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“If there is anything more, My Lord,” Charles said. “Do tell me. I think I may be able to help.”
“I will do so, Mr. Conolly.”
Charles watched the Viscount of Drysdale as he walked off. He then turned to go and find Lady Arabella.
As he left the room, he cast his eyes about. No one was paying him any mind. In the time that the ton had been gone from London, he had forgotten. He might have been indispensable to them, but he was not one of them. They would see him differently, very soon. If the Duke saw him as worthy of marrying the Lady Arabella, then they would have to see it, as well.
* * *
Arabella waited for Mr. Conolly, her heart pounding. Finally, she heard the sound of his footsteps, soft on the marble floors. She bit her lip, beaming as he turned the corner.
She took him by the hands. He looked about. “Lady Arabella, what if we’re seen?” he asked.
“Come, now,” she said. “You must call me by my name, Charles.”
“Arabella,” he said, and it was the most wonderful sound she’d ever heard.
“I believe you had something that you wanted to ask me?” she said.
He smiled, his expression softening as he looked at her. It made her pulse race in anticipation.
“Have you changed your mind?” he asked.
“No, never once,” she assured him.
“You know what you’ll be sacrificing?” He raised an eyebrow as he waited for her answer.
“I do,” she confirmed. “I don’t mind, Mr. Conolly. I love you.”
“I love you, too.”
They had never said it, aloud—only written it. To have it said, and to hear it for the first time was a delicious, heady rush that went straight to her head like the finest champagne.
Arabella dared to place a hand on his chest. Charles covered her hand with his. Her skin heated at his touch. When she looked up into his eyes, she knew that he was going to kiss her. She went up onto her toes. Their lips met. The kiss was searching, full of longing, which was finally fulfilled. As he kissed her, he put his hand on her lower back, pulling her toward him. She gripped the front of his shirt.
When they separated, they stood there, looking into each other’s eyes. Charles took both of her hands in his. He didn’t seem to know what to say.
“Then that’s settled,” she stated happily, squeezing his hands.
“I’ll come and talk to your father tomorrow,” he promised, to her heart’s delight.
She handed him her dance card. “Here,” she said. “I’ve saved the second dance for you.” Unfortunately, the first one was with the Duke of Longmire—a new acquaintance of her father’s.
Charles smiled, penciling in his name on the second line, then handing it back to her. She slipped the ribbon around her wrist.
“Now,” she ordered. “We must return, separately, or they’ll all talk.”
He nodded, gesturing for her to go first. She returned to the party, beaming. She felt like everything was coming together. Tomorrow, all would be known. Then, she and her mother could begin to plan the wedding.
All her life, she had expected to drag her heels. Her mother had always assured her that when the time came, she would be excited. To find that her mother had been right! She couldn’t wait to tell her.
* * *
Charles waited a few moments, collecting himself. After that kiss, he was off-balance. It was rare for him to lose himself so thoroughly. His passion for her burned inside of him like a bright flame. She had told him, in her letters, that she had not changed her mind. To hear her say it, meanwhile watching the joy on her face was another thing entirely.
He was surprised at his luck. He was head over heels in love with her. Charles had never thought much about love. He had fully expected to be a confirmed bachelor, until late in life. Marry, simply for comfort…This was something else entirely.
“Mr. Conolly!” the Earl of Diggar was calling out to him.
