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Arabella and her mother went into the drawing room, where they sat on her mother’s yellow brocade settee, sipping lemon cordial. The windows were thrown open, so that a cool, twilight breeze permeated the room.
“Mr. Conolly is an interesting sort,” her mother said, picking up her glass of cool lemon cordial.
“He is, indeed,” Arabella agreed, taking a sip of her own. It was sweet, with only the hint of sour.
“And what, pray tell, do you think of the Viscount?” her mother asked. Now that Arabella had debuted during the last Season, her mother had been suggesting eligible bachelors to her, as easily as though they were horses to be bought.
“No.” Arabella was firm. Lord Drysdale was kind enough, but he was about as interesting to her as pea soup, which was to say—not at all. Although he was a young gentleman, he acted as though he were older than her father.
“Of course.” The Duchess sighed as she smiled at her daughter fondly. “I knew you were going to be picky.”
“Mamma,” she said. “I cannot marry just anyone.” She couldn’t tell the Duchess that she meant not to marry at all. She had no plans on keeping any gentleman in suspense. She would quash anything before it happened.
“Your father highly approves of him. We were discussing his suitability earlier.” Arabella didn’t approve of them speaking behind her back in this manner.
“That’s because they’re both members of the same club,” Arabella explained. “They’ve bonded over cards and drink, which makes them believe that they share a deeper bond.”
“You’ve seen Drysdale House,” her mother said, raising an eyebrow. “It’s not very far from Tiverwell Manor in terms of comfort and luxury. Not to mention, it is only a five-hour journey.”
“Mamma, no.”
“Very well.”
“Mr. Conolly says that he will be able to secure the London townhouse for us,” she said. “As well as your fortune for our use, and even perhaps some of Pappa’s money.”
Her mother regarded her with suspicion. Arabella realized that she had accidentally hinted at her true thoughts. Her mother set down her glass of cordial, and folded her hands in her lap. When she spoke, it was with great care.
“Daughter of mine, are you planning not to marry? Because that’s what it sounds like you are contemplating, in light of your father’s planned changes to his will.”
“Mamma—” Arabella sighed. “If I marry—”
“If!” Her mother’s eyebrows shot up.
“If, yes—then it will be for love, and with a gentleman who will not seek to dominate me using propriety as a means to do so.”
“I would expect nothing less,” her mother said, smiling.
“Good,” Arabella replied, taking a sip of her cordial. She felt relieved. It had felt like they were about to argue—and they rarely did. Her mother’s excitement over having Arabella married was…a surprise to Arabella herself.
“So, I will help you to find said gentleman,” her mother announced. Arabella cringed. She had been hoping that her mother would relax and let Arabella do all of the worrying.
“He would have to be your equal,” her mother remarked thoughtfully. She picked up her glass of cordial, holding it aloft as she spoke. “You could never be happy marrying a gentleman who thought himself above you. Nor, could he be lesser, for you would never respect him.” Her mother nodded to herself.
“Does such a gentleman exist?” Arabella asked, doubtfully. She had never met a gentleman who was like that. She had presumed that he didn’t exist, nor would he ever.
“In a country such as ours? Of course, he does. We just have to find him.”
Arabella turned her gaze toward the window, which was now a square of dark blue, the same shade as her dress. She thought, for a moment, of Mr. Conolly. She shook the thought away. He wasn’t a gentleman. Her father would never approve. Yet, Mr. Conolly treated her as an equal.
Perhaps he’ll show his true colors tomorrow.
* * *
Charles sat, staring down at his hand of cards. The two gentlemen were deep in a discussion of affairs upon which he could have absolutely no opinion. This was the usual habit of the ton. They were wrapped up in their own business.
“Your Grace,” Lord Drysdale said. “I was wondering at your education of your daughter.” Charles perked up.
“What of it?” the Duke asked.
