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Arabella’s blood ran cold when she heard Charles’s name. She listened in, pretending to be very involved in adding sugar and cream to her coffee. She stirred it with a spoon, clinking against the porcelain of the cup.
“What is he accused of?” Lady Tindall asked.
“Murder,” Lady Linton said. Arabella’s mind seemed to go blank.
“Whose?” Arabella demanded, turning toward them. Both ladies looked at her in surprise. She, too, was surprised that she’d spoken.
“The Earl of Diggar,” Lady Linton replied.
“He couldn’t have,” Arabella stated firmly. “Mr. Conolly couldn’t have.” He wouldn’t have murdered the Earl of Diggar, either. The two of them got on remarkably well. Charles had assisted the Earl of Diggar on numerous occasions.
“It appears that Mr. Conolly can be placed at the scene of the crime,” Lady Linton said, shaking her head so her auburn curls bounced off of her cheeks. “To think that we’ve all trusted him.”
“What proof?” Arabella asked, seething with anger and fear.
“He had the Earl’s pocket watch in his possession,” Lady Linton replied.
“That’s hardly proof of murder.” Arabella wasn’t about to back down.
“It’s only what I’ve heard,” Lady Linton said, shrugging with one silk-swathed shoulder.
Arabella turned back to her coffee. She was horrified. She had seen Charles only a few days before, at Lord Drysdale and Lady Violet’s engagement party. He had seemed his usual self. She glanced over at her father, who was watching her reaction closely. There was an icy look on his face, as if to say,I told you so.
Her hands were shaking, so she carried her cup over to the window, where she could be alone. His disapprobation of Charles was well-known. The news certainly wouldn’t help to change it. Her father wanted Arabella to marry for love. Except, he had forbidden her from marrying Charles on account of that he was not of the ton.
She wouldn’t believe it. Couldn’t.
Charles? A murderer? Never.
She knew him, almost as well as she knew herself.
Arabella sipped her coffee, moving across the room, where she might have a few moments to collect herself.
She paused by the window. Outside, the sun was shining down on the street. There in Kensington, there were well-dressed ladies and gentlemen, out for strolls and riding in their fancy carriages.
Her mind was full; her heart was terrified. She’d known Charles since the past summer, and had become even more intimately acquainted with him through months of correspondence. She thought back to the first time that she had seen him.
He’d been dressed in a dark blue coat, which brought out the blue in his eyes. His raven black hair fell over his forehead, just so. She had been smitten, when instead of being utterly aghast at the fact that she’d been dressed for fencing lessons in a pair of breeches and a vest, had discussed her choice of rapier over epée.
They had secretly stolen moments together. It had been utterly improper. For Arabella, that’s what made it worth it. She would happily spend the rest of her life as a barrister’s wife, if it meant that she would be spending it with Charles.
Outside, on the street, a carriage pulled by two soot-black horses stopped in the road. Even though Arabella was forbidden from marrying Charles, she still loved him. She hadn’t wholly given up hope. Then, she was terrified for him. His father had been executed by mistake. Now that the son was in the same position, she was so frightened that she felt sick.
