhaps tomorrow evening we could take a stroll through the garden? The moon should be full and the stars easily seen. What do you say?”

“Yes,” she said, delighted now.

They had walked in the garden in the evenings together before and gazed at the stars, but Arabella had always been the one to suggest it, not him.

“Yes,” she repeated. “That would be wonderful. Now, if you will excuse me, I must prepare. He will be here in an hour, and I must change.”

“I think you look lovely the way you are,” Harry said, taking in her attire.

Arabella chuckled. “This is my riding habit. I just came back from the stables. I can hardly entertain your uncle in my riding habit.”

He smirked. “He might enjoy it. He is keen on hunting and riding. It is one of the things he dislikes about me—that I am not fond of such pursuits. As you know, any duke worth his salt is expected to be excellent at hunting, riding, fishing, and such.”

Once again, she heard the bitterness in his voice as he spoke of his uncle and wondered just why they were so at odds with one another.

He stuffed his hands in his pockets. “I have never particularly liked horse riding either. A grave disappointment for my uncle. Since he has no sons of his own, he had always hoped that I could be the son he never had. Unfortunately, I do not share any of his interests.”

“It must have been difficult for him, not having any children. But he should not have placed his expectations on you,” Arabella said gently.

Harry ran his tongue over his bottom lip, seemingly lost in thought. “Yes, well, I certainly was a disappointment to him.”

Arabella, fearful that he had misinterpreted her words, quickly took a step toward him. “I did not mean that you were a disappointment. Of course not. Nobody can say that without jesting. You are formidable. You are well respected?—”

“You do not need to flatter me, my dear,” he said, but a smile curved his lips, and she knew that he was not angry with her.

“It is not flattery if it is true. Your reputation precedes you.”

This time, he let out a laugh. “Don’t I know that? I am well aware people think I am a secretive man who is difficult to please. Pray,” he said, tilting his head slightly to the side, “do you agree with that assessment?”

Challenged, she chuckled. “You are certainly difficult to know. Although I have come to think that your reputation for being difficult to please is unearned. It seems more that it is you who is trying to please others and finds it a difficult task.”

“That is true. Anyway, we should not dally. My uncle will be here early, I am certain—that is his habit. And I must make myself more presentable too. I do not wish to sit through another one of his lectures, telling me that I do not look the part of a duke.”

“You not looking like a duke?” Arabella chuckled. “You exude regality.”

Harry looked at her, a soft smile curving his lips, lighting up his face. Then he walked up to her and, to her surprise, took her hands in his, lifted them to his lips, and kissed them.

Her stomach fluttered at the tender gesture, and when he let go, she instantly missed his touch. Alas, they had to part and prepare themselves for their visitor.

“Do you think he will like me?” Arabella asked as her lady’s maid smoothed down the Pomona green gown she had chosen to wear.

“Of course, he will. But you have met him before, have you not?” Mabel asked.

“Yes, but only briefly. I met him when he and my father were negotiating the final terms of the jointure. I also met him at the wedding, but I never actually sat down and had a lengthy conversation with him. I am quite nervous.”

“Do not be, dear. Sir Richard can be quite severe, but he would not dare say anything unkind to you with His Grace present.”

This comment struck Arabella as odd, for it implied that Richard was not an altogether kind person or the sort of person one would wish to have tea with. “Quite severe” was not a quality one generally wished to see in a family member.

However, she pushed the thought to the back of her mind because there was nothing she could do about it anyhow. Sir Richard was coming, and she was going to have tea with him, whether she liked it or not.

The bell downstairs chimed, alerting them to their guest’s arrival.

“Well,” she said, “I shall go and have tea with him. Would you prepare my gown for the ball tonight? I will excuse myself as soon as possible to prepare for the ball, but I think it would be helpful if we had everything ready.”

“Of course, Your Grace,” Mabel said. “The sky-blue gown? With the stars?”

Arabella smiled. The gown in question was another gift that Harry had given her a few days ago. It mirrored the canopy above her bed but had been fashioned into a proper ball gown, with both tulle and taffeta so that it sighed when she walked.

“Yes, and the pearl earrings and necklace set, please,” she said, and then made her way downstairs.

Masculine voices drifted up from the drawing room. One belonged to Harry—she would have known that deep baritone that was so soothing and warm, like a cup of milk on a cold night, anywhere—and the other, deeper and gravelly, belonged to Richard. She took a deep breath and placed her hand on her stomach, sucking in air and rolling her shoulders back to look as presentable as possible.

She entered with a smile and nodded at Harry and his uncle.

Her husband, she noted, already looked out of sorts, as if he would rather be anywhere but here.

“Your Grace,” Sir Richard greeted, rising from his seat. He bowed deeply but did not kiss her hand. “Pleasure to see you again. Please, take a seat.”

It did not escape her notice that he had just offered her a seat in her own home. Harry looked at her apologetically as she sat down.

The maids quickly poured her a cup of tea, and she was grateful she did not have to do it herself, as was usually the custom, because her hands were shaking.

“Well, how have you been? What is life as the Duchess of Sheffield like? Is it everything you dreamed of? I know you young ladies all dream of marrying dukes, eh wot?” Sir Richard chuckled, but she noted the accusation in his voice.

“I never had hopes of becoming a duchess, and this marriage certainly was not by design,” she stated, feeling the need to defend herself.

“Well, not designed by you,” Sir Richard pointed out.

“Uncle, is this really necessary? We all know how we came to be here,” Harry interjected, his voice carrying a hint of warning.

“Of course, of course,” Sir Richard said, his tone conciliatory. “Let me not be a Grumbletonian right from the start. You are quite right, Harry—we all know how we came to be here, and I am glad everyone is making the best of it. So? How do you like being a duchess?”

“I like it very much,” Arabella replied, lifting her chin. “I have found out that there are a great many wonderful things one can do in such a position. I have a mind to join some of the charitable organizations and give my fortune to those less fortunate than I was.”

“Is that so? And pray, which charitable organization do you have in mind?”

Arabella glanced at Harry, who nodded at her encouragingly. They had discussed her desire to involve herself in charitable work, but not in great detail.

“Well, I would like to join the Society for Orphan Children,” Arabella said. “Lady Morley also mentioned another association that helps disadvantaged families.”

Sir Richard gave a dismissive nod. “Ah, yes. The typical sort of organization women fancy. My wife was a member of both.”

Arabella couldn’t help but note a lack of enthusiasm in his voice, as though he neither cherished his late wife’s memory nor cared for these organizations. She couldn’t help but wonder if it was the mention of his late wife that he found displeasing.

“Indeed, Annabelle was quite fond of orphans,” Sir Richard continued. Arabella gave a polite smile, but it faltered when he added, “Yes, she was fortunate to be so fond of orphans, given that she ended up with one herself.”

Her mouth dropped open at the callous remark, realizing he was referring to Harry.

“It is tragic how loss can alter the course of one’s life,” she said softly. “I lost my mother at a very young age, and I know the same happened to you.”

Sir Richard’s furrowed his brow. “To me? No, both my parents lived to a ripe, old age.”

“I meant you, too, experienced a great loss that changed the trajectory of your life—that of your wife and child.”

At that, Sir Richard turned toward Harry with a curious expression, though Arabella couldn’t discern why.

“Yes,” he finally said, his voice dripping with derision. “Tragic, indeed. Well, at least I had Harry to keep me company. And what good that did me,” he added with a loud, unseemly laugh.

Arabella glanced at Harry, beginning to understand why he was not fond of his uncle.

“You were fortunate to have at least one parent left,” Sir Richard added with a sardonic grin, leaning closer to Arabella. “Though I wager there were times when you wished you had been an orphan, considering your father’s behavior.”

“Uncle Richard,” Harry interjected sharply, “that is unkind.”

“Unkind it may be, but it is also true,” Sir Richard argued, shifting his gaze to Arabella. “Tell me, when did your father begin drinking so excessively? Was it after your mother’s death? Do you even remember a time when he was not in his cups?”

“Uncle Richard!” Harry snapped, standing up abruptly. “You may be a guest in this house, but I will not permit you to speak to my wife in such a manner.”

Sir Richard raised his hands in a placating gesture. “Very well, very well. I was merely making conversation, trying to learn more about my new relations. I am pleased to see you trying to find decent husbands for your sisters-in-law. That might make up for Lord Worcester’s poor reputation.”

Arabella stared at him in disbelief. How could he speak in such a way? Her father might not be respected in the ton, but he was still titled. Sir Richard, by contrast, was merely a knight, and even that distinction seemed suspect.

“I understand that my father is difficult, but he is still my father, and I love him. I do not appreciate such talk.”

“I beg your pardon,” Sir Richard offered, though his tone was far from sincere.

Arabella had endured quite enough. She had spent only a few minutes in his company, but already the prospect of remaining any longer was unbearable. She looked at Harry, who, to her surprise, gave her an almost imperceptible nod, as if granting her permission to do what she knew she must—escape the room.

“Well, it was nice to see you, Sir Richard,” she said, doing her utmost to sound sincere. “I must prepare for Lady Morley’s ball.”

Their guest rose, seemingly unsurprised by this development, and gave her a curt nod.

“Very well, I shall see you next time. Enjoy your ball, and do let Lady Morley know that Sir Richard said she had better do right by your sisters if she wishes to be invited to my masquerade this year,” he said, chuckling once more.

Arabella noted the faint smile he directed at Harry, who looked miserably back, and then she slipped out of the room.

She lingered at the door a little longer, unsure what to do as silence descended on the room. She imagined the two men were engaged in a silent standoff and wondered how often such moments had occurred between them in the past.

“Richard, you must leave Arabella alone. She is my wife now. She did not desire this union any more than I did, but it is what it is. She cannot be blamed for who her father is.”

“Very well,” Sir Richard conceded with a wave of his hand. “But perhaps it is something you should discuss with Worcester. After all, he did call on me.”

“He called on you?” Harry repeated.

Arabella gasped, but she quickly covered her mouth with her hand. Her father had gone to see Sir Richard?

“Yes,” Sir Richard confirmed. “He was as drunk as a wheelbarrow, of course, but he complained that you were holding all three of his daughters hostage and were refusing to return them. Then he raged about the poor matches Lady Morley was making for them.”

Arabella heard a chair scrape across the floor, followed by a deep sigh. Peering through the crack in the door, she saw that Harry had sat down again, his head resting in his hands.

“And what did you say to him?”

“Why, I set him straight, of course,” Sir Richard replied with a dismissive chuckle. “I told him that he could not hope to do better than to have one duke in the family. Who has ever heard of a man marrying off three daughters to dukes? It is ludicrous! Given his reputation, I told him that he had better take whatever he could get, whether he liked it or not. Eventually, he left. I trust the older daughters have returned now?”

“They have,” Harry said with a nod. “He came here, and we talked. I made it quite clear that they are all under my protection.”

This declaration elicited another chuckle from Sir Richard.

“Under your protection? Have I never heard the like! You do have a penchant for taking care of young ladies, do you not?”

“Someone must,” Harry replied, bitterness seeping into his words.

“Judging by the way you speak of your new wife and the manner in which you look at her, I gather you have some affection for her,” Sir Richard observed.

“And so?” Harry said.

Arabella’s lips curled into a small smile at his reaction.

“And so nothing,” Sir Richard replied, his voice suddenly sharp. “Does she know of your undying love for that imbecile?”

Arabella’s eyes widened in shock. Of whom was he speaking?

“Do not speak of Helen in such a manner,” Harry retorted sharply.

Arabella’s heart stuttered as she heard the name. Helen. That name again. She remembered the letter that had arrived—the one about Helen. But who was she?

“I wish you were not quite so attached to her,” Sir Richard continued, his voice laced with disdain. “Everyone else has given up on that hopeless case long ago, but you cling to some misplaced affection for her. Why?”

“That does not concern you,” Harry replied curtly. “Perhaps if you opened your eyes and actually got to know her, you would see how lovable she is. How kind and sweet. She brings me nothing but joy when I see her.”

Arabella’s throat constricted as she heard her husband speak so fondly of another woman. Helen’s company brought him joy? What of her own? Had she been right all along? Was there indeed another woman? Not the one in the drawing she had seen—she had been wrong about that. But was there another?

Tears stung her eyes, and she pressed her hand to her mouth to stifle any sobs that might alert them to her presence. Swiftly, she retreated down the hall, putting distance between herself and the drawing room.

When she finally reached her chamber, she threw herself onto her bed and cried, a mix of sadness and anger consuming her. Her hands curled around her pillows as she released her pent-up emotions. She had been right all along—Harry had deceived her, lied to her time and again.

She felt the sheet beneath her grow damp with tears and sat up, swiping the back of her hands across her face. Remnants of the pearl powder and charcoal she had used to beautify herself smeared her white gloves, but she didn’t care. Her drawers were full of gloves, ribbons, bonnets, and stockings—more than any woman ever needed. But she did not have a husband who valued her enough to tell her the truth.

A sudden sound from outside caught her attention. A carriage was pulling into the driveway. She got up and rushed to the window, peering down. There she saw Sir Richard making his way to his carriage.

Already? He was supposed to stay until dinner. Why was he leaving so soon?

Another sound alarmed her even more—a knock on her door. Her stomach churned with dread, knowing it was Harry, though she wasn’t sure why.

“One moment!” she called. “Who is it?” she added, though she already knew the answer.

“It is I, Harry,” he called back, confirming her suspicion.

Swiftly, she ran to her dresser and looked into the mirror. Grabbing a handkerchief from her drawer, she wiped away the black streaks on her face and then used a puff to apply more powder until she looked presentable. Only then did she go to the door and open it, but only a crack.

“Yes?” she said.

“May I enter?” Harry asked.

He had never visited her in her chamber before. Why now? She didn’t want him to come in, fearing that if he saw her in the bright daylight, he might notice she had been crying, and then she would have to explain. Worse still, if he came in and stayed for too long, she might confront him, and that would be disastrous.

She needed to keep her wits about her. This was an important ball, and she could not arrive with a tear-streaked face.

“Harry, I am getting ready for the ball,” she said in a steady voice. “I was just about to call for Mabel. I am not properly dressed.”

“Well, I wanted to apologize about my uncle,” he began, a note of hesitation in his voice. “He is rude and uncouth, and I promise you that he will not treat you in such a manner again. I will see to it. In fact, I have already told him that if he cannot behave like a gentleman, he is not welcome in our house anymore.”

Those words might have soothed her had she not lingered outside the drawing room and overheard everything else. But she had lingered, and she had heard.

“I am grateful,” she said curtly, “but now I must finish getting ready for the ball.”

She knew she sounded abrupt, but she no longer cared.

Harry lingered, one hand resting on the doorframe. She couldn’t see his entire face through the narrow crack, but she could tell he was confused. He had expected a more appreciative response, no doubt.

“I thought perhaps I could accompany you,” he offered. “Uncle Richard and I decided it would be best if he left early, so I am free this evening.”

Again, she might have been pleased if she didn’t know the truth—that in reality, he loved someone else. If she had been unaware of Helen’s existence, she might have been delighted. But as it was, she felt nothing but emptiness. There wasn’t even anger left.

“You do not need to,” she replied, her voice flat. “I know you do not like to attend these functions.”

“But I would like to accompany you,” he insisted. “In fact, there is some business in town I could tend to after the ball. If you do not mind returning home alone.”

This piqued her interest. Business in town? She knew at once just what this business was. Her. Helen. He wanted to see Helen! She knew it with absolute certainty. He was using the ball as an excuse to visit his beloved.

Suddenly, the emptiness inside her was filled with rage. How dare he?

She clenched her fists, ready to unleash her fury, but then she held back. No, she would not reveal that she knew the truth. She would keep it to herself, hold all the cards in her hand, and then she would make her demands.

She would insist that she move to his estate in Brighton—permanently. She would also demand that he secure Emma’s future. She wasn’t sure yet what all her demands would be, but she would make them, and he would comply. Otherwise, she would expose their sham of a marriage and the fact that he kept a mistress on the side.

And this Helen? She had to be someone far beneath his station to be kept secret. For if he truly loved her, and if she were eligible, he would have married her, just as Hanna had said. The fact that he hadn’t must mean that she was undesirable. He wouldn’t want all of London, all his peers, to know this.

No, Helen was the key to everything, and Arabella would uncover her identity, no matter what.

Harry walked away from the chamber door, thoroughly perplexed. He knew that his uncle had upset Arabella, but so much so that she didn’t even seem pleased that he was able to accompany her to the ball? Indeed, she had seemed as if she didn’t want him to go at all, even before he mentioned his plans to tend to some business afterward.

He ran a hand through his hair as he made his way to his chamber.

“Brandon!” he called, and his valet looked up from where he had been brushing a top hat. “Fetch my best morning coat and shine my shoes. I am accompanying Her Grace to the ball tonight.”

“Your Grace, I thought you were dining with your uncle tonight?” Brandon asked, surprised.

“My uncle has changed his mind—as have I, regarding the ball. So please, make haste. I do not want to keep Her Grace waiting.”

“Of course, Your Grace,” Brandon said and immediately set about collecting Harry’s finest attire.

“We shall need two carriages,” Harry added as Brandon was about to leave the room.

The valet paused, turning back to him. “You are traveling separately from Her Grace?”

“No, of course not.” Harry frowned. “That would look terrible. Besides, I would much rather travel with her. It is the return journey I am concerned about. I will be leaving the ball before Her Grace, as I have?—”

“Miss Helen?” Brandon interjected.

Harry looked up sharply. “Yes.” He noted the way Brandon furrowed his brow in concern. “What is it? Clearly, you have something on your mind.”

Brandon shrugged slightly. “It is just that I was thinking perhaps it is time you tell Her Grace about Miss Helen.”

Harry rounded on him, his expression darkening. “I can never tell her about Helen, and you know this. That is one of the reasons I must find a home for her.”

Brandon pressed his lips together, deep in thought. “It is clear that you are very fond of Her Grace, and she seems a reasonable woman, full of empathy. We all see and admire how she cares for her sisters, despite the difficulties posed by her father. Do you not think she would?—”

“Brandon,” Harry interrupted, taking a deep breath, his hands curling into fists. “I trust you and have always valued your service, but there are matters here of which you are unaware —things I cannot share, not even with my wife. They remain within these walls because we do not divulge them to others.”

He shook his head, frustration evident in his expression. He wished he could share his innermost thoughts, feelings, and darkest secrets with Arabella, but he knew he couldn’t. Not this. Not now. Perhaps never. All he could do was try to make their life together as smooth and comfortable as possible, even if it meant taking certain secrets to the grave.