Page 1 of Wickedly Yours
1
Wales would never be her favorite place. Gloomy with a gray cast that never seemed to leave, Wales was full of ill-tempered dark, mysterious folk who glared at her with suspicion and at times open dislike. One of the those being the ancient, deaf cousin that dwelled within the walls of the gray stone edifice of Twinings, the Duke of Dunbar’s far-flung Welsh estate.
All the isolation and lack of sunshine did however give one plenty of time to mull over one’s actions. Assisting in the ill-fated abduction of your sister-in-law, for instance.
Lady Arabella Tremaine, sister of the Duke of Dunbar wandered about the overgrown gardens of Twinings, a letter clutched in one hand as the damp mist of Wales wet her hair and cheeks. The letter was from Arabella’s dearest friend, Lady Miranda Reynolds. Well, no longer Reynolds, for Miranda had married the Earl of Kilmaire in a small wedding nearly a month ago.
A wedding Arabella should have been part of, were she not banished to this pile of ancient stone in the middle of nowhere.
Acid congealed to form a pit of bitterness in Arabella’s stomach. Her hand curled into a fist, half crumpling the letter, as she pressed both against the unwelcome ache. This was what came of protecting her brother from himself. Indignation filled her as well as a spike of jealousy at her friend’s news.
Opening the fine vellum once more, she struggled to read her friend’s words. Miranda’s handwriting was deplorable, nearly impossible to read, but one thing stood out.
‘Your brother gives you leave to return to London for the ball Grandmother is hosting to celebrate my wedding.’
“How lovely of Nick.” She hissed her brother’s name in contempt at a spray of morning glory vine. The vine was clearly struggling to survive in the dank, overgrown garden of Twinings. As was Arabella.
Icy cold rage encased the length of her body at the thought of her brother, His Grace the Duke of Dunbar. Sending her to this prison, to be watched over by a small army of Welshmen, most of whom she couldn’t understand when they spoke. No one lived at Twinings save Cousin Millicent, who was not only deaf but half-mad. Some days Arabella felt as if she were Anne Boylen or some other tragic figure of history who had been imprisoned unjustly. Well, she had to admit, her imprisonment was notcompletelywithout cause.
“All because of Jemma.” A bird flew out from the morning glory vine, terrified at the venom in her voice.
“Arabella? Darling are you out there?” Footsteps sounded on the cobblestone path as her aunt, Lady Cupps-Foster approached. “I’ve received a letter from your brother. It appears your banishment will be short-lived. Thank goodness. While I am a great admirer of the country, I do not care for Wales in theleast.”
Poor Aunt Maisy. Stuck here with Arabella for the last few months at Nick’s request to keep her niece out of trouble. As if her aunt didn’t have her own life. Aunt Maisy was the closest thing Arabella had to a mother, since the death of Charlotte Tremaine years ago. Not that Charlotte had been much of a parent. A sour taste settled on her tongue as it often did when she thought of her little-mourned mother. “Has Nick written to me as well?”
The smile on her aunt’s pretty face faltered as she approached. Eyes the color of sapphires were shadowed with apology. “I’m sure Nick thought a letter to me would suffice.” Her aunt tried to smooth over Nick’s rudeness. “Heisallowing you to return for Miranda’s wedding celebration. The Dowager Marchioness is hosting herself and the event is planned a fortnight hence to give you and I plenty of time to arrive in London. We must hurry and pack.” Her aunt’s excitement at returning to London was evident as she took Arabella’s arm. “Dearest, do not frown so. You don’t wish to wrinkle. Time enough for such things when you are my age.” Aunt Maisy tugged Arabella in the direction of the house. “Oh, I do so love a wedding celebration, especially one held in honor for our dear Miranda.”
Arabella was put off by her aunt’s easy acceptance of Nick’s reasoning. “He allows me back only for Miranda and no other reason.”
“What difference does it make why he allows you to return to London?” She pulled Miranda close. “Things between you and your brother cannot be mended while you are in Wales. After Miranda’s celebration you will have ample opportunity to apologize for your actions.”
“Nick will never understand that I only sought to protect him from…her. Why could he not have married Miranda as I’d hoped all these years? Grandfather must be spinning in his grave. The very idea that he married a member of the family responsible for my father’s denouncement from society and ultimately his death befuddles the mind. Is it too much to hope that my brother would consider such a thing as he rattles about London?”
Aunt Maisy pursed her lips as if deciding whether to say more. “Your brother hasnotbeen in London, Arabella. He’s been at The Egg since his marriage.”
The Egg was the nickname of the Dunbar family seat close to the Scottish border. The estate was nicknamed such because the house was constructed of blinding white limestone, nestled amongst the dark, rocky cliffs that bordered the sea. The impression, as one approached, was of a giant egg in a nest. The Egg was an oddly whimsical name given it was the ancestral home of the most infamous duchy in England. The journey to The Egg was lengthy and the estate isolated. Nick rarely traveled there. He must have wanted privacy for he and his bride.
“It’s a pity Jemma hasn’t tripped and fallen into the sea.” Arabella wasn’t feeling charitable towards the woman her brother married.
Her aunt bit her lip. “Your sister-in-law is with child, several months gone.”
“Several months?” Arabella chose to ignore the fact that in addition to her other sins, her actions towards Jemma inadvertently endangered an unborn child.
“You will be an aunt.”
Guilt stung Arabella. She pushed it aside, clinging to the hope that her feelings towards Jemma were justified in some way. “Are we sure the child is Nick’s? After all-”
Aunt Maisy came to a stop, her fingers digging into Arabella’s forearm as she turned to face her. “Howdareyou.”
Arabella turned away from the vehemence in her aunt’s tone.
“That child is theheirto Dunbar. Should youevervoice suchconcernin your brother’s presence, Nick may send you away to an even more remote location. Regardless of what you think of Jemma, such a thing in not in her character. I have been assured of the child’s paternity.”
“I do not,” Arabella sputtered, “understand youracceptanceof Nick’s marriage to her. I find it rather appalling.
“Do not make me a liar, Arabella. I have spent my time in Twinings writing your brother letters begging him to forgive your misguided attempt to protect him. I’ve made it clear you did notmeanto actually have your brother’s bride abducted by her former suitor and his mother. Jemma was in shock over her father’s treachery. Which, I may add, she is not to blame. Corbett and his mother preyed upon you and manipulated you. At least that is what I’ve relayed to Nick.”
Swayed. Manipulated. Cajoled. While she detested the fact that her anger allowed Corbett to use her in such a way, Arabella still thought her actionssomewhatjustified. Protecting her brother and the Dunbar honor had motivated her. She still could not understand why Jemma was the woman her brother chose.
