Page 3 of Lady Arabella’s Reluctant Hero

"It is a fair point." This came from one of Henrietta's cousins, who'd just joined them. One of the Halliday girls, though Arabella could never remember which one was which. "Arabella has had a Season, my dear."

"Yes, indeed. No one will be chosen so long as Arabella is fair game," Henrietta said. "Tell us, Arabella. Who will it be?"

Arabella gave her a sharp sidelong look, but Henrietta did not take the hint. Instead, she leaned in to whisper loudly, "Lord Pengrove was seen at your door this week with a bouquet. And I heard Mr. Carstairs joined you for your morning rides. And Lord Edgmond danced with you twice last Wednesday…"

She paused here, an expectant look on her face as she waited for…what? Confirmation that she'd indeed danced twice with that insufferable know-it-all?

"He did," she finally said.

"And you have not so much as encouraged any of them," Henrietta finished.

"Oh, but she will," Cecily said, with a sort of wistful pride. "By the end of the Season, Arabella will have her pick."

Arabella's grip tightened on her glass. The end of the Season was nearly upon them. Would she have her pick? Would she even be able to form a match?

She took a deep breath. She would. She had to.

"And which will it be?" the Halliday cousin asked.

They all looked at her.

Arabella tilted her head with a coy, practiced smile. "I have not decided."

"You haven't? Truly?" Cecily asked.

Arabella lifted a shoulder. "It would be unsporting to decide before all the cards are on the table."

Cecily sighed, half in admiration and half in despair, it seemed. Henrietta made that horrid wheezing noise. And the Halliday cousin gaped at her rudely as though she was some actress on a stage.

But there was nothing untrue about Henrietta's claims. She had Lord Pengrove's bouquet on her writing desk at this very moment, half dead in its water. She had Mr. Carstairs's letters in a small bundle in her glove drawer. And she had Lord Edgmond's promise to call upon her tomorrow afternoon.

In truth, she had every prospect a young woman could wish for. But she was in no position to accept any of them. Because in the eyes of the law, at least…

She was already married.

2

Twelve minutes. Close enough.

Arabella set her glass on a passing tray and turned for the doors.

Half of Clarissa's little court had scattered in the time Arabella had been with Cecily and Henrietta. The cluster of young men and women who had been laughing at Clarissa's story earlier had drifted toward the dancing. And the Earl of Stratton was talking to the Marquess of Blackwood and his fiancée near a window.

Clarissa, the dowager duchess, and Lord Alderton had peeled off in the other direction, and Arabella's path to the garden doors took her, unavoidably, across Clarissa's line of sight.

She had hoped to manage a brisk acknowledging nod and keep going. But she was not so fortunate.

The Dowager Duchess of Ashworth murmured something to Clarissa, and while Arabella did not catch the words, she caught the way the duchess's eyes landed on her as she spoke.

They were talking about her, clearly, and a second later, Clarissa called out to her. "Lady Arabella! Come and join us." Clarissa smiled brightly. "The dowager duchess was just saying she has not properly had a chance to speak with you this Season."

The duchess raised an eyebrow at Arabella in invitation. Arabella felt a flutter of unwarranted apprehension. It was just that the duchess had the kind of stare that made one feel as though one's correspondence had been read.

Arabella glanced at the clock. Eleven minutes.

"How kind of her to say so." Arabella produced the smile she used for retreat. "Sadly I have just promised Cecily Vaughn I would fetch her another glass of punch. She will be looking for me. Perhaps later in the evening?"

Arabella never stopped walking toward the gardens as she spoke. It was not exactly rude…