Page 43 of A Fake Courtship with the Marquess
He laughed. “Pardon?”
“It is ruined. The stains will never come out and I would not want to trouble the laundry maids with trying,” she explained.
“I can remunerate you for a new gown, if you would like? I fear I am partially to blame, if not entirely, for the stains.”
She shook her head. “Goodness, no. I would not dream of it.”
“Was Lord Powell incensed with me? Do you think I will have to apologize to him, too?” Henry did not want to speak of the man, but he did not want to seem unfeeling, either.
Opening her eyes, he saw tears within them. “He was not incensed, no.”
“What is the matter?” Henry shuffled closer to her and gently took hold of her hand. “Are you well? Have I said something to upset you?”
Sighing, she gazed down at her hand in his. “Not at all.” She paused. “It is just that I… feel so guilty, Henry. After the things Lord Powell has said to me, it is wrong that I should be here with you, like this.”
“What did he say to you?” Anger bristled in Henry’s chest. “Hasheupset you? Was he coarse with you?”
She smiled but it held no joy within it. “He has confessed to me, Henry. And though he did not ask outright, I believe he thinks he has proposed marriage to me. In a fortnight, he will return to this house, looking for my answer.”
“What?” The solitary, bitter word escaped as a hiss of breath.
Arabella gulped audibly. “After the ball my mother and father are, apparently, arranging, he wants an answer from me. He asked if we might announce an engagement on the night of the ball itself, but I managed to dissuade him.”
A thousand conflicting emotions struck Henry at once, rendering him silent. On the one hand, he had encouraged her to look elsewhere for love and happiness. On the other, he was starting to have very real affections for her. Indeed, it was beginning to feel like he might be falling in love with her. Did this mean he truly had given away his chance to woo her? Did this mean she did not feel anything for him? He could not read her muddled expression to find any answer of his own.
Ask her, for goodness’ sake!his mind pleaded, but his pride had taken one considerable hit today, and he did not feel like he could endure another.
“What are your thoughts regarding him?” he asked instead.
Arabella gave a weak shrug. “I am fond of him. I believe he is sincere and modest and kind.” She laughed awkwardly. “I wish I could turn to the last page in the book of my life and find out what path I should choose. Yet, it seems someone has ripped out those pages.”
“He is not honest. You do not need a book to know that,” Henry replied, remembering another part of the letter he had sent that morning. Indeed, he was going to use that as his excuse for visiting, though he had forgotten in the chaos of the fight with Lord Powell.
Arabella frowned. “You discovered something?”
“Read my letter when you can. You will find what you need there.” Henry took a shallow breath. Although, even now, he did not know if it would be enough to sway her. If Lord Powell was anything like his father, he would be blessed with the gift of being able to fool just about anyone.
Arabella squeezed his hand, drawing his attention back to her unreadable face. “What would you do, Henry?”
“Whatever my heart desired,” he answered without hesitation.
She nodded slowly. “Is it really as simple as that?”
“Of course,” he said, though his own heart gave another answer,“It is anything but, Arabella, especially when your heart wants someone who does not feel the same.”
“I see,” she murmured, giving away nothing more, as they both looked out across the lake. Two books, side by side on a shelf, written in languages the other could not read. If only they had been able to translate one another’s expressions and tone and subtext, they might have realized that they were, in truth, both on the same page.
Chapter Twenty
The rest of the afternoon had been pleasant enough, though Arabella felt as though she had somehow ruined it with her talk of Lord Powell. After a couple of hours, Henry had insisted that he had to return to London, politely refusing Arabella’s offer for him to stay for a late luncheon or dinner. Although, he had agreed to take tea with Arabella’s mother, to apologize for last night.
“Of course you are forgiven, Darling Henry,” her mother had cooed, conveniently transforming into a completely different woman to the one she had been at the ball. “These things do happen, and all has been explained. You were being chivalrous and thinking only of Arabella’s future happiness. It is, after all, vitally important that one’s husband is kindly to one’s friends.”
Arabella had snorted. “I do not think Lady Olivia and I are friends any longer, Mama.”
“Nonsense. Of course you are. You must not be petty, Darling,” her mother had chided. “I imagine Lady Olivia was doing precisely what your betrothed was doing—making things easier for you, in the future. She cannot be blamed for this innocent misjudgment. Nor can you, Dear Henry.”
Arabella had frowned. “Am I to blame, then? Is that what you are implying?”
