Yet something about his persistent pursuit filled her with an unease she could not quite define, a sense that beneath his polished exterior lay assumptions about her character and circumstances that she found deeply unsettling.
"Mr. Whitmore," she replied with careful courtesy, settling herself in the chair opposite his with proper attention to the spacing that would preserve propriety whilst allowing for conversation. "How kind of you to call. I trust you are well?"
"Exceedingly well, thank you," he replied, his gaze moving over her with an appreciation that made her skin crawl despiteits apparent respectfulness. "Though I confess I have been somewhat concerned about your welfare since your... transition to your current position."
The delicate reference to her fall from social grace made Arabella's spine stiffen with defensive pride.
"Your concern is most thoughtful, but I assure you it is unnecessary. I am quite content in my present circumstances."
"Are you indeed?" Whitmore leaned forward slightly, his expression growing more intimate in a way that made Arabella wish for the protection of a proper chaperone. "How very admirable of you to make the best of such a challenging situation."
The condescending tone beneath his apparent sympathy set her teeth on edge, yet she recognized that her precarious position left her little room for the sort of sharp retort his presumption deserved.
"I find my duties as Lady Livia's companion to be both rewarding and appropriate to my circumstances," she said with as much dignity as she could muster.
"Of course, of course," Whitmore agreed with the sort of hearty understanding that suggested he was humoring what he perceived as feminine delusion. "Though I cannot help but feel that a lady of your qualities deserves a more secure and respectable position in society."
"Indeed?" Arabella asked with deceptive mildness. "And what position might that be, Mr. Whitmore?"
His smile broadened with obvious satisfaction, as though her question had provided exactly the opening he had been seeking.
"Why, the position of wife to a gentleman who appreciates your many virtues, naturally. A lady's proper place is as mistress of her own household, not as a dependent in another's establishment, however imposing."
The presumptuous statement made Arabella's hands clench into fists in her lap, though she forced herself to maintain an expression of polite interest.
"How very conventional of you, Mr. Whitmore. However, I confess myself curious about what particular virtues you believe I possess that would recommend me as a suitable wife."
If Whitmore detected the dangerous edge in her voice, he showed no sign of it, continuing with the sort of bland confidence that suggested he was accustomed to having his opinions received with gratitude rather than challenge.
"Your accomplishments are well-known, naturally—your musical abilities, your artistic talents, your fluency in languages. And despite your recent difficulties, your breeding remains impeccable. With proper guidance, you could easily resume your place in respectable society."
"Proper guidance?" Arabella repeated with silky softness that should have warned him he was venturing into dangerous territory.
"Well, naturally a husband's influence would be beneficial inhelping you overcome any lingering effects of your unfortunate association with certain unsavoury elements of society," Whitmore explained with the sort of earnest condescension that made Arabella want to attack him.
"Unsavoury elements?" she asked, though she suspected she knew exactly to whom he was referring.
"Come now, Miss Greystone, surely you must realise that your continued residence in the Duke of Ravenshollow's household exposes you to considerable speculation about the nature of your relationship with him. A gentleman of his reputation, a lady in your vulnerable position; the gossips will inevitably draw their own conclusions."
The casual assassination of both her character and Devon's made Arabella's temper flare white-hot, though she managed to keep her voice level through sheer force of will.
"And what conclusions might those be, Mr. Whitmore?"
"Nothing that need concern us once you are safely removed from such compromising circumstances," he replied with the sort of masculine certainty that assumed her agreement was a foregone conclusion. "Marriage to a respectable gentleman would silence any such speculation immediately."
"How very generous of you to offer yourself as my salvation," Arabella said with acid sweetness. "Though I confess myself curious about what you hope to gain from such a charitable union."
Whitmore's expression grew slightly uncomfortable, asthough he had not expected her to question his motives quite so directly.
"Gain? My dear Miss Greystone, I am motivated purely by admiration for your person and concern for your welfare. What gentleman would not wish to rescue a lady in distress?"
"Indeed," Arabella murmured. "Though I fear you may have mistaken my circumstances somewhat. I am not, in fact, in distress. Nor am I in need of rescue from a position I find both honourable and satisfying."
"But surely," Whitmore pressed with growing desperation, "you cannot prefer dependency to the independence that marriage would provide? Your own household, your own establishment, children of your own—surely these natural feminine desires must outweigh any temporary satisfaction you might derive from your current arrangement."
The assumption that she must be desperately unhappy in her current circumstances, combined with his obvious belief that she should be grateful for any offer of marriage regardless of her feelings for the gentleman in question, made Arabella's resolve crystallize with sudden clarity.
"Mr. Whitmore," she said with quiet firmness, "while I appreciate the kindness of your intentions, I fear I must decline your suit. We would not suit, I think."
