Chapter 8

Michael had not joined the ladies the previous evening. He was reeling about how a day that had started off so positively could have gone downhill in such a spectacular way. Her words had been bad enough, but the derision in her voice when she had referred to his position had cut him deeply.

He took pride in his role. If it was good enough for his father and grandfather, it was certainly good enough for him, for they were honest men who worked hard and did the right thing by everyone they dealt with. If Arabella thought that the role was to be looked down upon, then that said more about her than it did him.

A pity it stung so much, but that was his own doing because he had been having ideas above his station. It was his own blasted fault that he had been cut down to size. One thing for certain was that there would be none of the easy banter they had managed to develop between them; even if it was occasional, it had been a start and a sign that things were changing for the better. If the ice queen wanted an efficient steward, she had one, but he would be damned before he would be anything but civil to her. They were clearly not even meant to be friends, let alone anything else his foolish heart might long for.

Walking into Arabella's study, he nodded to her. "You sent for me, Miss Betez?"

"Yes, please sit down." Her colour was heightened, but it did not alter his resolve to maintain a cool exterior. "I have an apology to make, Mr Follett."

"There is no need. I think enough was said last night to make our respective positions crystal clear."

Colouring deeper, Arabella shook her head. "No. I need to apologise most sincerely," she insisted. "What I said was wrong. I did not even mean it. It was shameful behaviour, but your words have given me the scold that I needed."

"Oh?" Michael had not expected her to utter anything along those lines. She had certainly grabbed his interest, blast her.

"I have been selfish, utterly irresponsible and neglectful, and whether you accept my apology or not, things are going to change. From my perspective, at least." He could not help but notice how she was becoming more animated as she spoke. "I have got the perfect person in you to teach me all that I need to know. Before the accident, I had a steward, but he very much reported back to my uncle when he thought it was necessary. I had very little involvement in the estate; I was too busy making a fool of myself in London, and to be fair, he had run the estate for so long that he could do it in his sleep."

Michael tried to dampen his curiosity at the remark about her being foolish; she always seemed so much in control. He cursed himself that he wanted to know everything about her. He really was a bloody fool, and he was determined to keep reminding himself of that.

"What do you wish me to do?"

"I want to work side by side with you," Arabella said. "You said that it was usual practice to give me an update each day, but I want more than that. I want to discuss everything with you. I need you to go in-depth with what is happening on the estate, and I want to be able to challenge your opinions as I learn."

"Do not forget that you have promised to cast me off when you have had your birthday," Michael reminded her. "That gives you only a few months to learn a heck of a lot." Did he detect a flicker of unhappiness at his words, he mused. Probably not. He was good at imagining feelings from her, which he had learned the hard way that she did not have.

"I should pay you more to work harder so that I am able to learn."

"There is no need for extra funds. Your uncle has given me more than enough to do as you are asking," Michael said stiffly.

"Then you will do it?"

"Do I have a choice?"

For the first time since he had entered the room, there was a glimmer of a smile on her lips. "I had thought that if you refused, I would need to follow you around like a lost puppy, trying to pick up snippets of information from you."

"Then I suppose I should give in gracefully and say I will do as you ask, for I do not wish to be constantly tripping over you."

"Oh, thank you! I do appreciate it. Let us start immediately."

Michael could have rolled his eyes. Not only was he smitten with her when they barely spent any time together, they were going to be inseparable for the coming weeks at least. Wonderful. He would be a besotted fool by the end of it if she looked at him with those big soulful eyes of hers. What an idiot he was; he should be running far from this estate if his heart was going to remain intact. Unfortunately, he had the suspicion that it was already too late.

***

After spending a day and a half in the study, walking through the house, and going over what needed to be done, Michael came to realise something. He was not going to end the time as a besotted fool; he was going to be a lunatic.

Every time she came close to him, looking over what he had written or perusing maps of the layout of the house or parkland, he could smell the jasmine scent she wore. It was so subtle that at a distance it could not be detected, but when close enough, it was there, tormenting him. Then she would lean over, their arms touching or brushing against each other. It really was torture, but he had to keep his mind on the task in hand and make sure that he was not missing out anything that she needed to know. He was beginning to hope to goodness that she would get bored of the route she was taking and return to not being involved, fully realising what a hypocrite he was, but he was seriously concerned for his sanity if she did not.

A knock on the door and the entrance of Sullivan mid-afternoon had them both startled, almost as if they were not aware there was anyone else in the house.

"I am sorry to interrupt, but Mr Wilson is insisting I inform you of his arrival."

"Oh." Arabella seemed lost and a little confused for a moment. "I had forgotten about his threat to visit. Oh blast, is Grace in the drawing room?"

"She is."

"Then I suppose I should greet him." She looked pensive and no longer relaxed. The work they had been undertaking was mentally stimulating and hard to take in, but she had clearly been enjoying herself. Now her shoulders were stiff, and her colour had faded.

Michael followed her out of the room, noticing that Sullivan was every inch the disapproving butler in the way that only a man sure of his station and servant for many years could be. He clearly did not like Mr Wilson, and Michael had the suspicion that neither would he, whoever he was.

"My darling!"

Arabella paused for a split second before taking a breath and continuing forward. "Philip, this is a surprise."

"But I wrote!" Philip said, pouting. He was smaller than Michael's six feet, but he was not unattractive. Dishevelled blond hair, blue eyes and a smile cultivated to look endearing and self-deprecating at the same time, alongside clothes which looked well-made but different enough to make him stand out without being too ostentatious, he certainly was an attractive package. Michael could acknowledge that this was a man who knew how to charm the ladies, and he suspected would do so in order to get what he wanted.

"You might have written, but I do not sit around the house doing nothing," Arabella said coolly. "At least not anymore." The last words were said quietly, making Michael smile.

"Oh, my sweet girl, what did they do to you? I would kill the ones who caused this!" Before Arabella had time to respond, Philip had moved across to her, taken her into his arms and was kissing her scarred cheek. "You will always be my beautiful Bella; these cannot change that."

Michael's fists were clenched at his side, jaw hurting it was so tight, but he had to take his signal from Arabella. He did not know the background between the two, only that he was as jealous as hell, whatever it was.

Grace came out of the drawing room and stopped. "What on earth do you think you are doing?"

The group were not sure whether her comment was aimed at Philip or Arabella, but it was Arabella who jumped back from the unexpected embrace. "Grace, Philip has arrived."

"I can see that."

"I could not help acting on my delight at seeing this darling girl after so long," Philip gushed, clearly not picking up the animosity oozing from everyone in the hallway.

"Sullivan, please send tea to the drawing room," Arabella instructed. "Philip, you should be more circumspect. I am the lady of the house, and you would do well to remember that."

Philip bowed and offered his arm to Arabella. "And a fine lady you make. Oh, how I have missed you. Nothing has been the same since you left my life."

"I seem to recall that was your decision." Arabella's tone was the ice that Michael had first been greeted with.

"Forced by circumstances, my love, but now everything has changed and for the better."

"Has it?" Grace muttered, following the pair into the drawing room, leaving Michael on his own as Sullivan had already disappeared to arrange a tray.

Resisting the urge to punch a wall in frustration, Michael hurried down to the kitchen, almost bursting into the room. "Who the devil is he?"

Sullivan and Mrs Johnson turned towards him, both clearly unhappy, but neither stopped putting the items on the tray for their mistress.

"He is the rapscallion who destroyed Miss Arabella's life."

"And she has let him in? Let him take her in his arms?"

"You had better sit, and I will explain everything once Mr Sullivan has taken this upstairs," Mrs Johnson instructed.

Michael did as he was bid, needing to know if he could get away with dragging the man from the house and banning him from ever returning. He had never suffered from jealousy, never in his life, but he was seething from it, and he had no right to claim the feeling. She did not belong to him and never would; a pity that knowledge did not calm his anger.

Mrs Johnson poured him a cup of tea and sat opposite him. "It is a common story," she started. "A young, rich woman who happened to be beautiful and who never had a shortage of dance partners. She was clever too, always learning, she can speak many languages and studies the sciences. That's what comes of being an only child, lots of time away from others, but she put her time to good use."

Michael was feeling even less worthy than he did already. She was so far above his station it would be laughable to anyone who knew his inner thoughts.

"That man," Mrs Johnson continued, "was different to the others who chased her. He was an artist, full of emotions and moods, and she was drawn to him because at the start he didn't fawn over her. By the time anyone realised that she was wrapped around his little finger and would do anything he wanted, he was overtly showing her affection. You can imagine how that was received."

"There was gossip about her?" Michael ground out.

"Yes, thankfully her uncle stepped in. He told that man how she could not access her fortune until she was thirty. I know that is unusual, but it is true."

"I know. It is the only reason her uncle could impose a change on the estate. A good thing as it has turned out. Well, until now," Michael said.

"There was an almighty row."

"You wouldn't think so the way he is making a coxcomb of himself," Sullivan said, returning to the kitchen, disgust dripping from every part of him.

"Is she encouraging him?" Michael had to ask, though the answer could crush him.

Sullivan shot him a look. "What do you think?"

"I have no idea. If she was in love with him, would she not welcome him back?" Michael shrugged, failing to appear nonchalant.

"Let me finish my tale." Mrs Johnson shot a look at Sullivan. "Miss Arabella's uncle told her about the gossip and forbade her from going to that man's exhibition in London. The minx took off under her own steam, ran away on the stage and got herself there. No maid, no chaperone. We found out later that she had actually paid the costs for the exhibition too."

"I've never seen Mr Betez look so ill when he found out what she had done," Sullivan chipped in.

"It gets worse, though. It seems that man listened to what Mr Betez had told him and quickly looked around for a replacement to fool into paying for his lifestyle. When Miss Arabella arrived at the exhibition, he gave her a public snub and turned his focus on the poor sap who thought he was in love with her and convinced her to marry him. Needless to say, her fortune was freely available."

"Good God. What had Miss Betez intended doing?"

"Staying with him, I suppose, then making a dash for the border," Sullivan took over the story whilst Mrs Johnson refilled their cups. "When she realised that he was nothing but a fortune hunter, she got on the stage to return home. The rumour is that the driver had let one of the passengers on top have a go at the reins, and he went too fast and could not handle the horses."

"Of course he couldn't," Michael said. "Why the coachmen are persuaded to hand over the reins, I will never understand, but I have been on a stage when that has happened."

"Hopefully, you didn't have the same experience as Miss Arabella. Another vehicle overshot a corner, and that was it, the stage overturned and was dragged some way. They said she was lucky to survive. If she had not been thrown out of the carriage when it bounced at some point, she would have been killed. The others on the inside did not fare so well."

"Good God."

"Exactly!" Mrs Johnson said. "And then all the time she spent recovering, all the while her heart was breaking over what had happened, the poor child had to suffer knowing that she had been taken advantage of and then rejected."

"Why on earth has she let him within ten miles of her? Surely she would not fall for his flummery a second time?" Michael dreaded the answer to his questions.

"She has done so well to become as active as she is. Her leg and arm were useless at first, but she thinks she is some kind of monster. I am worried that the way he reacted to her when he first saw her will have turned her head," Sullivan said gravely.

"What did he do?"

"Kissed her scarred face," Michael ground out.

"No! Did she not push him away?" Mrs Johnson had sat back in her chair, spilling her tea.

"No," Sullivan and Michael said in unison.