Chapter 5

CHAPTER 5

“ E ngaged to a duke!” Lord Worcester exclaimed, his face flushed and his eyes glazed over from too much celebratory wine. His usual belligerence was replaced with a rare display of exuberance as they made their way back home.

“A duke! Can you believe it?” Hanna turned to Arabella, her face etched with disbelief. “It’s real, then? The Duke of Sheffield? How did it come to this? You barely knew him before tonight,” she questioned.

The Earl, in his state of inebriation, interjected. “It happened because it was meant to be,” he declared with a grandiose wave of his hand. “I had all but given up hope for any match worthy of our family, given how you two have turned out.” He eyed Emma and Hanna before clicking his tongue in disapproval. “But Arabella—your youngest sister—set her sights on a duke and managed to secure a proposal in a single night. Your prospects might have improved as well, girls. I may finally rid myself of you and rise in Society at the same time,” he said, stomping his feet in delight.

The carriage slowed down abruptly, likely because the driver mistook the noise for a command to stop.

Arabella poked her head out the window. “Keep going,” she called to the driver. “Father is celebrating.”

The vehicle lurched back into motion, jostling her in her seat. Outside, the moon hung high in the sky, and the stars twinkled—a beautiful night that would have found her stargazing in the garden under different circumstances. Tonight, however, her thoughts were otherwise occupied.

“Bella?” Emma’s voice, tinged with skepticism, cut through her reverie. “I can scarcely believe it.”

“Neither can I,” Hanna echoed.

Arabella shrugged in response, feeling the weight of her sisters’ expectant gazes as their father continued to extol the virtues of her match. She could see the questions in her sisters’ eyes but knew they dared not voice them with their father present.

“So,” the Earl concluded, his voice filled with pride as the carriage rumbled into the outskirts of London, “Arabella will soon be the Duchess of Sheffield. His Grace’s estate is quite near to ours, so you may visit her often.”

It was clear what he meant—he wanted his daughters out of his house as soon as possible, even if they weren’t yet married.

“I do not understand,” Emma said, scratching her chin. “Is this truly a favorable match? The Duke of Sheffield has such a dubious reputation…”

“The Duke’s reputation matters little,” their father retorted dismissively. “So what if he has secrets? We all have them. I’m sure the three of you scribble down your secrets in your diaries. Arabella will be very happy—she’ll be a duchess. And not just any duchess, but one married to a man with vast estates in London and the north. He’s wealthier than most earls, viscounts, and barons combined.”

“But Father, I’ve heard that he keeps rather dangerous secrets,” Hanna said cautiously.

The Earl waved off her concern. “There are rumors, yes, but what of it? We all have our quirks. Would I allow such a match to proceed if I thought him unsuitable? What do you take me for?”

Arabella motioned for her sisters to remain silent. She could not bear the thought of their father’s mood plummeting from its current high to a much darker place.

“The Duke of Sheffield is a man of good standing. He needs a wife, and he needs one urgently. With no male heirs in his line, his family name will die with him—unless he has an heir. You better get on with it, Arabella.” The Earl winked at her.

Arabella felt a wave of nausea. Some topics were simply too uncomfortable to broach with her father, and the topic of producing heirs was certainly one of them. She had to wonder if this had played into the Duke’s decision-making, though he had not outright admitted it.

A shudder raced through her, and she wrapped her arms around herself.

For the rest of the journey, the Earl continued rambling about the future, while Arabella’s thoughts spiraled further. Despite the Duke’s assurances, she had little confidence that her life would be filled with joy after the wedding.

Upon arriving home, the Earl summoned his steward, Mr. Barnes, and retreated to his study with a bottle of brandy. At the door, he turned and waved the bottle in the air.

“I bought this brandy the day Hanna was born,” he said, turning to face his daughters. “I promised your mother I would open it the night one of you got engaged. I’ve had to wait far longer than I intended, but now, thanks to Arabella, that night has finally come.”

He shut the door behind him, leaving Arabella to slump onto the bottom step of the grand staircase, her head buried in her lap.

“I’m sorry,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. “I’m so sorry.”

“What are you sorry for?” Emma’s voice was tinged with bitterness. “You’re Father’s new favorite now. Enjoy it while it lasts.”

“Do not be spiteful, Emma,” Hanna interjected, her voice firm. “We’ve all had our moments with Father. Arabella can’t help that his esteem for you has waned, thanks to your sharp tongue.”

Emma opened her mouth to retort, but Arabella groaned. “Please, not right now,” she begged.

Her sisters fell silent, and then Hanna cleared her throat. “She’s right. We shouldn’t quarrel on such a night. This is supposed to be a joyous occasion. An engagement to the Duke of Sheffield is quite a sensation… and a surprise. Why did you ask about him when we first arrived at the ballroom? Did you have plans to speak with him?”

“No,” Arabella replied, shaking her head. “I had no such plans. None of this was planned.”

“You did, I’m certain of it!” Emma wagged her finger at Arabella. “You had your eye on him. Goodness, you work quickly. You’re to help us find matches next.”

“Oh yes, with a duke as a brother-in-law, we might still find husbands,” Hanna said, her mood brightening. “And I suppose you’re not worried about his reputation if you agreed to the proposal so swiftly. Perhaps the rumors are unfounded. But tell us, how did you persuade him to propose?”

“I did nothing,” Arabella replied, her voice steady despite her inner turmoil. “It was Father who orchestrated it all. I spoke briefly with the Duke in the garden, and Father learned about it. He saw it as the perfect opportunity and sent me into the library, claiming Hanna was about to faint.”

Hanna blinked, puzzled. “We went into the garden to find you. I certainly did not almost faint. Indeed, I declare that I have not fainted once this Season, and when it happened last Season, it was due to the heat. I resent this reputation of a frail flower.”

Arabella knew she ought to comfort her sister, but for one, Hanna’s reputation for being delicate was a deserved one, and for another, Arabella didn’t have it in her to pay a Spanish coin to her sister right now.

“In any case,” Emma spoke up, “we returned just in time to hear the announcement.”

“It was Father’s doing,” Arabella said again, her voice sterner now. “He sent me to the library, and the Duke mentioned someone had told him to go there as well, saying his uncle needed him. Father and Lady Lawrence were outside. He must have intended for it to look like we had sneaked away together. The truth was far less scandalous, though. I tried to leave, but I slipped and fell, and the Duke caught me…”

“He caught you when you fell,” Hanna cooed, her eyes twinkling. “How charming!”

“Yes, very charming,” Emma agreed, surprising Arabella.

Emma, ever the practical one, seemed swept up in the romantic notion.

If only it were as simple as they believed. But Arabella could not bring herself to shatter their hopeful illusions.

“Well, here I am, engaged,” she said with a shrug, trying to sound nonchalant.

Emma’s eyes widened. “So, when you spoke to him, you confirmed that the rumors were false?”

“Yes,” Arabella said, not wanting to add to her sisters’ anxieties. “The rumors are likely exaggerated. He is merely private.”

For a skeptic, Emma accepted this explanation with surprising ease. “If that’s the case, then even if Father arranged it all, the Duke’s willingness to marry you post-haste must mean he’s taken with you as well. The possibilities are endless. You two might truly fall in love. Perhaps the Duke’s indifference to the ball and your slip was fate.”

“Perhaps,” Arabella muttered, though she knew otherwise.

She knew she should reveal the Duke’s dispassionate view of marriage, but she could not bear to distress her sisters.

And so, the three sisters sat together, discussing the wedding with renewed hope and excitement. For a brief moment, it felt as if nothing tragic had ever befallen them. It was as if they were merely three young women planning a joyous future. Arabella cherished this fleeting sense of normalcy.

It wasn’t until very late at night, after her sisters had gone to bed and her father had retreated to his chamber, that Arabella had time to ponder what this all meant.

What would her life actually look like if she hadn’t met the Duke of Sheffield? And more importantly, who was the Duke of Sheffield?

She thought about the things she knew about her fiancé. He was the sort of man who attended many balls but with reluctance. He was rich—that was known, and her father had confirmed it. His parents had died when he was a child. He had no family other than his uncle. And marriage seemed to not matter to him at all.

His reputation was that of a man who liked to keep secrets and who could be temperamental. That wasn’t much, and none of it made her feel any better about marrying him.

No, she had to find out more.

She slipped out of bed and into her slippers, picking up the candleholder with the half-burned down candle from her nightstand as she made her way down the hall to her father’s study. She’d find answers there—at least she hoped so. The Earl kept newspapers in a box near his desk, old ones dating back to at least a couple of years. It was one of his peculiarities, keeping old papers. He said it was in case somebody tried to cheat him, or mess with his memory…

But she knew he kept these papers because he needed reminders of things that had happened. His memory had weakened due to the excessive drinking, and he needed to remind himself where he had been, which meetings he had attended, and who had attended them. The newspapers helped him with that. He sometimes resorted to asking Arabella or her sisters for help, but she knew he hated this, as it showed weakness.

Arabella knelt in front of the heavy mahogany box bearing the family crest and opened it. The box gave a heavy squeak, and she rifled through it. On top, she found an old blanket, one that had once belonged to her mother. Beneath it, she found several glass bottles, all of them empty. Her stomach churned.

Her father was hiding bottles… Not a good sign.

Pushing the worry aside, she picked up the papers beneath the bottles. Some stank of old whiskey, others simply smelled damp. She pulled a stack aside to avoid inhaling too much of it. Her father primarily read the London Times and the Morning Call , and there were dozens of copies of each.

She opened several gossip columns and placed them side by side so that they were in the shape of a rainbow. On her knees, she held the candle over the pages and read, moving from one to the next.

Nothing. In the last month, the Duke hadn’t been mentioned at all. Disappointed, she returned the papers to the box and took out the next lot.

This time, she spotted his name almost at once. The mysterious Duke of Sheffield spotted at Almack’s wrote one columnist. Another referred to the same day but only denoted him as the Duke of S. Some papers were more concerned with maintaining the privacy of their subjects than others. The brief article spoke of the Duke dancing with a lady but leaving her at the end of the night wanting more.

The person who had written the story noted the Duke’s habit of dancing with various ladies but never more than once. Making conversation but never talking to the same lady at two balls in a row. It stated that he was picky, selecting the ladies he chose to dance with carefully, and even then he never seemed interested in them. He was approaching the age of six-and-twenty and yet had never entered into courtship.

She placed the papers back in the box and grabbed another stack. By the time she was finished reading a year’s worth of gossip columns, she had an idea of who he was to the public—a man not to settle down with. A man whose temper could be rather explosive.

There were stories about him getting into screaming matches with his peers at times. There was even a mention of a fight in the rookeries, though she couldn’t be certain if he was the man involved in the fight, since initials were used. There was little of true significance other than the mentions of his parents.

Those had given her pause. Some articles about his parents had shown up over the last couple of weeks, commemorating their passing twenty years ago.

Twenty years ago…

“So if he is five-and-twenty now, he was five when they died. The same age I was when Mother died,” she muttered.

Was it a coincidence, or did this mean something? Was it something they could potentially bond over? No, she had to stop those thoughts. There was not going to be any bonding. There wasn’t going to be anything between them.

They were going to take their vows in front of their family and friends, and then she would move into his house and live her own life—he’d been very clear. And the sooner she got these silly notions out of her head, the better for all involved.