Page 27

And then she found her tear-soaked face pressed into the wool of his coat.

It was undoubtedly inappropriate, but she could not bring herself to pull away.

Through his chest she heard the low murmur of his voice, though his words were muffled. She suspected it was more shushing and reassurances than anything of real significance. Meanwhile, his hand made a slow circle on her back.

She thought dimly of his daughter. Lucy, he'd called her. He must hold her like this.

That thought somehow made it worse. She cried harder. A feat she hadn't even known possible until another wave of sobs shook her to her core.

She cried until she could not cry anymore.

When she had at last subsided into the small choking aftermath of crying, the duchess, who had been a perfectly tactful presence on the other side of the tea tray, leaned forward and pressed a handkerchief into her hand. "There, child. Better?"

Arabella nodded into John's coat. She was ashamed, but also…too exhausted from weeping to really care.

She did not move away from him immediately, though she knew she ought. But then again, he did not move away from her either.

After a moment she straightened a fraction, but his arm stayed where it was, light along her shoulders. While she knew she ought to shrug him off, the weight of it was comforting, so she pretended not to notice.

"Now." The duchess leaned back in her seat as if nothing had happened. "I know that you have no real reason to trust us, my dear. But I am asking you to. Whatever is said in this room will go no further. You have my word on it."

She glanced at Lord Alderton.

"And mine," he said quietly.

"I do not—" Arabella cleared her throat and tried again. "I do not know where to start."

The duchess arched one brow. "Try the beginning, dear."

"The beginning." Arabella stared down at the handkerchief in her lap as she let out a long, loud exhale. "At the beginning, I was the world's biggest fool."

Neither of them spoke and she kept her gaze firmly fixed on the handkerchief.

"I met Mr. Pierce when I was sixteen. He was my music instructor. He was—" She took a breath. How to explain it? "He was the first person in a very long time who noticed me. My mother was sick, and my father was busy, and… And Mr. Pierce was kind. He listened when I spoke. He paid attention to my troubles. He told me I was talented and that my father was a fool for not seeing what he had. He— I⁠—"

She could not say it without bitterness, and that bitterness came out in a small wretched laugh. "And I was so very, very naive."

She felt Lord Alderton's arm tighten slightly around her shoulders. Somehow that new weight made the next words come out in a rush. She supposed now that she'd started, she couldn't wait to be done with it.

"He convinced me to run away with him. To elope. And I— I went. There was a ceremony at an inn. A— A clergyman. A parish register. We signed it, and I⁠—"

She had to take a breath.

"I went up to the room afterward. He was meant to follow. Instead I heard him— I heard him in the parlor below. With other men. I had not known there were other men. I had thought we were alone but for the innkeeper. I— I came back down the staircase, and I stopped on the steps to listen, because their voices were⁠—"

She had to swallow hard to continue.

"They were laughing. About me."

Arabella risked a glance up. The duchess's expression had not changed. Lord Alderton had gone too still.

"They were laughing about how completely I had been fooled. How my father would pay good money to make the marriage go away. How I was the—" She closed her eyes. "How I was the biggest score of the Season. And then⁠—"

She paused.

"And then one of the men said it would be a waste. He said there were better uses for me."

Lord Alderton's hand, which had been gently cupping her arm, tightened into a firm grip that had her looking over at him.