Page 22 of Lady Arabella’s Reluctant Hero

Arabella registered the words a full second after Lord Alderton said them.

The duchess is waiting.

She turned her head toward the carriage door and stared at the home they'd stopped in front of.

It was the Dowager Duchess of Ashworth's house. Arabella had been past it perhaps fifty times in her life and had been in it precisely never.

"The—" Her tongue, which had been working badly all afternoon, did not seem inclined to start working now. "The duchess?"

"Come." Lord Alderton offered his hand.

She let him hand her down and was startled to find the duchess was waiting for them at the door. In a dove-gray afternoon dress with her dark hair perfectly pinned, she stepped forward as though she had been expecting Arabella's arrival.

The gaze that swept over her was assessing. Arabella was certain the woman managed to file away every stray hair and skewed button. And whatever she saw, it had the duchess giving them a firm nod.

"Child," she said. Her gloved hand briefly closed around Arabella's. "Come inside."

As she dutifully stepped inside, Arabella realized that no one had called her child in a very long time. There was a small absurd relief in it, and she did not entirely understand why.

The butler took Lord Alderton's hat and her own pelisse. When had she removed her pelisse? She did not recall. A footman vanished toward what must have been the kitchen. A housekeeper appeared from a side corridor, was given a series of low instructions, and disappeared again before Arabella had gotten her bearings.

The duchess's hand was beneath Arabella's elbow now, steering her gently across the marble hall toward what proved to be a small comfortable drawing room with the curtains half drawn and a fire already lit.

The duchess steered her to an armchair. "Sit, please."

Arabella sat.

The duchess turned to Lord Alderton. "Do make yourself comfortable. I shall have tea brought in directly."

"Your Grace—" he started.

"In a moment, Lord Alderton." There was no reproach in the duchess's tone. There was simply a small clear instruction to wait, and Lord Alderton did, taking a chair across from Arabella.

The duchess crossed to a small writing desk by the window. She set out a sheet of paper, dipped a pen, and began to write.

The act was so normal, and all at once Arabella realized with a start where she was. Or rather, she realized that she did not know why she was here.

This was the last place she ought to be.

A fresh wave of panic swelled. "I should go," Arabella managed. "I do not— Your Grace, I am most grateful, but I really ought to⁠—"

"No need to fret, dear." The duchess didn't even look up. "I am writing to your father."

"To my—" Arabella stopped short and gaped in a manner that was likely rude.

The duchess finally lifted her head and met Arabella's stare with a small smile. "You shall stay with me for a few days. I have been a lonely widow for some time now and I find a young companion would suit me. No one will dare question my decision in the matter, I assure you."

"I—" Arabella had no idea what to say. She should argue. But she couldn't come up with a reason to protest. Her father wouldn't care if she did not return home, and home was the last place she wished to return.

The pen scratched on. A footman returned with the tea tray.

The duchess set down the pen, sealed the note, and gave it to the footman with a few quiet words of direction.

"Now." The duchess seated herself across from Arabella, beside Lord Alderton. "Drink some tea. You look unwell."

"I am perfectly—perfectly well, Your Grace. There is no need⁠—"

The duchess smiled. "Tea, please."