Page 9 of Lady Arabella’s Reluctant Hero

The second option was to walk back into the ballroom, locate his sister, take his leave, and let the story go where it intended to go.

The first option would protect his reputation. The second, hers.

It really didn't require much consideration. All it took was a vivid memory of the crushing, all-consuming panic in those bright green eyes.

So, no. There was really only one option after all.

4

"The Season is closing," Arabella read aloud, "on a most unfortunate note of excitement. Our readers will be sorry to learn that an incident of some indelicacy was witnessed, involving a gentleman of considerable standing and a young lady of equally considerable beauty."

Arabella turned the page as she skimmed to the important part.

"Suffice to say that Lord A. distinguished himself in a manner unbecoming of his position. We hope, as the Season closes and the country air calls, that the gentleman in question may be restored to his usual sense, and the lady to her usual spirits."

She lowered the paper.

Her mother lay in her bed, propped against three pillows, a blanket pulled up to her chin, and her eyes closed.

The hand on the coverlet had not moved during the reading. Her chest rose and fell with the slow even pattern to which Arabella was most accustomed.

It was a pattern that said Lady Marchmont was fast asleep, and likely would be for the remainder of the day.

Still, Arabella leaned forward. "It is a great deal of fuss to make about a Lord A. and a Lady A. Don't you think so, Mama?"

The hand did not move.

"I must admit, I had hoped they might attempt some ingenuity." Arabella folded the column smaller and tucked it away. "But there it is. Indelicacy. It could mean anything, really. Which is for the best, of course. I'd hate for poor Lord Alderton to suffer unduly after…" She looked at her mother's still-closed eyes. "Well, after everything."

Arabella had grown used to the heavy silence that was her mother's sickroom, but today the crackle of the fire and the whisper of her mother's breathing put her on edge.

"I had to do it, Mama. You understand that, don't you?"

Her mother's expression didn't alter. Of course it didn't, she was fast asleep.

Sometimes Arabella wondered if her mother dreamed. If she did, the dreams must be peaceful, because she never shifted or made a peep.

Arabella sank back in her seat, trying to get comfortable. But the fire was too high, as usual, and the air was thick with the smell of laudanum.

The curtains had been drawn against the morning light, because Arabella's mother preferred the dim.

Of course, Arabella's mother had not been in a position to express a preference at all for many years, but the household had committed to its understanding of her wishes ten years ago and had not seen reason to revisit it.

Arabella took her mother's hand. It always surprised her how thin a hand could become while still belonging to a woman who was alive.

"It was not what they are saying, Mama. I hope you know that, at least." Arabella stared at the veins which were visible through the thin skin of her mother's hand. "There was a man. But he was kind to me. I had one of my…bad turns, in the garden. Lord Alderton found me, and he was as decent as a man can be when a young woman is on the dirt in front of him in such a state. He helped me up. And he did not say a word he should not have said. And⁠—"

Arabella stopped abruptly. She found she did not wish to say the rest. She could not bring herself to explain the misunderstanding she'd fostered.

She hadn't outright lied, she told herself.

But that was little comfort. And she did not wish to tell all that to her mother, even though her mother was in no position to judge.

Her mother never judged. That was one of the nice things about these daily talks.

Over the years, these morning visits had become a sort of ritual, reassuring more for her than the sleeping woman in the bed. Of course, most days the conversation was trite as she filled her mother in on the small news that made her day-to-day life. Who wore what, the latest harmless gossip among her mother's friends and hers. The weather that day at Hyde Park, or small matters of the household.

Those conversations required no response. But today…