Page 24 of A Fake Courtship with the Marquess
“Lady Arabella,” Henry’s cheeks turned a rather concerning shade of red, “that was me. I wrote that letter to you. Admittedly, I was somewhat… soused when I penned it, but itwasme. ‘Hyde Park Hero’ was intended as a joke, though it seems it did not hit its mark.”
Arabella’s jaw dropped. “No, no, no, no!”
“Is something the matter?” Seth ducked into the conversation at the worst possible moment, for Arabella was about to die of embarrassment.
Henry pointed at the young lady seated to Seth’s left. “I believe Lady Georgia is trying to gain your attention.”
Heeding his words, Seth turned his interest toward the lady in question, who seemed eager enough to speak with him. Arabella could not even attempt to be grateful to Henry for distracting her brother, for her mind was fixed upon the awful mortification of what she had done.
“What is the matter?” Henry pressed.
“I thought it was Lord Powell,” she hissed, covering her face with her hands.
He nodded. “Yes, I have grasped that. Why did you make such a mistake? Did you not see my seal upon the back?”
“It was smudged!” Her cheeks grew hotter by the second. “I thought it was a ‘P’ for Powell. Oh my goodness, I ought to leave immediately, take myself to a nunnery, and hide from Society for the rest of my days! I shall never survive this shame!”
Henry rested a tentative hand on the back of her chair, his tone softening. “What happened, Lady Arabella? Why are you so distressed? I ought to be the one who is mortified, declaring myself your ‘Hero.’ That was why I made the addendum that I was perhaps not so heroic. Did that smudge, too?”
“I replied tohim, Henry!” she whispered, feeling sick. “And I… I… called myself his… oh, I cannot say it. I… called myself his… his “Dearly Grateful Damsel!” How will I look him in the eyes again without wishing for the ground to open up and swallow me whole?”
To her surprise, and not inconsiderable irritation, Henry suddenly erupted into a fit of howling laughter. His hand thumped the back of her chair as belly laugh after belly laugh rolled out of his throat. The force of his amusement at her misfortune threw his head back, as tears began to stream down his cheeks.
“You… you… you did not!” he wheezed, descending into another round of hysterics. “Tell me you… did not!”
The entire table was now staring, but Arabella felt only a slight singe from their burning eyes. Her attention was entirely taken up by Henry. She had seen him chuckle before, but she had never seen him laugh like this. Indeed, she could not recall seeing anyone laugh like this. It looked utterly liberating and, in that moment, she forgot her irritation. Fighting fire with fire, she chose to see the funny side.
“I did,” she confessed, covering her mouth with her hand as the hysterics hit her. Like a rampant contagion, it began as a nervous chuckle, and swiftly transformed into the same rib-aching, chest-pounding, throat-rattling belly laughs that were still coming out of Henry.
He shook his head. “No! No… that is too… hilarious! No!”
“I did,” she repeated breathlessly, holding her stomach. “Heaven help me, I… did!”
To the rest of the guests, it must have looked like the pair had gone mad. Yet, there were a few ladies who offered fond, envious smiles. Everyone was aware that the two were betrothed, for the Society grapevine worked more swiftly than even the finest military messenger, and it gave the unmarried women in the party some hope. Maybe, one day, they would laugh with their future husbands like that.
Gradually, the hilarity ebbed, and Arabella dabbed her napkin to her eyes to wipe away the last of the giddy tears. Somehow, laughing about her error had made everything feel better. A tonic for her humiliation.
Henry sagged back in his seat. “Lady Arabella, I have not roared like that in years.” He flashed her a grin. “I thank you for the merriment, from the bottom of my heart.”
“I hope you know that I entirely blame you?” she retorted through a hiccup. “Why would you sign a letter like that? Why would you not use your name like a normal gentleman?”
He shrugged, putting on an expression of childish innocence. “I thought it would be obvious that I was jesting. In future, I will always put, Lord Haskett, and then, in parentheses,notyour hero. I imagine that will avoid future mistakes.”
“I must say, Lord Powell is far more gracious than I thought,” she sighed, fanning herself. “He must have thought me quite insane, signing my letter in such a manner, yet he did not mention it.”
Henry’s smile faded. “Unless he saw it as an opportunity.”
“What do you mean?”
“I would not be surprised if he knew a mistake had been made but chose to use it to his benefit.” Henry fidgeted with his napkin. “He is here, after all. If he thought you mad, he would not be.”
Arabella glanced discreetly up the table, to find Lord Powell gazing at her. He took his wine glass and raised it in her direction, making her blush with pleasure. She fumbled for her own and made a return gesture, her heart beating twice as hard as he smiled warmly.
“Then, I suppose I should be grateful to you, and to this fortuitous accident,” she murmured, her eyes still admiring Lord Powell’s handsome features. She only wished his collar were not so high, and strangled by a cravat, for she much preferred the “woodsman” look.
Henry snorted. “Fortuitous forhim.”
“Pardon?” Arabella looked back.
