Chapter Nine

Despite her freshly broken heart bleeding inside of her breast, Ariel knew she must force herself to go through the motions of her life and obligations. She allowed herself one night of wallowing and tears (full-blown sobs, rivers of snot, and unattractive red-faced crying, if she were honest), and woke the next morning with a puffy face, bleary eyes, a sore throat, and the single-minded resolve that she would be strong. She reminded herself repeatedly that they'd had an understanding; Charles always had every intention to America—had always made it painfully clear from the start—and it was her bloody fault for falling in love with him like a foolish girl in her first Season.

That morning, she surfaced from a fitful doze and rang for a cold compress with a cup of very strong tea, which turned into two more compresses and an entire pot of the strong brew. It was afternoon by the time she deemed her appearance presentable enough and she allowed her maid to help her into a teal gown with a scooped neckline and pleating on the bodice. It was lovely and would be perfect for the tea she and Arnie were to have with Caro and her husband, Marquess Brinley, but Ariel still felt hollow and bruised, like a sack of flour thrown about, emptied, and then tossed aside.

She hardly knew how she'd arrived at Brinley House, but there she was, sitting beside Caro, a cup and saucer of fine bone china in her hand and an array of scones and delicately crafted finger sandwiches laid out before her. She usually loved the treats Caro's cook created for their tea, but her stomach roiled at the mere thought of food. Ariel tried her best to smile and nod in all the right places as Caro described her son's first steps. She wanted to be happy, really she did…but it was difficult when one's heart was deflated.

It was everything she could do not to glance at the gilded clock on the marble mantle and confirm what she knew in her soul: Charles was gone. His ship had ridden the tide out and he was on his way to Boston.

There was nothing to be done but to move on with her life as well.

She straightened her spine and steeled her heart, no matter how much it cried out in agony at the loss. She did her best to listen to the conversation and participate as best she could, but a muffled kerfuffle at the front of the house interrupted them.

Ariel nearly dropped her cup in her lap when the door to the sitting room flew open with a loud bang. The marquess stood immediately, utilizing his body to protect his wife with astonishing speed and selflessness. While Arnie stood, scone crumbs dotting the front of his coat, he did so more out of surprise than any instinctive need to protect.

A man with a head of unruly dark curls, wearing a coat of fine navy wool shook off a footman. He straightened and tugged at his lapels, and Ariel's heart stopped at the sight.

"For the last time…I refuse to wait on the front step while you check if they are at home; I can see the marquess, his wife, Lady Ariel, and the earl through the damned window from the street," Charles growled.

"Ryton?" The marquess reared back in shock at the blatant disregard of all social niceties and manners. His eerily blue eyes were wide with confusion. "What is the meaning of this?"

"Apologies," Charles said with a cursory nod before his gaze lit upon Ariel. His eyes darkened and softened, her pulse quickened so much her fingers trembled and she was forced to set down the teacup with a clatter. "I stopped by Lady Ariel's house, but I was informed she was here." The heaving of his broad chest told her he'd run the entire way. What a sight that must have been.

Before the marquess could say anything else, Charles strode toward Ariel and, despite their audience, he lowered himself to his knees before her and took her trembling hand in his.

"I couldn't leave you," he said, his eyes boring into hers. Ariel swore she stopped breathing. "All my luggage was stowed. I boarded the ship and had to lock myself in my cabin. No matter how many times I swore to myself I wouldn't, no matter how much I berated myself for my stupidity, I couldn't go without letting you know. By the time I'd relented to my madcap mind and returned to the deck, we'd already begun to shove off." He gave a wry chuckle. "I suppose being a duke does have its perks because they listened when I demanded to be returned to shore at once and a rowboat was summoned." Charles heaved a sigh and cupped her cheek. The room around them was so silent one could hear a mouse sneeze. "I will gladly give up everything I have in America for you if you will take me and my cat. Forever. You're likely both our only chance at happiness, curmudgeons that we are." Ariel emitted a watery laugh and placed her hand over his. His beloved face swam before her eyes and only then did she realize she'd begun to cry. His thumb stroked away a tear just before Charles leaned in and sealed his mouth over hers.

∞∞∞

"I beg your pardon!"

Charles reluctantly pulled away at the sound of Ariel's brother's shocked, incensed voice. He turned his attention to the man, noted the crumbs on the front of his coat, the red tinge of both embarrassment and rage coloring his complexion. "I don't know how things are done in America—in fact, I'd wager this is still highly inappropriate in distinguished, civilized circles in the Colonies—but the least I can do is demand an explanation," he blustered.

Not to be outdone, Charles stood as well and was pleased to realize he was a good several inches taller and much broader than the other man. He wasn't usually one to promote physical violence, but he would to protect Ariel. He'd do a great many things outside of his usual character for her.

Charles cleared his throat and wove his fingers with Ariel's, bolstered when she gripped him tightly. "Why, I'm quite desperate to marry your sister." His heart pounded joyfully against the inside of his ribcage when she smiled up at him. She rose to stand beside him with just a gentle tug of her hand.

The earl scoffed disbelievingly, "With all due respect, I find that difficult to believe."

A muscle in Charles' jaw flexed so hard it was a miracle his teeth didn't shatter. "There is nothing respectful about what you just said," he snapped. "Why is it so difficult to comprehend that I would want to have Ariel as my wife?" Her brother sputtered, not quite sure how to respond without wounding her. "Because I am a duke?" Charles snarled. "Do you forget that I was no more than a businessman of only comfortable means mere months ago? That the sole reason you feel I have any worth to me is a name I have been unwittingly given and a title I've been unwillingly forced to accept?

"All we are are men. Our blood runs red no matter if we are born in a palace or a slum. And, when I look at your sister, I do not see a spinster with few options or my entree into another ancient family, or whatever it is your English tongues feel is appropriate to brand her with; I see a woman. The woman with whom I need to spend the rest of my life. No other woman will do. Only her. Always her." Charles turned back to Ariel, his voice softening along with his eyes. "And so, I am simply a man asking a woman if she will accept his offer of a lifetime of his company, his unwavering fidelity, his heart, and his self-important, obese feline."

"Yes!" All heads snapped to face the marchioness, tears streaming down her cheeks and her hands clasped against her heart. "What? Of course, she's going to say yes!" She looked at Ariel. "You love him!" The marquess slipped an arm around his wife's slim waist and tugged her close, an unspoken request for silence. There was no disguising the amused smile threatening to break out upon his lips, though.

Charles turned back to Ariel. She stepped closer to him and wound her arms around his neck, not caring who watched them.

"I most certainly do." She tugged his head down for a kiss and, for the first time, Charles looked forward to the future.