Page 44 of A Fake Courtship with the Marquess
What is it this time, Mama? Is my plainness to blame, or my inelegance when I dance, or simply my general being?She braced for the usual onslaught of backhanded compliments and blatant insults.
“Well, if you had not spent so much time beautifying yourself, you would have been at the ball promptly, and Henry would have been able to dance with you instead,” her mother had retorted, despite her being the one to blame for their lateness that night. “Anyway, I suggest we all forget about it. There has been no harm done.”
Not wanting to throw herself into another argument after an already trying day, Arabella had held her tongue. She knew when to pick her battles, and this did not seem worth it, when she had already decided not to see Olivia again.
After all the tea and biscuits had been consumed, Henry had departed. His farewell to Arabella had been somewhat stilted, increasing her belief that she had tarnished the afternoon somehow, but he had promised to call upon her again soon. A sliver of hope that all was, in fact, well between them.
Now, having waved him off, she returned to the drawing room to find the letter he had sent. Secretly, she longed to read the sweet words he had spoken of in the gardens and see if there were any more within his letter that could help sway her mind.
Make your affections clear to me, Henry. Let me know which path I should choose.
Between his valiant, albeit misplaced, defense of her, their joyous afternoon by the lake, the parcel of books, his skill upon the pianoforte, and his amusing, relaxed company, she could feel her affections for him growing. There had, undoubtedly, been hiccups such as last night, but if she could be surer of him and his feelings, they would cease to matter.
Lord Powell has placed his stake, Henry. You must raise it, match it, or fold. Only then will I know what to do.
Lord Powell was exciting and mysterious and enchanting, adored by women throughout the country. Arabella’s heart thudded and her stomach fluttered whenever he was close to her, while his proposal had overwhelmed her with emotion. Indeed, the risk it involved had frightened her.
Henry was endearing and clumsy and well-meaning, with a less than favorable reputation among Society. Her heart pounded in a different way and her butterflies fluttered in a less panicky fashion with him beside her, but she could not judge how his proposal had made her feel, for it had come from her parents instead of him.
Although, if this letter contained something nefarious about Lord Powell, her decision would become much simpler.
“Where did I put it?” She paused and rested her hands on her hips, trying to remember. As far as she could recall, she had left it on the end-table when she had run out to intervene between the two men. “I swear it was still here when I left with the basin.”
Puzzled, she set to ransacking the drawing room, turning over cushions, rolling up rugs, dragging chairs and tables across the floor, and throwing back the drapes in her desperation to find it. She even took out every last book on the shelves at the back of the room, in case one of the servants had put it there for safe-keeping.
“Milady?” Mr. Gordon’s alarmed voice grabbed Arabella’s attention.
She turned, mopping her sweaty brow with the back of her arm. “Ah, just the fellow I was looking for! I asked if anyone had seen you, but they said you had gone into the village to fetch something for Papa.”
“That’s true, Milady. Is something wrong, or did you simply have an urge to rearrange the furniture?” Mr. Gordon was likely thinking of the time it would take to put everything back.
Arabella grimaced. “Apologies, Gordon. I was searching for that letter you brought me earlier. I was… um… waylaid, so I had no opportunity to read it. When I came back to do so, it was gone. IknowI left it in here. Did you have it taken somewhere? My chambers, perhaps, or to the library?”
“I did not, Milady.” Mr. Gordon ran an anxious hand through his hair. “Nor has anyone been in here. They should not have been, at least. Would you like me to gather the staff and ask?”
Arabella sank down onto the de-cushioned settee. “Please, Gordon. It is extremely important that I find it.”
“Of course, Milady. Would you like me to send for a tea service while I perform my investigation?”
Arabella smiled. “Truly, what would I do without you, Gordon? A tea service would be sublime. Who knew that rearranging furniture could make one so thirsty?”
He chuckled. “Might this letter be from a certain Lord Haskett?”
“It is.” She blushed, unable to hide her smile.
“Very good, Milady. I’ll see that done swiftly.” With a smile of his own, he left her to put back as much of the furniture as she could. She knew the servants would do it, but she did not want to cause them undue exertion.
No more than half an hour later, as Arabella was perched on the restored settee, sipping a freshly strained cup of tea, Mr. Gordon returned with a rather glib look upon his face.
“No one has been in the drawing room, Milady,” he told her, bowing in apology. “I asked several times and made a few discreet threats about what would happen if I discovered one of them was lying, but I am inclined to believe them. One of the maids said she laid the fire in here, but that was before Lady Olivia’s arrival. Another maid said she poked her head in to retrieve the basin you used for Lord Powell, but she did not see a letter anywhere. She also asked where the basin is.”
Arabella furrowed her brow. “Ah… I will fetch it from the ornamental gardens.”
“Do not trouble yourself, Milady. I’ll send one of the footmen to get it,” Mr. Gordon insisted. “I am very sorry, Milady. I cannot think what has happened to that letter. I even had the gardener check the ashpit, to make sure it wasn’t in the pile waiting to be burned.”
Very troubled indeed, Arabella took a slow sip of her tea. “Is Cassie in the kitchens? Might you fetch her for me?”
“She is tending to your gown in the laundry, but I will have her fetched,” Mr. Gordon replied, before bowing and departing.
