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“I?” Ariana gasped, still reeling with the staggering reality of their impoverished state.
“Yes … you,” he repeated more decisively. “You’re eighteen now. It’s time that you marry … that I select a proper husband for you.”
Ariana stiffened, regarding Baxter with grim understanding. “What you’re saying is, you plan to snare the first affluent gentleman you can find and then whisk me down the aisle with him.”
“Nothing so coldblooded as that, sprite.” His expression softened. “But, after all, you’re not exactly a child any longer. In fact …” He studied her with deliberate impartiality, inspecting her from the top of her tousled auburn tresses to the hem of her soiled evening gown, a surprised, satisfied smile curving his lips. Where had he been these past years? Obviously, and right before his unseeing eyes, his little sister had grown to be a ravishing beauty, something that not even her current disheveled state could disguise.
“Well, well,” he murmured, shaking his head. “My tiny caterpillar has become a butterfly. You are truly magnificent, Ariana.”
“Don’t stoop to false flattery, Baxter,” Ariana retorted, unmoved by his words. “I am fully aware that, at best, I am no more than average.” Her tone was frank and completely devoid of malice. “Vanessa was beautiful. Perhaps I resemble her in my coloring. But ‘magnificent’? Hardly.” She set her small jaw, folded her hands in her lap. “You’ll have to try another method to win my cooperation.”
Baxter chuckled. “You really don’t see it, do you? Very well, then; you are merely passable in your looks. However, you are both loving and biddable. On most occasions,” he added pointedly. “Other than when you are lost among your precious flowers or off chasing birds. Still, your customary adaptability should provide the proper incentive for, as you put it, snaring a suitable mate.”
“Suitable for whom?”
“Suitable for both of us. And for the bridegroom as well.” He paused, choosing his method of persuasion carefully. “You know I would never force you to wed someone who repels you, sprite. But surely we can find someone who fits both our needs and can also restore some dignity to our family name?”
“Oh, Baxter.” Ariana shook her head in confusion. Despite her decision to remain unyielding, she was affected by her brother’s plea, his obvious desperation. Yet … marriage? Not only hadn’t marriage factored into her immediate plans, she could not even envision herself permanently tied to any of the gentlemen with whom she was presently acquainted. When she did wed, she dreamed of a union born of love, not the culmination of some business arrangement. No … she couldn’t agree to what Baxter wanted of her, but, then again, how could she refuse? He’d relinquished his youthful dreams for her, did she not owe him some of her own in return?
Ariana massaged her temples, trapped in a vortex of conflicting emotions: duty, guilt, remorse, resentment … resignation. “All right, Baxter,” she said in a wooden voice. “I’ll consider your suggestion.”
Baxter beamed. “Good girl.” He tapped his leg thoughtfully. “Our main problem is that the London Season is nearly past. Had I known our situation would be thus, I would have officially brought you out, introduced you to all the right people.” He shrugged. “We’ll just have to take advantage of the fall house parties.”
Ariana leaned her head against the carriage’s soft cushion, closing her eyes.
“Don’t look so troubled, sprite. All will be well.” Actually, Baxter felt like whistling, now that he’d convinced Ariana to do his bidding.
“I’m not troubled,” Ariana denied faintly. “It’s only that my ankle is throbbing painfully.”
Baxter glanced down at the discolored, swollen bruise, experiencing a pang of guilt as he realized he’d all but forgotten her injury. “We’re nearly home. Theresa will tend to it as soon as we arrive.”
Ariana’s lashes lifted. “Do you think he will be back?”
“Who?”
“Trenton Kingsley.”
Abruptly, Baxter’s good humor vanished. “Not if he values his life, he won’t.”
Fear gripped Ariana’s heart. “Please don’t talk like that.”
Baxter inhaled sharply, bringing himself under control with great difficulty. “No, I don’t believe we’ll be seeing His Grace again. He accomplished what he set out to do and has probably already retreated to his refuge on the Isle of Wight.” Baxter’s brows drew together in a question. “He didn’t hurt you, did he?”
Ariana shook her head. “No. He merely carried me to the house.”
“But he frightened you?”
A prolonged pause. Then Ariana turned her head away, her eyes sliding shut once more. “No,” she whispered. “He didn’t frighten me.” She left the remaining truth unspoken, although she was painfully, shamefully aware of its existence.
Trenton Kingsley had unnerved her dreadfully. But what she had felt in his arms was neither fear nor pain.
What she’d felt was unforgivable.
“It looks worse than it is. Many thing
s do. Except those that look better.” Theresa placed another cool compress on Ariana’s ugly bruise, then tucked a wisp of gray hair back into her own uncooperative bun. “Your ankle will soon be healed, fret not.”
Ariana settled herself on the pillows, the pain in her leg already having subsided to a dull throb. “I’m not fretting, Theresa,” she murmured, staring at the ceiling.
