Page 11 of The Duke Who Claimed Her

“So, what? You thought to marry the first lady you came across?”

“Of course not,” he said. “As Lord Witherington was just saying, his daughter had been left at the altar, desperate and facing a life of scandal for reasons that were not her fault. I did not…” His eyes flicked toward Arabella, considering her, before looking away. “I thought to do the right thing.” He drew himself up. “I thought to help because she needed it, and sometimes that is reason enough.”

The Dowager leaned back as if she had been slapped. “Help? You or her?”

“Why not both?” he said. “And rather than working yourself into a state of delirium, perhaps you should see this for what it is. A good thing, Penelope. For everyone.” He looked at his cousin then, something passing behind his eyes that Arabella did not understand.

“Yes, well, we shall see…” the Dowager said with a click of her tongue, which had the Duke looking even more unsure.

Arabella did not expect it, but she suddenly felt a pang of guilt in her chest for how she had spoken to the Duke.

It was so unlike her! At two-and-twenty, Arabella had spent her entire life being pushed around and controlled by her father. She had no agency. She had no voice. She certainly did not have freedom to decide what she wanted and how she wanted it. Such a way of living was completely beyond her realm of understanding.

So, when the Duke had come to her, Arabella saw a chance she could not afford to miss. What she was supposed to do was simply ask him what he wanted from her, while making it clear that she did not want to find herself in another situation similar to the one she had grown up in.

What had happened instead of that…

In truth, I am not even sure how I managed to speak that way to him.

Looking at the Duke now, Arabella had a feeling why she was able to stand up to him, as she had. He was obviously intimidating. He was clearly someone to be feared and respected. But he had also stood up for her, saved her, and shown her that her father was not nearly the all-powerful menace she had always believed.

That gave her confidence. The Duke… He gave her confidence and a way out of her old life. And how had she repaid him? Arabella grimaced with shame, wishing she had been a tad more tactful.

“We shall see,” the Duke said as he stepped around his cousin and made toward Arabella. Arabella’s eyes widened, worry taking her, certain the Duke was going to put her in her place.

In the end, he did no such thing.

He moved beside her and rested a hand on the small of her back. It was a gentle touch, but it felt unexpectedly comforting, even warm and inviting. Once more, it reminded Arabella why she felt the way she did around him—that he was not someone to hate or fear. He had saved her.

So, as he stood with her, she looked up and smiled, wanting him to see that she was truly grateful. Also, she took some pleasure in seeing her father glaring.

“Penelope, I would like for you to meet Miss Witherington, my betrothed.”

Arabella offered her smile to the Dowager, even as her chest tightened. The Dowager approached her, flicking her dark eyes over Arabella in assessment. And while Arabella felt a pang of worry, with the Duke there, she knew there was no need. Despite everything, she was sure that he would protect her.

“Miss Witherington, is it?” the Dowager asked cooly.

“Y—yes,” she stammered, doing her best to look confident and brave. “It is lovely to meet you.”

“Tell me, Miss Witherington…” A final roaming of her eyes and then she held them on Arabella’s face. “Do you play whist?”

Arabella blinked, caught completely by surprise at the question. “I… whist?”

“The card game,” she said simply. “Do you play?”

“I do…” She glanced at her father, who appeared just as confused as she was. “My father taught me, in fact. I am rather good. Even better than he.” She smirked at her father, which saw his face color red as if in anger.

“Good,” the Dowager said, and just like that, the coldness of her posturing and the coolness of her purposeful stare melted away. In their place was a warm smile, a complete transformation from the woman who had stormed into the room moments earlier. “Timothy will be delighted. I know the game is his favorite.”

“Timothy?” Arabella frowned. “Who is⁠—”

“I suppose there is nothing I can do to change your mind,” the Dowager cut him off as she turned and swept toward the door. “Not that I would, mind you.” She reached the open door, turned, and shook her head. But she laughed too, a smile taking her face. “As absurd as this day has turned out to be, I do wonder if you are correct in your assumption, Caspian.”

He snorted. “Admitting such a thing was surely a trial for you.”

“I am not as stubborn as that,” the Dowager said. “I can see reason when it stares me in the face, and this marriage…” She nodded her head. “Yes, I think it will do nicely.”

“Speaking of which!” Arabella’s father stepped forward again. “We ought to discuss the particulars. Dates. Locations. Who to invite. Not to mentions the cost.”