Chapter 1

CHAPTER 1

" H as no one told her that such necklines were all but outlawed three Seasons ago?"

Arabella Merton froze in place. Her heart began to race as the voice rang in her hears. She knew, even before she turned around, just what she was going to see. And whom.

"The poor dear, she is living in utter ignorance!" giggled the voice, forcing Arabella to face her ridiculers.

As another familiar voice piped up, Arabella turned to spy three young women who stood only a little way away, huddled together in mock secrecy. But anyone could see that they were just as eager to be seen by the guests in attendance than if they had stood in the center of the room and begun to dance a jig.

The women – all about Arabella's age – were from the three best families in town. Beautiful and affluent, they sported the very best gowns that money could buy. Their masks were smaller than anyone else in attendance at tonight's masquerade, as if they could not bear to go unrecognized.

Indeed, at that very moment, Lady Julia - the unspoken leader of the group – was setting aside her mask completely. And fixing Arabella with a hard, self-righteous stare.

The woman to her left – Lady Ann – piped up. "You must not judge her by our standards, Lady Julia," she protested in mock sincerity. "She does not know any better. After all, any family which lets their eldest daughter marry a commoner knows nothing of good taste."

As the women fell into another fit of laughter, Arabella's hands clenched into fists at her sides. She fought back the hard words that burned at the back of her throat.

She knew that the ton was a cruel place, but this display was far worse than anything Arabella could have imagined. These women had no shame. They cared not who overheard them. In fact, it seemed as if they wanted Arabella to hear their mocking words.

Shame and outrage stirred within her.

"Arabella," cautioned a gentle, familiar voice. Catherine, Arabella's best friend of twelve years, came to stand beside her. Her friend, it would seem, had overheard the conversation as well.

"But someone should tell her that she and her mother have no need for masks," Lady Julia continued loudly. "For, in dresses like those, anyone may tell who they are. Who else but Lord Clement's wife and daughter would wear such horrid things?"

"It is a good thing that his eldest daughter is not present," added Lady Ann eagerly. "One can only imagine what she might wear. Not that she would know anything of the Season's fashion nowadays."

"Oh, can you envisage it?" giggled the third woman, Lady Beth. "If Lady Peggy were to join her sisters at such an event?"

"She would not dare show her face," laughed Lady Julia. "Why, as she is now, she could not afford a single thing to wear to a ball, let alone a masquerade."

Arabella was storming toward them before she knew what she was doing. "My sister is a far better woman than any of you shall ever be! I daresay –" But Arabella's protest was cut short as an older woman stepped between her and the group of jeering young women.

"There you are," said Lady Clement, regarding her daughter with a hard smile. "I had wondered where you and Lady Catherine had gone." The smile lines around the older woman's eyes crinkled only a little, showing just how forced her polite, calm demeanor was.

The woman reached out to take Arabella's arm, wrapping it around hers. "There is someone I wish to introduce you to," she continued smoothly.

"But, Mother," Arabella protested, her blood still boiling. "They are talking about Peggy! Have you not heard what they have said?"

"Now is not the time, Arabella," Emily replied, her voice low.

But, as Arabella's mother turned around, Lady Julia approached her, a wide smile spreading across her delicate features. For some reason, it did not quite reach her eyes. "LadyClement, I am glad to see you," remarked the younger woman. "I had not expected to see you or your family here tonight."

"No?" Emily replied, her face a pleasant mask of obliviousness.

Lady Julia shook her head sadly. "It is shameful the way you have been treated. All because your eldest daughter disobeyed your wishes."

"She has done nothing of the sort," Arabella interjected. "My sister has acted with her family's blessing. I cannot see why it should be anything but a joy for a woman to marry for love," she added, her voice rising with her anger.

Emily opened her mouth – probably with the intent to scold Arabella for taking the young woman's bait – but was cut off as Lady Julia moved toward Arabella. She gently reached out, placing a reassuring hand on Arabella's forearm. "I only hope that love can feed and clothe her when she realizes that her husband cannot," Julia said sadly, shaking her head.

Several things then happened all at once. Fuming, Arabella took a step back, all but slapping Julia's hand out of the way as she moved to evade the horrid woman's touch. But, as she did so, the large ring on Julia's hand snagged on Arabella's sleeve. As Arabella pulled away, Julia succeeded in ripping open a long, straight tear down the fabric from Arabella's elbow to wrist.

The sound of the ripping dress turned several heads nearby.

Julia's hand flew to her mouth, unable to stifle her laughter at this sudden turn of events. Arabella's face grew hot. She glanced around, watching as several other guests began to murmur and point toward the two young women.

Catherine stepped forward. "Arabella," she murmured cautiously, holding out a hand as if Arabella was a wild, unsteady colt. "Why don't we –"

"I need some air." Arabella swayed dangerously. Taking a step back, she cast her friend a pleading look. It took everything in her to then force herself away from Lady Julia and out into the hall. There was no sense in causing any more of a scene than she already had. But she was only halfway toward the front doors when she felt a hand on her arm.

"Arabella, wait." Emily pulled her daughter to a halt, turning Arabella to face her.

Despite herself, tears pricked at the backs of Arabella's eyes. "Do you not care?" she demanded. "Do you not care what these people say about Peggy? What they say about us? Are you content to let them gossip and laugh at us behind our backs?"

The hurt in Emily's eyes was evident. "Arabella, you do not respect any of these gossips. Why should what they say matter to you?"

As Arabella struggled to come up with an answer, Catherine rejoined them. Her face was a little red, as if she were embarrassed for her friend.

But, when she spoke, Arabella realized that Catherine was flushed for a very different reason.

"He is here," Catherine hissed, her mouth turning downward as if she had just sucked on something sour.

Immediately, Arabella knew of whom Catherine spoke. She groaned. Arabella had hoped for a quiet, uneventful night. But she should have known better than to hope for such an impossible thing.

Catherine shot a hurried glance over her shoulder, looking back into the ballroom. Then she turned back to Arabella with sad eyes. "I was certain that Lord Reeves would not be in attendance tonight. Has he no shame?"

Glancing over Arabella as if she feared that her friend might burst into tears at any moment, Catherine bit her lip. Though she knew she should be grateful for Catherine's concern, Arabella could not help but bristle a little at the pity in her eyes. She had been pitied enough when the matter with Lord Reeves had gone south, and no one's pity seemed to have done anything for her. In fact, it seemed to work only to assuage any guilt that others had in judging her, before allowing them to forget the situation entirely and move on to their own trivial persuits.

"Why should he not be here?" Arabella replied, the shake in her voice giving her away. She took a deep breath, trying to force herself into some sense of tranquility. "He was the one who ended the courtship. He has no reason to be ashamed."

"Neither do you," Catherine replied sternly, guessing at Arabella's unspoken thoughts. "He was a cad and a rogue to stop courting you."

"Shhh," Arabella hissed, drawing closer. "You must not be heard to be saying such things. However true they might be," she added begrudgingly. This brought a sad smile to Catherine's face. But Arabella could not quite muster up such emotion. "Besides, any man who would have fled after hearing what my sister did does not deserve to be a part of my family."

Arabella glanced back at her mother, but Emily's expression was unreadable.

"Indeed not," Catherine agreed. The sincerity in her expression made Arabella grateful for her friendship, and not for the first time. Catherine was the only one who had stood by her following the aftermath of her eldest sister's marriage. "It was a very good thing that you never developed feelings for Lord Reeves," Catherine continued. "Otherwise, I should have reason to be even more cross with him."

"A very good thing," Arabella sighed. Catherine was not wrong. Arabella had entertained Lord Reeves' attentions out of compassion, not out of any fondness for the man himself. But that made the sting of his rejection all the more painful. She had given him a chance – had tried to get to know the man behind the gruff, grisly exterior – and then he had been the one to call off the courtship. As if her family's shortcomings far outweighed his own. Now he was free to return to society, eagerly seeking another young bride, while Arabella was surrounded by even more shame and scandal. He got off scot free, while the gossip of the town speculated on what about her had pushed Lord Reeves away.

"I think he has gone into the card room," Catherine informed Arabella, breaking her out of her thoughts. "Come, let us rejoin the dancers. We must not be seen to be hiding from the others, no matter how rude their behavior."

Emily nodded at this, but Arabella could not share the sentiment. Glancing down at her newly ripped sleeve, Arabella found herself blinking back tears.

She could not go back into the ballroom looking like this.

"I, I must first take care of my dress," she murmured. Then, before the others could protest, she turned and hurried down the hall.

She moved, not caring where she was going, so long as it led her somewhere empty and quiet.

Neither Emily nor Catherine pursued her.

Still fighting off tears, Arabella took several turns blindly, finally finding herself in what could only be the library. The large room was dark and quiet. Arabella allowed herself a deep, steadying breath. She wiped her cheeks and closed her eyes.

She had spoken harshly to her mother. And Emily had not deserved it. Emily had only ever been a loving, supportive parent. It was not her fault that the ton was filled with supercilious, cruel people who took pleasure in the misfortune of others.

But she could not bear hearing them speak of Peggy so. Arabella's older sister was the kindest, most thoughtful woman Arabella had ever known. She had married for love, not money, and that was something to be admired, not condemned. To hear Lady Julia speak of her as if Peggy had committed some crime…

Arabella fought off another wave of anger. This was not like her, she reminded herself. Arabella never cared what others thought of her. Why, then, should she care what others thought of her family? She loved and cherished them no matter what others might think. And that would be enough for her.

After another few moments, Arabella succeeded in steadying her pulse. She would apologize to her mother. And to Catherine. But, first, she needed to fix her sleeve.

Inspecting the tear, Arabella frowned. It was far bigger than she could have imagined. It would be more than a little scandalous to go back out into the ballroom brandishing such unbecoming attire. But how could she stitch it up?

Her mind racing, Arabella began to search around the library in the vain hope she might stumble across a needle and thread, or something that she might use to cover up her sleeve.

She was in the middle of looking through the drawers of a finely crafted desk when raised voices made her start.

Someone was outside the library. Two people, from what she could tell. And they were making their way inside.

"I must insist that you return to the ballroom," said a low, male voice. The tone was hard, insistent. Entirely different to the voice that replied.

A young woman spoke next, her tone sultry and obviously amused. "You will not wish to send me away, Your Grace," she said. "Not when you learn what delightful company I can be."

Arabella pressed a hand over her mouth to keep herself from gasping. A duke? There was a duke now making his way into the library, about to catch her in a state of undress? She spun around in a panic. Arabella could not afford such a scandal.

"I will pretend not to know what it is you insinuate," the man replied. "But if you insist on plaguing me, I will be forced to speak unkindly. So do me the favor of hearing me now: I wish to be alone."

"But –"

Arabella all but dove behind the desk as a figure strode around the nearest shelf of books. The candelabra in his hand illuminated the room with soft, dangerous light. The man's – the duke's – voice was close now. As he spoke again, each word was tight with restrained anger. "I. Wish. To be. Alone."

On the ground, Arabella squeezed her eyes shut. She tried to understand just how she had gotten herself into such a precarious situation. Then, spying part of her skirts that were now spilling out from beneath the desk, dangerously close to where the newcomers now stood, Arabella's heart nearly stopped entirely.

Breathlessly, she carefully reached out. Gently curling her fingers over the fabric, Arabella began to slowly draw her skirts back under the cover of the desk. But the boot of the man standing before her shifted, his heel nearly crushing Arabella's hand as he stepped to the side. Somehow, Arabella managed to evade him, dragging her dress back to her and curling up as tightly as she could. She pressed a hand down hard over her mouth, trying to quell her frantic breathing.

Arabella waited for someone to call out, to ask who was there. But, when the voices above continued, Arabella relaxed a little. She had not been caught. Not yet at least.

There was a sigh. The woman spoke again. "Very well, Your Grace. I shall leave you. But you know who to seek out, should you decide you desire company."

"I assure you, I shall not."

The woman chuckled. "We shall see."

The duke said nothing and, as Arabella listened, she heard the click of retreating footsteps. The woman was gone.

But Arabella was far from relieved. As the reality of her situation dawned on her, she found herself wishing desperately that the woman would return. For Arabella's position was far worse than it had been before.

For now she was alone, indisposed in the near dark, with a duke.