Page 22 of Snowed-in with Scandal
“And if I refuse?”
“Then these papers will be in the hands of the magistrates before morning, and your brother will hang for his crimes while you face transportation.” His smile had been cold as winter. “I somehow doubt Mr. Morley would find these revelations I have in my possession flattering to his judgment of your character.”
So here she was, walking down the familiar staircase of the house she had once hoped never to see again, preparing toperform the most difficult role of her life. She must convince the people who had come to help her that she needed no assistance—that she was exactly where she chose to be.
The drawing-room door stood open, and she could hear the low murmur of conversation within. Taking a deep breath, she stepped across the threshold with what she hoped appeared to be calm dignity.
“Lady Quamby, how lovely to see you again so soon. And Mr. Morley.” She curtsied gracefully, though her heart hammered against her ribs. “I must apologize for my rather precipitous departure. I’m afraid urgent matters required my immediate attention.”
Nicholas rose from his chair, his face a mask of polite indifference that chilled her to the bone. Where she had hoped to see concern, relief, perhaps even affection, there was only cool civility.
“Lady Lushington,” he said with a brief bow. “We were concerned when you left so suddenly. I trust your... business here is progressing satisfactorily?”
“Indeed, it is,” she replied, though the words felt like ashes in her mouth. “I had planned to return to Quamby House today, but, alas, I will be unable to do so due to estate matters. Sadly, I will have to extend my stay and miss the remainder of the house party.”
“How disappointing,” said Lady Quamby, though her bright eyes seemed to be searching Arabella’s face for some hidden meaning. “We had such lovely plans for the remaining days.”
“I’m sure you did. Please send my regrets to Lord Quamby and the others.” Arabella moved to pour tea, grateful for the familiar ritual that gave her hands something to do besides shake. “I hope my absence won’t spoil your enjoyment—though of course I was not invited in the first place.”
She laughed nervously, and Lady Quamby responded with polite encouragement, saying, “Our numbers with regard to the female quotient were decidedly down, so you were sadly missed.”
“Nevertheless,” Nicholas said coolly, “I’m sure we shall manage perfectly well.”
The casual dismissal in his tone made her chest tighten painfully. Had their afternoon in the pavilion meant so little to him? Had she imagined the tenderness in his touch, the promise in his eyes?
“Lord Lushington was just telling us about the concerns you have, as a result of the death of your late husband,” Colonel Shankshaft said carefully. “Quite complex matters, by the sound of it.”
“Family business can be rather involved,” Algernon interjected smoothly before Arabella could respond. “Particularly when there are competing interests to consider. I was just mentioning to Mr. Morley how Arabella has been... torn between various obligations recently.”
“Obligations?” Fanny inquired with apparent innocence.
“Well, there was that business with Lord Pemberton—that gentleman you mentioned earlier,” Algernon said. “Such a persistent caller after he’d received Arabella’s encouragement.”
Arabella felt the blood drain from her face. “I don’t know what you mean?—”
“Come now, my dear, there’s no need for false modesty among friends,” Algernon continued relentlessly. “Lord Pemberton made his intentions quite clear, and his... inducements have been most generous. The diamond bracelet alone must have cost a fortune.”
She opened her mouth to protest, to deny any knowledge of Lord Pemberton or his supposed gifts, but Algernon’s meaningful look toward his waistcoat—where her incriminatingdocuments rested—silenced her. She could only sit in mortified silence as he painted her as exactly the sort of mercenary creature Nicholas already believed her to be.
“How... generous of Lord Pemberton,” Nicholas said, his voice devoid of all warmth. “I suppose a widow is free to dispense her affections as she chooses.”
The words hit her like physical blows. In his tone, she heard everything she had feared to hear: disappointment, disgust, and worst of all, a cold acceptance of her supposed nature. He truly believed she was the calculating fortune hunter society had painted her.
“Indeed,” Algernon agreed with obvious satisfaction. “Arabella has always been wonderfully pragmatic about such things. Haven’t you, my dear?”
Unable to speak past the constriction in her throat, Arabella could only nod slightly, though every fiber of her being screamed in protest.
“Well,” Lady Quamby said after a moment of uncomfortable silence, “now that we’ve been assured that dear Arabella is where she wishes to be, and that there was no need to be concerned by her abrupt departure, we won’t keep you from your important business any longer.”
“Yes,” Nicholas agreed, rising abruptly. “We’ve taken enough of your time. Lady Lushington, my lord, thank you for your... hospitality.”
Arabella watched her friends take their leave, panic rising in her chest. They were going to depart. Nicholas was going to walk away believing the worst of her, and she would never have the chance to explain, to make him understand that every choice she had made had been born of love and desperation, not greed.
“Mr. Morley,” she began desperately, rising from her chair, but the look he gave her—cold, final, dismissive—stopped the words in her throat.
“I wish you joy of your... arrangements, Lady Lushington,” he said with perfect politeness and complete indifference. “I’m sure Lord Pemberton will give you great joy.”
And then they were gone, filing out of the room with murmured farewells, leaving Arabella standing alone with Algernon, who was practically purring with satisfaction.
