Page 3 of Snowed-in with Scandal
But that didn’t mean he needed to even speak to Arabella.
In fact, he would do everything in his power to avoid doing so.
Arabella staredat the two beautiful gowns that her maid, Sarah, was holding up while she asked, “M’Lady, will you wear the burgundy velvet or the Pomona green to dinner?”
She tried to make some rational response, but words failed her. How could she think of anything except getting out of here? Escaping Quamby House.
But how could she think of anything except the effect Nicholas’s cold, icy stare had upon her dangerously susceptible heart? She closed her eyes and tried not to reveal the extent of her trembling to Sarah.
No, she must leave at the earliest opportunity. If it were at all possible, she would leave before she even had to speak to Nicholas. Clearly, he believed the worst.
And there was no way for her to clear her name. So what point was there in suffering the pain of knowing she would never find happiness in his arms again?
“I think my travel clothes and my warm cloak and boots are what I really need,” she said, moving to the window and staring out at the black sky. The snow continued to fall in thick, relentless sheets, blanketing the landscape in pristine white that seemed to mock the darkness churning within her heart. Against the windowpane, flakes gathered like tiny stars, beautiful yet imprisoning. “I had hoped to reach Lushington Hall tonight, Sarah. And there are at least three or four hours’ travel. How can I possibly remain here?”
Sarah sighed. “How can you not, milady? The carriage is still out there in the snow and not yet fixed.”
“Of course I must stay here tonight, but tomorrow I must discover a way of reaching Lushington Hall before my brother presents to the authorities whatever this so-called evidence is that he believes will entirely clear his name. If he could just have let sleeping dogs lie.”
Sarah’s brow furrowed with worry as she set down the gowns. “But, milady, surely, if you got word to him and explained what you’ve done on his behalf, he’d drop it.”
“That’s if I only knew where to find him.” Arabella sighed. “No, I’ve decided the safest plan is to get to Lushington Hall as quickly as I can so that I can destroy every document and piece of evidence my late husband compiled against me.” Arabella’s voice trailed off. Sarah knew what was at stake. She knew the full extent of her mistress’s crimes.
“Very well, milady. But for tonight, you must dress for dinner. The Pomona green, perhaps? It is very fine.”
Arabella nodded absently, allowing Sarah to help her into the elegant silk gown with its delicate embroidered trim. Catching sight of herself in the looking glass, as her maid fastened the tiny pearl buttons, Arabella could not reconcile the image. The woman staring back appeared composed, aristocratic, every inchthe refined widow. If only they could see the tempest raging beneath her calm exterior.
“There now, milady. You look beautiful.”
Beautiful perhaps, but doomed. Arabella touched the pearl necklace at her throat—one of the few pieces of her mother’s jewellery she had not sold to help James.
“Read, m’lady?” Sarah gave her mistress a short, bolstering smile and, with a steadying breath, Arabella set off through the corridors of Quamby House, the sounds of conversation and laughter drifting from the dining room below.
At the threshold, she paused, her hand resting on the doorframe as she gathered her courage. The warm glow of candlelight spilled into the hallway, along with the cheerful chatter of the other guests. And then, as if drawn by some invisible force, her gaze found him immediately.
Nicholas stood near the fireplace, devastatingly handsome in his black evening clothes, his dark hair catching the golden light from the wall sconces. For one breathless moment, their eyes met across the room, and her treacherous heart betrayed her yet again, leaping with the same wild joy it had known five years ago.
But his expression remained coldly impassive, those beloved brown eyes now hard as winter earth. The love that had once blazed there had been extinguished, replaced by something far more painful to witness: complete indifference.
Arabella gripped the doorframe tighter, acknowledging the bitter truth that had haunted her for five long years. Their love was doomed, had always been doomed, and tonight would likely be the last time she would ever look upon his face.
CHAPTER 3
Antoinette had seated Lady Lushington at the dinner table between Lord Fenton and Lord Quamby.
Mr Morley sat opposite his former love, and, with Antoinette seated between her sister and Colonel Shankshaft, she had a good view of the two youngest guests, while being close enough to discuss proceedings with her matchmaker-in-arms only a whisper away.
Unfortunately, for the moment, Fanny was in deep conversation with Quamby, meaning that for the moment Antoinette had no choice but to respond with suitable delight and vacuity to the Colonel’s dubious wit.
“I declare, your unexpected houseguest has revived my spirits. Why, Lady Lushington is a beauty... and more so in the flesh than was the word around the club.” With a somewhat lecherous look in Arabella’s direction—who was, fortunately, out of hearing—the Colonel raised one eyebrow as he took a hefty draught of his claret, then added, “and she’s been a widow these past ten months. No doubt looking for a replacement for old Lushington who was no oil painting, I tell you.”
“No, I think there would be little disagreement about that,” responded Antoinette, her eyes glued to the newcomer. LadyLushington had barely glanced in Mr. Morley’s direction for the whole of the fish course.
What wonderful restraint she thought. For she could see the young lady was doing her best to contain her feelings. The tightness around her eyes and the way she gripped her wine glass attested to that. Clearly, she was quite overwhelmed at being so unexpectedly reunited with her one true love.
“And he was a good deal older, too,” the Colonel went on, oblivious to Antoinette’s fixed interest. “With quite a substantial fortune, which of course must have been the reason she broke off her previous attachment.” He sent a knowing look at Antoinette before inquiring, “You did know that she was betrothed to someone else? Not that I recall who it was, but word was, she was quite happy to put fortune above affection.” The Colonel rubbed vigorously at his luxuriant grey moustache. “Reckon I might fancy my chances, eh, Lady Quamby?” With a raucous laugh, he brought his hand down on Antoinette’s thigh and squeezed it.
“Handsome and eligible though you are,” Antoinette said with a sweet smile as she deftly removed the Colonel’s hand, “I believe her heart is already engaged elsewhere.”
