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“You should marry for love,” her father went on. “But you should marry a Duke.” He wanted her to be able to live at the same luxury as she always had.
“I presume you’ll let me know when I’m in love with the right one, then?” She couldn’t keep the edge out of her tone.
“You’re not still mooning over Mr. Conolly, are you?” he asked. Of all the gentlemen in England, Arabella had the unfortunate luck to fall for her father’s barrister.
“No, Pappa,” she replied—it wasn’t, after all, a lie, as she wasn’tmooningover Charles—she wasin lovewith him. What good would it do to tell her father that, though? Then her father would find a different barrister, which would mean that Arabella would never see Charles again. It was better to see him often, than not at all. No matter how much it ached.
* * *
Charles was sitting down to his luncheon. Mrs. Osbourne had procured him a chicken and roasted it to browned crisp perfection. There were carrots, in rosemary and butter. And freshly-baked biscuits, slathered with butter and marmalade. He dug in, hungrily.
“Mrs. Osbourne!” he said. “You’ve outdone yourself!”
“I’m glad you think so, sir.” She was a middle-aged woman, whom he had hired entirely on the merit of her cooking skills. “I figure that you need a good meal in you, what with the recent deaths.”
“That’s very kind of you,” he replied, then began to eat.
“It’s my job to make sure that you’re well fed, sir. You’ve a letter,” she said, placing it beside him. “Just arrived.”
“Thank you,” he said, recognizing the wax seal of the Duke of Tiverwell with a jolt. It would be a very long time before, he could think of the Duke without thinking of his daughter.
He filled his mouth with a bite of chicken, then broke the seal as he chewed. Unfolding the letter, he read:
Mr. Conolly,
I need your assistance—I would like to change my will, in addition to speaking with you on some other, urgent legal matters.
Additionally, I have heard the recent rumors, and I would like to ensure that all of the ton knows that you are innocent.
Do come and have dinner here at Tiverwell Manor, this evening, so we can prove to all that you are still the sterling advocate that we know you to be.
Regards,
The Duke of Tiverwell.
He sat, looking at it.
Tiverwell. Arabella will be there.
His heart raced. It would be good to see her.
If His Grace only knew the dark, lusting thoughts that Charles still harbored toward Arabella, he would never invite him over. He would stop conducting business through him at all.
He tucked into his meal. He would eat, send a response to the Duke, take a nap, then go to dinner. He knew that Arabella must have engineered this somehow. The Duke of Tiverwell might not allow them to marry, but he, like every gentleman in Arabella’s life, was wrapped around her finger, and she knew when to twist them tighter.
