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“It is, and you know it,” she said. She turned to the groom. “You’ll have to take her back. I’m so sorry.”
“Arabella! How ungrateful you are!” her father said. He was angry—it was clear from the way he was glowering at her.
“Ungrateful, perhaps. But at least then I wouldn’t be leading him on,” she said. “Please,” she begged the groom. “Do take her back.”
The man nodded. “As you wish, My Lady.”
Arabella breathed a sigh as he turned and led the mare off. There was simply no way that she could accept such a fine gift. Not when there was no way that she could accept His Grace’s offer of marriage.
Arabella wasn’t wholly surprised, when she saw the groom return less than half an hour later. She was sitting up in the library, by the window which overlooked the street. She could hear the groom telling Mr. Blankley that his master wouldn’t take the horse back. Arabella sighed, then got up and went downstairs.
Mr. Blankley held out another letter to her. She took it, unfolding it.
Do not return gifts, My Lady. I will not accept her back. She is yours now.
Arabella sighed. She did like the horse. Unfortunately, she could never accept the Duke of Longmire’s suit. Not when she was still in love with Charles. It could simply never be. Not in a thousand years. Not in ten thousand.
