Page 32 of Lady Arabella’s Reluctant Hero

Her lips pursed. "That is not an answer."

He shrugged. "It is the only answer I have."

"I do not understand it," she said. "I was not kind to her. I was—I was the opposite of kind."

He'd been planning to overlook this particularly unpleasant part of her past. But since she mentioned it…

He turned to face her. "I assume that Pierce was responsible for what you said about my sister."

"Pardon?"

"The Cast-Off Clarissa nickname," he said. "That was Pierce's work, I imagine?"

She studied him for a long second. "No."

"No?"

"That part was mine. The rumors about Lord Stratton—those were Pierce's. He needed certain stories circulated and he had me spread them. But the name—" She paused. "The cruel name was mine."

John wasn't sure how to respond to that. He had handed her an easy explanation. An excuse. He hadn't expected her not to take it.

He should, perhaps, have been horrified. And he was, somewhat. Clarissa had not deserved that name or the nasty whispers that went with it. But what struck him more, in this moment, was that Arabella had refused the exit.

She could have put the cruelty on Pierce, and she had told him the truth instead. So while disappointment prickled, it was outweighed by curiosity.

"Why?" he asked.

She considered this.

"I do not know," she finally said. With a little shake of her head she added, "Your sister walks into rooms expecting kindness. She had just been jilted by a vicar and rejected by a marquess in front of the entire ton… And she walked into that ballroom on your arm, with the duchess on the other side of her, and the Marquess of Blackwood watching from across the room, ready to ruin anyone who said the wrong thing to her. She had⁠—"

She stopped. Her smile was small and wry as she lifted one shoulder in a helpless shrug. "She had…people." Her chin lifted. "And I had a need to make her smaller. It was not my finest hour."

The chin stayed up but she was looking at him directly, as if waiting for his verdict.

"No," he agreed. "It was not."

They stood in silence for a moment as he turned over what she'd said. Or rather, what she had not. Clarissa had suffered injustice and been a victim, yes. But she'd had support and help. And for Arabella—a woman who was also a victim, but with no one even aware, let alone helping her…

He felt a pang of sympathy sharp enough to unsettle him. He cleared his throat. "But it is, perhaps…understandable."

She turned to him, her expression one of reproach. "You are not going to tell me I am forgiven." It was more a statement of disbelief than a question.

He smiled. "It is not my slight to forgive."

His answer seemed to please her, and she nodded. "Quite right."

For a long while, he and Arabella made their rounds with relative ease. But then Lord Edgmond walked past. He inclined his head in Arabella's direction with stiff formality before turning away with a dismissive sniff.

John watched him go. "Have I offended him?"

"Lord Edgmond is likely displeased," Arabella said. "He had been given to understand he would be courting me."

John blinked. "Given to understand by whom?"

"My father."

He arched a brow. "Your father told him he could court you?"