Page 14 of A Fake Courtship with the Marquess
Early the next morning, for it had not been possible to make the arrangements with so few hours left in the previous day—at least, that was what her mother had declared—Arabella was being rocked roughly from side to side inside the carriage. Cassie sat beside her on the velvet squabs, the two women holding onto the sides for dear life.
“I… hate… cobblestones,” Arabella muttered, as the carriage jolted her this way and that.
Cassie nodded. “So do… I.”
Through the carriage window, the hustle and bustle of London rushed by in bursts of noise and drama—hawkers bellowing about their wares, husbands and wives screaming at each other without a care for who heard, children being scolded for misbehavior, and even a brief explosion of violin music coming from a street corner. It reminded Arabella of why she preferred the quiet of the countryside, though the violin had been rather nice.
Gradually, the chaos of central London petered out into the relative serenity of Mayfair, where Henry’s townhouse could be found. It belonged to his father, of course, but Seth and Henry had claimed it as their own personal den of bachelorhood. At least, that was Arabella’s assumption, for Seth always seemed to be there instead of coming home to the Bowles Estate.
The carriage pulled up to a vaguely familiar address some fifteen minutes later, and the footman jumped down to open the door for the two women. Taking Arabella’s hand, the footman helped her down to the street, before doing the same for Cassie. The man’s lingering hold upon Cassie’s hand did not go unnoticed by Arabella, who smiled to herself.
“You have an admirer,” she whispered, once the footman had resumed his guard over the rear of the carriage.
Cassie frowned. “What are you talking about?”
“Kinsale, the footman,” Arabella urged, with a discreet nod in his direction. “Do not deny that he held onto your hand as though it was the last time he would touch it.”
Cassie covered her mouth with her hand, blushing furiously. “You shouldn’t say such things, Milady. You’ll get me into all sorts of bother.” She gestured up at an impressive townhouse, gleaming white in the morning sunlight as if it had been freshly painted. “Anyway, we’re here to contend with your romantic endeavors, not mine.”
“Do not remind me.” Arabella grimaced and shaded her eyes from the bright sun, in order to see the townhouse better. It looked much like those that neighbored it, with glinting sash windows, steep steps leading up to a pillared porch, and black iron fencing at the front that camouflaged a small gate to allow entry to the kitchens and cellars below ground level.
Taking a deep breath, Arabella ventured up the steps to the front door and rang the bell to gain the attention of those within. If she knew Seth, he would still be in his chambers, awakening bleary-eyed to the chime of the bell. She doubted Henry would be much different.
So, it came as a surprise when the man himself flung open the door and graced Arabella with a cheerful smile.
“I knew it would be you. Do not ask me how; I have a curious sense about these things.” Henry beckoned for them to enter. “Come in, do not be shy.”
Arabella approached with caution. “Are you in the habit of answering your own door?”
“When I happen to be walking across the entrance hall and I hear the bell, I see no reason to wait for Mrs. Robbins,” he explained, leading them into a cavernous foyer where sunlight cascaded down from an ornate glass dome high above. Curved balconies spiraled up toward it, which looked beautiful but must have cost the family dearly in livable space.
Arabella glanced around, admiring the pretty wallpaper, painstakingly embossed with golden fleur-de-lys against a cream background. It ran all the way up, as far as her eyes could see. She could have stared at it for a while longer, if a large, oval mirror had not drawn attention to her appearance. The carriage ride had disheveled her somewhat, prompting her to give Cassie a nudge.
“Might you fix my hair?” she whispered to her lady’s maid, while Henry’s back was turned.
Cassie nodded and set to work, re-pinning Arabella’s light brown locks into a more casual version of the bun she had worn to the ball. By the time Henry turned back around, Arabella’s reflection was far more flattering.
“Have you spoken with your mother and father?” He gestured for them to follow him into a small drawing room at the back of the house, which looked out over a long stretch of lush, green lawn. Flowerbeds spilled over with vivid blooms, and through the partially opened rear door, Arabella could smell their heady aroma.
“I have,” she said, remembering she had a question to answer. “They have consented.”
Henry clapped his hands together. “This calls for a celebration.” He moved toward a decanter of something bronze-colored. “Would you both care for one?”
“I would prefer tea, if possible?” Arabella tried hard not to glance at the carriage clock on the mantelpiece, which had not yet chimed ten o’clock.
Henry set down the decanter and returned the crystal glasses to an upside-down position. “I will send for a tea service immediately.” He looked somewhat chastened. “I had forgotten the time, truth be told. I rarely have visitors call upon me before noon.”
He went to the drawing room door and popped his head out into the entrance hall. Arabella heard him call to someone and ask for a tea service, before he closed the door and made his way over to the opposite settee to where Cassie and Arabella were perched. He sprawled across it, bouncing his leg impatiently.
“Is Seth here?” Arabella usually liked silence, but not the awkward kind.
Henry jumped up. “I shall fetch him. The loafer ought to be awake by now.”
“You do not need to—” Arabella did not get to finish her sentence, for Henry had already darted out of the room. A thud of footsteps upon stairs echoed through the townhouse.
Cassie whirled around as soon as he was gone. “You didn’t tell me he was absolutely breathtaking!”
“Hmm?”
