Page 8 of Lady Arabella’s Reluctant Hero

Then she shoved him in the chest.

It was a small shove, but it was sufficient. Especially considering he'd been kneeling, his arms still outstretched to hold her. In an instant, he fell backwards as she scrambled to her feet.

Her gown was ruined and her hair was in disarray, but she did not look at him when she spoke.

"How dare you, sir." Her voice was pitched to carry, and it succeeded. Everyone heard her, of that he was certain.

He was still on the ground, hovering on one knee. Quite the awkward position to be in when a young woman was publicly accusing him of taking liberties.

He was so stunned by the sudden turn of events, he found himself gaping at the young lady. But Arabella didn't look at him. She turned to face the pale peacocks by the hedge.

"Arabella," said the fair-haired girl. "Arabella, what has⁠—"

"Cecily." Arabella's voice was thick with unshed tears now.

This was new. He had not seen any hint of tears when she'd been kneeling on the path in front of him.

She took a step toward her friends. "Cecily, please. Take me back inside."

The fair-haired woman looked from Arabella to him. She looked as shocked as he felt. "Has he— Did he⁠—"

Arabella straightened her shoulders, her expression nothing short of stoic. "I cannot speak of it here."

"Oh my goodness," a dark-haired girl breathed.

"Henrietta." Arabella turned toward her. "Please."

The fair-haired girl—Cecily, apparently—looked at John over Arabella's head. "Lord Alderton."

He had gotten to his feet by this point. That was something. If he were going to be scolded for some imaginary crime by a scandalized young lady, he'd prefer to be on his feet.

Arabella faced him then, but her eyes didn't meet his. "Lord Alderton was…assisting me. I had felt unwell. Lord Alderton was—kind."

John could only stare. The words she was saying were accurate enough. But the hedging tone, the telling pauses…

She might as well have pointed a finger and called him a lech.

Arabella turned to her friends. "Please. Please. I do not wish to remain. I should like to go home."

"Of course," Cecily said.

"Of course," Henrietta echoed. She was looking at John with the bright avid interest of a person being handed a gift.

He had no doubt she was already filing away details, preparing the story for their friends once Arabella was out of harm's way.

"Of course, my darling," a third woman said. "We shall take you at once."

The small flock closed around her, and Arabella let them sweep her away, back down the path, toward the terrace.

He was left standing on the gravel path, where he stood for quite some time considering his options.

He had two, so far as he could see.

The first was to walk back into the ballroom, locate one of the witnessing flock, and correct the record. He could do this. After all, he had standing. He was the heir to an earldom, brother-in-law of the future Duke of Ashworth, and a man who had not once in his entire adult life given anyone reason to believe him capable of pressing his attentions upon a young woman alone in a garden.

A handful of words from him would surely cause at least some of the witnesses to be uncertain about what they had seen. By the end of the week, the entire incident would have settled into a small, forgettable confusion.

This would, of course, require him to inform the ton that the woman he had assisted in a garden had been on her hands and knees in a panic, something which he had no business explaining.