Page 26 of A Fake Courtship with the Marquess
“I wondered if Lady Arabella was at home?” Henry dabbed his brow with a handkerchief, aware that he probably looked like he had come directly out of a marsh.
The gardener nodded. “I can bring the butler for you, if you like? He’ll see that you’re well refreshed from your travels while he fetches the young mistress for you.”
“Is she within? I am certain I can find her myself.” Henry paused. “I am her betrothed, after all.” It was not quite the right etiquette, but he was not in the proper disposition to make banal conversation with the Duke and Duchess.
The gardener started. “Goodness, I’m sorry! I didn’t realize.” He bowed low. “It’s a pleasure to welcome you, My Lord.”
“Lady Arabella?” Henry prompted a mite too brusquely.
The gardener straightened up. “Of course, My Lord. She’s in the ornamental gardens.”
“Thank you.” Henry got down from his horse and handed the reins off to the gardener, not bothering to wait for a stable-hand. He was about to march directly around the house, for he knew precisely where he would find the ornamental gardens, when the gardener called out.
“Um… My Lord, she’s not alone.”
Henry stalled. “Pardon?”
“She has a visitor. Lord Powell.”
Like an afternoon storm coming to ambush a lovely picnic, that name darkened Henry’s mood even further. “I am sure he will not mind the interruption,” he tossed back, before continuing on with a more aggressive stride.
What right does that wretch have to call upon my betrothed? Is he looking to court Lady Arabella, or for a scandal?
The hypocrisy was not lost on Henry. He was the one who had suggested they try to find more suitable matches, despite knowing it might raise some Society eyebrows, but that was precisely the point—Lord Powell wasnotmore suitable than Henry. An errand boy would have been more worthy of her affections than that ingrate.
With his riding crop still in hand, he whipped at some of the wilting pansies that were struggling in the heat. The bright petals floated down to the emerald grass where they would curl and brown.
Charging around the side of the house and cutting through the brilliant rose gardens, which carried such a heady bouquet of perfume that it could bring on a headache, Henry crossed over an Oriental-style bridge of red and green. A small fishpond glimmered beneath it, though he did not pause to look at the elegant koi carp. Instead, he pressed on through a barricade of high-growing yew bushes and into the ornamental gardens.
There, all of the bluster went out of him.
She looks… breathtaking.
Ahead of him, stooping to admire the shining pool of a sculptured fountain, Arabella was far more beautiful than the rich flora and fauna that made the gardens feel like the very epitome of summer. Wearing a gown of pale yellow muslin that billowed slightly in the warm breeze, her hair more casually coiffed, with a merry smile upon her face, the sight of her hit him like a punch to the chest.
“You ought to toss a penny in for good fortune,” Lord Powell’s voice made Henry aware that she was not alone. He had been so struck by her beauty that he had not seen the man standing a few polite steps behind, nor he had seen Arabella’s maid who was perched upon a bench nearby.
Arabella chuckled. “I did so earlier this morning. Perhaps, that is why you came to call upon me.”
“Ah, so, in essence, you summoned me?” Lord Powell laughed.
Arabella cast him a shy look. “Are you calling me a witch, Lord Powell? If anyone were to hear you, I would be thrown into the Tower of London.”
“You are no witch, Lady Arabella,” Lord Powell replied huskily, “but I daresay you have bewitched me. Truly, I am grateful you received my visit today. I did not know if it would be welcomed.”
Just then, the maid turned and saw Henry. Panicking, he darted behind the hedgerow of yew bushes, not wanting to appear as though he was spying or eavesdropping. Heart thundering in his chest, he waited for the maid to expose him. To his relief, she did not.
He heard the faint rush of water, as though Arabella were trailing her hand through the pool, before she said, “You have explained yourself to my satisfaction, Lord Powell. You did not have to do so, yet you took the time to call upon me.Iam grateful for that.”
“I am only sorry I cannot stay longer, for this morning in your company has been wonderfully diverting,” Lord Powell replied. “However, as you are now aware, it is not easy being a Baron. I must continue to make my fortune if I am to be of worth, so those I care for will never want for anything. And so, London beckons, though I loathe the place.”
Pfft, then why are you always there, even when you are not invited?Henry scowled at the Oriental bridge, feeling the prickling fronds of the yew bush against the back of his neck.
Arabella sighed. “As do I. It is much too loud and distracting. Give me the countryside above the city, any day.”
“We are more alike than you know, Lady Arabella,” Lord Powell said, annoying Henry further. The fellow was saying all the things a fine lady wanted to hear, but it was obviously disingenuous. At least, to Henry’s trained ears.
He flinched as he heard the sound of a light kiss. His mind immediately went to improper places, envisioning Lord Powell kissing Arabella upon the cheek or upon a gloveless hand, though he hurriedly pushed the notion aside. Lord Powell would not act in such a way, especially as he was trying to pretend he was a consummate gentleman.
