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“Are you worried for your own safety?” Charles asked.
“I am,” he admitted. “I would be stupid not to.” He blinked. “And you? Are you well? The rumor hasn’t ruined you, has it?”
“Many of my clients have cancelled their appointments,” Charles admitted.
The Duke was nodding, his brow furrowed.
“Thank you for showing your support for me,” Charles said. “I very much appreciate it.”
“Of course! We were having a dinner, so naturally…” he trailed off, shaking his head. “Horrible, awful business. Two funerals in one week…”
“I should be on my way home,” Charles said. He knew that he would need to appear at both, so as not to appear the guilty party.
“Quite right,” the Duke said. “We’re all so glad that you could come.”
“Certainly,” Charles replied, following him to the door.
“Show Mr. Conolly out,” the Duke told the butler.
Mr. Blankley led him down a hall, which was darkened. At the end of the hallway, Arabella stood, a candle in hand, lighting up her face. She was dressed in a winter coat, his own slung over her arm.
* * *
“My Lady,” the butler said, bowing stiffly. Arabella smiled, handing him a few folded bills.
“I trust that I’ve bought your silence, Mr. Blankley,” she said. She had slipped out of the parlor, unnoticed. She would return as soon as she’d spoken to Charles.
“Yes, My Lady,” he replied, eyeing Charles. “Please don’t do anything rash.”
“Not to worry. I just need a word in private with Mr. Conolly,” she assured him.
“Very well, My Lady.” Blankley was frowning. No doubt he didn’t like being included in Arabella’s plans.
Charles stared at her in surprise, and she winked at him, blowing out the candle, and setting it down on a side table. She handed him his coat, which she’d nicked from the downstairs hallway.
“Come,” she said, taking him by the hand, weaving her fingers in with his.
“Arabella,” he hissed, although he didn’t let go of her hand. It gave Arabella hope that he still harbored feelings for her, despite her father’s resounding rejection. “It isn’t proper—your father will have me drawn and quartered.”
“I’ll handle Pappa,” she whispered. “I need to speak with you, Charles.”
She watched his eyes soften at the use of his name. “Quickly.”
She took him by the servants’ stairwell, which was always pitch black. She knew the way well, even though it smelled strongly of the damp.
It took them to a door, which opened into the garden in the back of the house. It was full night, by then. A few lanterns were lit, but they had the shadows to protect them. He still had not let go of her hand. Her heart beat in her chest, and her skin warmed at his touch.
There was frost, covering the hedges, and the cold seeped through her coat and her lightweight slippers. Luckily, the wind was down. She shivered.
Once they were a good distance from the house, she turned toward him. In the moonlight, she could just make out his features. Their breath steamed in the winter air.
“I was so terrified for you,” she whispered. “I knew that you were innocent.”
“What made you so sure?”
“Please, Charles. Don’t put up walls between us,” she begged. She couldn’t bear it.
“If I don’t, your father will have my head on a stake,” he said.
