Page 47 of A Virgin for His Grace
I remain, as always, your obedient servant,
Thomas Stanton
The letter fell from Devon's nerveless fingers as the full implications of its contents crashed over him like a tide. Whitmore was not merely an unwelcome suitor but a potentially dangerous man whose debts had likely motivated his pursuit of Arabella's modest fortune. Worse still, if the allegations about his treatment of his previous betrothed held any truth, Arabella might be walking into a situation that threatened not merely her happiness but her very safety.
Without pausing to consider the consequences, Devon strode from his study and made his way through the corridors toward the morning room where he knew he would find both women taking their customary breakfast. His heart hammered against his ribs as he contemplated how to share such devastating news without causing Arabella to collapse entirely under the weight of her impossible situation.
He found them seated at the small table by the window, Livia chattering with forced cheerfulness about the day's planned activities whilst Arabella pushed food around her plate with obvious lack of appetite. Both looked up as he entered, and he saw Arabella's face pale at whatever she read in his expression.
"Devon?" Livia asked with obvious concern. "What has happened? You look as though you have seen a ghost."
"Not a ghost," Devon replied grimly, moving to stand beside their table with the letter still clutched in his hand. "But perhaps something equally disturbing. I have received some... troubling information about Mr. Whitmore that you both need to hear."
Arabella's cup rattled against its saucer as she set it down with trembling fingers. "What manner of information?"
"Information that suggests he is not the respectable gentleman he has presented himself to be," Devon said carefully, his gaze fixed on her pale face. "His debts are extensive, nearly fifteen thousand pounds owed to gaming establishments and moneylenders. His motives for marriage appear to be primarily financial, and there are... troubling reports about his treatment of his previous betrothed."
The words hung in the air like a death knell, and Devon watched as Arabella processed their implications with growing horror.
"Previous betrothed?" she whispered. "He told me he had never been betrothed before."
"Yet another lie, it would seem," Devon replied with grim satisfaction. "Miss Catherine Fitzwilliam of Yorkshire. The betrothal was broken by the lady herself after what she described as increasingly cruel and controlling behaviour."
Livia gasped in shock, her hand flying to her throat as she stared at her brother with wide eyes. "You mean to say that Arabella is to marry a man who... who drove another woman to break their betrothal?"
"The reports suggest systematic cruelty; violent rages when angry, unreasonable demands, public rudeness so severe that her family felt compelled to intervene," Devon said carefully. "Miss Fitzwilliam remains so affected by the experience that she has refused all subsequent offers of marriage."
Arabella had gone deadly pale, her hands gripping the edge of the table as though it were the only thing keeping her upright. When she spoke, her voice was barely above a whisper.
"Then I am trapped entirely. If I marry him, I may be placing myself in danger. If I do not, you and he will meet at dawn, and one of you may die. Either way, the outcome is catastrophic."
"Not necessarily," Devon said with sudden intensity, moving to kneel beside her chair so they were at eye level. "There is a third option, one we have been too cowardly to consider."
"What option?" Arabella asked desperately.
"We could leave," Devon said with quiet conviction. "Tonight, before anyone can stop us. We could take Livia and flee to the Continent, where English society's hypocriticaljudgments hold no power over our happiness."
The proposal struck both women like a thunderbolt, and for a moment none of them spoke as they contemplated the magnitude of what he was suggesting.
"Leave England?" Livia breathed. "Abandon everything we have ever known?"
"Abandon everything that has made us miserable," Devon corrected gently. "We could start fresh in Italy or France, where no one knows our history or cares about London's petty scandals. I have sufficient funds to ensure our comfort, and Arabella's writing could provide additional independence."
"But your estates, your position in Parliament, your responsibilities here," Arabella protested weakly, though her eyes held a desperate hope that made Devon's heart soar.
"What good are estates and positions if they prevent me from protecting the woman I love?" Devon asked with fierce intensity. "What value does responsibility hold if it forces me to stand by and watch you walk into danger?"
"You would truly give up everything?" Arabella whispered, reaching out to touch his face with trembling fingers. "Your entire life, your heritage, your future—all for me?"
"Not for you," Devon corrected softly, covering her hand with his own. "For us. For the life we could build together, free from the constraints and cruelties of a society that values conformity over genuine feeling."
For a moment, the dream seemed tantalizingly possible. They could disappear into the night like characters in a romantic novel, leaving behind the suffocating expectations and malicious gossip that had driven them to this desperate pass. They could be together, openly and honestly, building a life based on love rather than duty.
Then reality intruded with all its crushing weight, and Arabella's expression grew troubled as she considered the practical implications of such a dramatic escape.
"What of the scandal our disappearance would create?" she asked quietly. "What of the damage to your family's reputation, the gossip that would follow Livia for the rest of her life?"
"Let them gossip," Livia said with surprising vehemence, her earlier shock giving way to fierce determination. "I would rather face a lifetime of whispers than watch you marry that beast or see Devon destroy himself with grief and regret."
