Page 4 of Lady Arabella’s Reluctant Hero

But it was close to it.

Clarissa's smile faltered. The girl had still not learned, even after a Season of being the ton's favorite punching bag, how to fully hide her disappointment.

"Oh," Clarissa said. "Yes, of course. Later, perhaps."

It was then Arabella registered Lord Alderton at his sister's side, hovering protectively.

Of course he was. He no doubt saw Lady Arabella as the wicked villain in his sweet sister's sad story. And the way he looked at her made her want to stick out her tongue out of sheer spite.

It wasn't a mean look. He didn't narrow his eyes and sneer. Oh no. That she would have preferred. He simply looked at her with an air of tolerant patience.

My sister may have forgiven you, said the look. But I have not forgotten.

The look lasted half a second. Then he inclined his head a fraction and turned back to Clarissa.

How nice for you, she thought, to have the luxury of being so morally superior at a ball.

Arabella kept walking. She did not have time for him or any of them. Only ten minutes left now. She didn't have to look at the clock to know.

The fresh air was a welcome relief as she slipped out onto the terrace. There she found two older gentlemen talking in low voices, and a pair of girls in white who giggled and shushed each other.

Arabella walked past them all at an unhurried pace. But once she was around the corner of the yew hedge, she moved much faster. The white roses were at the back of the garden, against the wall, where a stone bench sat under an arbor.

Six minutes.

Five.

She rounded the last hedge.

The bench was empty.

For a moment she stood on the path and simply looked at it, while her chest did the small unhelpful tightening that meant her body had registered something her mind had not yet caught up to.

The bench was empty. The arbor was empty. The whole little corner of the garden was empty, save for her and the white roses…

And a small folded square of paper sitting precisely in the center of the bench seat.

She had not truly expected to see him. But she'd hoped. Because this time was meant to be different.

But then again… She started walking again, lifting her skirts to run toward the bench. Maybe he would explain in the note. Perhaps…

Perhaps all was not lost.

She picked up the note, and with trembling fingers, she unfolded it.

The handwriting was familiar.

She read through it. Then she read it again, as if that might change the meaning. As if there might be something else there she'd missed.

But no.

A girl. One of the Halliday cousins. She still didn't know which was which. Befriend this week. Earn her trust by the next ball. The rest will follow.

She stood very still on the gravel.

He'd lied.

Again.