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“We’ll need to make sure that there are extra chairs brought upstairs,” the Duchess said. “Have you decided what you’re wearing?”
“I think I’ll wear my lemon silk,” Arabella replied. It had recently been trimmed in cream-colored lace, to make it look newer. Arabella was rarely denied new things, but a few updates to a well-loved dress seemed a good exercise of economy, something that she would gladly learn on Mr. Conolly’s behalf.
“Yes,” her mother agreed. “You look well in yellow.” Her mother seemed to be doing an inventory in her head. “Will you need to borrow my diamond and pearl necklace?”
“It’s too heavy,” Arabella replied. It was like wearing an ox’s yoke.
“Yes, but it will look exquisite with the yellow silk…” Her mother trailed off, her eyes wide.
“I’ll wear my single drop pearl,” Arabella told her, looking over at her father. He wasn’t paying either of them any attention. His gaze was out the window, his eyes looking very distant. He looked as though he’d aged about a decade. His forehead was lined, and his hair had taken on a snowier appearance.
She remembered, then—the message on the wall. You’ll be dead by winter’s end. It had been for him, hadn’t it? And he knew it.
“Arabella?” her mother said, jolting her from her thoughts. She turned her gaze to her mother. “Will you need my ostrich-feather?”
She shook her head. “No, Mamma,” she said. “That’s not for me.”
“It’s fashionable,” her mother said. She was urgently attempting to get Arabella to make herself into a fashionable lady.
“With a feather, waving over my head to catch the eye of a young gentleman?” she asked. “I might as well wear a white flag on my head, warning them that I’ve surrendered.”
“He doesn’t have to be young,” her mother replied.
“So, any gentleman will do?” Arabella asked with a laugh.
“We’ve discussed this,” her mother pointed out. They had—as the Season had neared, her mother had been a flurry of preparations. Arabella now had five new dresses, along with a number of different accoutrements that her mother had deemed necessary. Her father had merely paid the bill, no questions asked.
Neither of them knew the best part—that Arabella was in love. And that Mr. Conolly had promised her that he would arrange things with her father. He would keep his word, too. The day after her birthday, he would ask the Duke for his formal permission to court and marry her. Arabella had no doubt in her mind that her father would say yes.
* * *
Charles himself was filled with happy anticipation. He’d received word from the Duke that he and his family were safely arrived in London. He had gone over his finances, setting aside a good amount for Arabella’s use, so that she could redecorate the house to suit her needs and sensibilities.
He made plans to hire a groom to care for her horse, as well as to keep Annette on. He was trying to decide whether to hire a butler, or to just keep Mrs. Osbourne on in her usual capacity as cook, maid, and butler. She was so efficient that he was inclined to give her a raise.
The day of the Duke’s appointment, Charles showed up at the offices early. He filled a cut-glass decanter with some of the good brandy, setting two clean glasses beside it on his desk. He set a roaring fire on in the fireplace, and then he waited. The Duke was on time.
“Welcome, Your Grace,” he said, bowing.
“Mr. Conolly,” the Duke replied. “It’s good to see you.” They shook hands, the Duke, patting Charles on the shoulder. The Duke looked strained. The lines on his face were deeper, and there were dark circles, pressed beneath his eyes. His hair had lightened considerably.
“Come in to my office,” Charles said. “Can I offer you a drink?”
“Yes, please,” the Duke said, taking a seat in one of the leather armchairs. Charles poured them both a glass.
He then sat down across from the Duke. “How was your journey?” As he studied the Duke, he noticed that he seemed aged since he’d last seen him.
“It was slow,” the Duke replied. “But, thankfully, uneventful.”
“Good to hear,” Charles said, realizing that this would soon be his father-in-law, if things went according to plan. “What can I assist you with?”
“I was wondering where you stood on the case with those letters?” the Duke asked.
“Well, I spoke with Rapson,” he replied. “I feel very confident that it wasn’t him. He did suggest a few leads that I could follow up on, if you’d like.”
“Yes,” the Duke replied, taking a sip of his brandy. “I’d very much like for you to do so.”
“Are you…concerned that someone means to harm you or your family, Your Grace?”
