Page 148 of Harpy of the Ton
“That you will never be able to forgive yourself.”
Chapter Forty-Three
“Home at last,my dear.”
Bella glanced outside the carriage window. The familiar façade of Ilverton Manor loomed dark against the evening sky, and she bit her lip to stem the flutter of dread in her stomach.
Her headache still lingered, and though she’d been beset by fatigue throughout the journey, sleep had eluded her.
Dunton had spent much of the journey asleep, his snores rattling through the carriage, accompanied by the stench of sour wine and bodily odors not completely disguised by an abundance of cologne. Why had she never noticed it before? Unless she had and her mind had buried her revulsion, smothering it with the prospect of being his duchess.
Only, perhaps she no longer wished to be a duchess. Perhaps, instead, she wanted to be valued, appreciated—and loved.
At times, during the journey, Bella had been drawn to the carriage door, the handle only needing a single turn to open it, leading to—where? Freedom, perhaps, but not love. Her love had been built on a foundation of deception and betrayal.
“Did you not hear me, my dear?”
She turned to see her fiancé leering at her. “Wh-what?”
He took her hand, and she suppressed a shudder as he lifted it to his lips. “I was saying that we’ll have the banns read on Sunday.”
“Oh.”
“And the following two Sundays after that. Then we can marry immediately—in three weeks.”
“Three weeks?”
“It’ll be the Society event of the year,” he said, ignoring—or choosing to ignore—the horror in her voice. “Everybody must be there.”
“Everybody?” She shuddered at the thought of thetonwitnessing their union. Westbury with his overly assertive wife and her modern sensibilities. And Whitcombe…
Dear Lord, Whitcombe!
The man she’d set her cap at last Season—the man who, not two days ago, had called hera spiteful shrew.
“I-I’d prefer a quiet wedding,” she said. “Surely there’s no need for everyone to be there?”
“There’severyneed,” Dunton said, a hard edge to his voice. “Your absence has been talked about. I’m anxious to show the world that our union brings me no shame.”
“But…the expense!” she said. “A small affair, with a handful of acquaintances is all we—”
“Now, now, my dear.” He patted her hand, his expression hardening. “I trust we’re not going to indulge in a disagreement. Money’s no object—or it won’t be once we’re married. You must trust my better judgment.”
“Because you’re a man?”
“Oh, how you amuse, my dear! Men possess a superior understanding to the fairer sex. You mustn’t worry about matters such asexpenditure. You’ll have more important matters to concern yourself with, such as the duties of a duchess—which I’m sure you’ll carry out to my satisfaction.”
She tried to withdraw her hand, but he held it firm.
The carriage drew to a halt, and the door opened, revealing the thickset footman. Dunton climbed out of the carriage, which listed sideways under his weight. Then he pulled Bella after himand led her toward the main entrance of Ilverton Manor, where a row of servants stood waiting.
Bella smoothed her expression into the mask of Lady Arabella and approached the servants, who bowed and curtseyed as she glided past them and entered the building.
“Thomas, escort Lady Arabella to her chamber,” Dunton said. “Make sure she’s kept safe.”
What did he mean bysafe?
“Yes, Your Grace.” The footman turned to Bella. “Come with me, your ladyship.”
