Page 3 of A Virgin for His Grace
"Marriage?" Cordelia gasped, her romantic heart immediately seizing upon what she perceived as a fairy tale ending. "Oh, Bella, how perfectly wonderful! To be a duchess…," she said genuinely as her meeting with the Duke was nothing more than mere curiosity and not affection.
"Do not be absurd," Arabella interrupted sharply, her composure finally cracking. "His Grace has no intention of marrying me or anyone else. The man is a confirmed bachelor whose idea of commitment extends no further than a single evening's entertainment."
Lady Greystone paused in her pacing, turning to fix her daughter with a speculative look. "Nevertheless, he has compromised you. Honour demands that he make reparations."
"Honour?" Arabella laughed bitterly. "Mama, the Duke ofRavenshollow's understanding of honour is vastly different from our own. He will no doubt find the entire situation vastly amusing and move on to his next conquest without a backward glance."
As if summoned by her words, the butler appeared in the doorway, his expression carefully schooled into neutrality despite the fact that his eyes held a glimmer of excitement that he could not quite suppress.
"Forgive the interruption, my Lord," Jameson intoned with proper dignity, "but His Grace, the Duke of Ravenshollow, has called and requests an audience with the family."
The silence that followed this announcement was so complete that Arabella could hear her own heartbeat thundering in her ears. Surely she had misheard. Surely Devon Ashworth had not actually come calling, as though he were a respectable suitor rather than the architect of her destruction.
"His Grace is here?" Lady Greystone whispered, one hand pressed to her throat as though she could not quite credit such an extraordinary development.
"Indeed, my lady. He awaits your pleasure in the front parlour."
Lord Richard rose from his chair with the ponderous dignity of a man who had spent decades dealing with the machinations of his political colleagues. "Show him in, Jameson. It would appear that His Grace wishes to discuss last evening's incident."
Arabella's mouth went dry as dust. The thought of facingDevon again, of looking into those dark eyes that had haunted her dreams, filled her with a complex mixture of dread and anticipation that she dared not examine too closely.
"Perhaps," she began desperately, "I might be permitted to withdraw..."
"Absolutely not," her father said firmly. "This concerns you most directly, my dear. You shall remain and hear what His Grace has to say."
The few minutes that passed before Devon's arrival felt like hours to Arabella. She smoothed her morning dress of dove-gray muslin, tucked an errant curl behind her ear, and tried to prepare herself for whatever manner of humiliation awaited her.
When the door opened and Devon entered, resplendent in a perfectly tailored coat of midnight blue superfine and buff-colored pantaloons, Arabella felt her breath catch in her throat. In the harsh light of morning, he was even more devastatingly handsome than he had appeared by moonlight, his dark hair gleaming with pomade, his aristocratic features sharp and compelling.
"Lord Richard, Lady Greystone," he said, bowing with exquisite grace. His gaze swept over Cordelia with polite indifference before settling upon Arabella with an intensity that made her pulse quicken despite her determination to remain unmoved. "Miss Arabella, Miss Cordelia."
"Your Grace," Lord Richard replied stiffly, clearly struggling to maintain his composure in the face of such unexpected courtesy. "To what do we owe the honour of this visit?"
Devon's smile was perfectly pleasant, giving no indication of the turmoil he had caused within the household. "I believe we have certain matters to discuss regarding last evening's unfortunate misunderstanding."
"Misunderstanding?" Lady Greystone echoed faintly. "Your Grace, I hardly think..."
"Indeed," Devon continued smoothly, "I fear that Miss Arabella's reputation may have suffered due to circumstances entirely beyond her control. It would be unconscionable of me to allow such an injustice to stand."
Arabella stared at him in amazement. Was he actually going to propose marriage? The possibility seemed so fantastical that she wondered if she were still dreaming.
"You are most kind to concern yourself with our daughter's welfare," Lord Richard said carefully, "though I confess myself curious as to what remedy you might propose."
Devon's dark eyes glittered with something that might have been amusement as he turned his attention fully to Arabella. "Miss Arabella, I wonder if you might be amenable to a rather unconventional arrangement."
"I beg your pardon?" Arabella managed, her voice barely above a whisper.
"My sister, Lady Livia, is in desperate need of a companion," Devon explained, settling into the chair that Lord Richard indicated with a gesture. "Someone of impeccable breeding and accomplishments who might serve as both chaperone and friendduring her first Season. The position would, naturally, remove you from London society for a time, allowing the current gossip to die a natural death."
Arabella felt the blood drain from her face. Not marriage, then, but exile disguised as employment. The humiliation was almost more than she could bear.
"You are suggesting," she said with careful precision, "that I should hide myself away like some fallen woman whilst you continue to move freely through society?"
Devon's expression grew more serious, and for a moment, Arabella glimpsed something almost vulnerable in his dark eyes. "I am suggesting a mutually beneficial arrangement. Livia has been reluctant to enter society. She requires someone with both patience and strength of character to guide her. In return, you would be provided with an honourable position, excellent wages, and the opportunity to rehabilitate your reputation gradually."
"As a paid companion," Arabella said flatly.
"As a valued member of my household," Devon corrected gently. "With all the respect and consideration that such a position entails."
