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Arabella grinned, and then made her way downstairs, to the parlor. When she arrived, Charles turned toward her. He smiled, and she crossed the room, running into his arms.
He pulled her close, kissing her. She placed her hand on his cheek as the kiss deepened. Arabella’s breath was nearly taken away. She pulled away, beaming at him.
“He came to see you,” she said, looking up and into his eyes.
“He did,” he replied, getting down onto one knee. He held both of her hands in his. Her pulse raced, as he finally asked her the one question she wanted to hear. “Will you make me the happiest of men, Arabella? Will you marry me?”
“Of course!” she said. “I love you.”
He stood up, pulling her close. She couldn’t believe how happy she was. It was as though everything were falling into place.
“I just think you should know,” he said. “The constables are trying to pin the murders on me.”
The one cloud in an otherwise sunny sky.
“I know it’s not you,” she told him. “They’ll have to get to you through me. I will fight for you, tooth and nail.”
He smiled. “I don’t doubt that.”
The door to the parlor opened, and her mother peered in. “Mr. Conolly,” she said, as they both stepped apart. “I do hope that you’ll stay to luncheon.”
“Of course, Your Grace,” he replied. “I’d be glad to.”
* * *
Charles stayed for luncheon. He and Arabella shared secret glances. He was still processing how everything that they’d hoped for was coming to pass.
It is too good to be real.
He couldn’t keep his eyes off of her for long. The pink dress brought out the roses in her cheeks—the pale pink of her lips. She was far too good for him, but he loved her so much, he would do anything to deserve her.
The Duke of Tiverwell was out, but the Duchess presided over the table like a queen.
“So, when will the wedding take place?” she asked, all business. “Spring weddings are all very well and good, but I do believe that summer is the best time. We can have it at Tiverwell Manor.”
“Why not London?” Charles asked.
“It’s such a city,” the Duchess replied, wrinkling her nose delicately.
“I think,” Arabella said. “We shouldn’t wait.”
“Arabella!” her mother said, scandalized.
“There’s a murderer about,” she explained. “I don’t want a large wedding that brings all of the ton out and about—I just want to be married to Charles.”
“That’s so sudden,” her mother said, clearly disapproving. Charles could understand why she wanted a big wedding though—Arabella was her only child. There would only be one.
“We’ll post the Banns, and then be married here in London,” Arabella replied. Charles thought, trying to come up with something that would please the both of them.
“A winter wedding? I won’t hear of it,” the Duchess stated flatly.
“Then we’ll elope,” Arabella replied.
Her father entered then. “You absolutely will not,” he replied. “We need to show the ton that Charles is one of us.” He poured himself a glass of brandy, then sat down at the table. “It will have to involve the ton. It needs to send a clear message.”
“We can have it soon, though?” Arabella asked.
“Whenever you like,” her father said.
