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“Charles—” she began, but the door opened, and the Duke of Tiverwell entered. They both froze. The Duke went pale, rage travelling through all of his features, as his eyes took in their hands, clasped tightly.
“Get. Out,” he uttered, through gritted teeth.
“Your Grace—” Charles began to say, standing up.
The Duke pointed toward the door. “Get out of my house,” he growled.
“Pappa!” Arabella said, standing up with Charles. “He’s come to help you.”
“I don’t care,” her father roared. “I never want him under my roof again.”
“Your Grace,” Charles began again.
“I will kill you myself,” the Duke raged. “You come under my roof, then touch my daughter—”
“Pappa!” Arabella clung to her father’s arm. “Please! You must listen to him.”
“There is nothing that he can say that I will ever listen to.”
“Your Grace!” Charles said.
The Duke of Tiverwell turned on him, huffing. “I will visit you in your offices when I require your assistance,” he stated. “But only then. When I deign to come. If you return to my place of residence, then I will have you carted off by the authorities.”
Charles gritted his teeth. He looked the Duke in the eyes. If he wanted to do battle, then so be it. Charles had long been tired of being treated like he was unworthy.
“Pappa! Don’t speak to him like that!” Arabella said, her hands in fists at her sides.
“I will speak to him as I choose! And you, my daughter—you—”
“No! Just because he is not a gentleman of the ton does not mean that you can order him about in this way. He’s trying to help you!” Tears were gathering in her eyes. “Who are you?” she whispered.
“The Duke of Tiverwell,” the Duke stated, turning toward Charles. “And you are my barrister, not my equal. You would do well to remember it!” he bellowed.
Charles nodded, bowing to him. “I won’t forget it, Your Grace. I’ll take my leave.” He walked out, meeting the butler in the hallway. Mr. Blankley looked at him with some sympathy. Charles had the feeling that he, too, was viewed in a similar manner. Charles recalled Matthew Rapson’s words—that Mr. Blankley knew and saw all. Gathering all of the willpower that he could muster, he left.
* * *
Arabella folded her arms, glaring at her father. She’d never before seen him treat someone of lower status than himself so coldly. Her anger was as hot as his own.
“He came to help you, you know,” she said.
“Do you know what he came here to tell me?” he asked.
She shook her head. “No.”
“You were too busy, then?” he asked, insinuating.
She turned away from him, moving toward the door. When she reached it, she spun around to face him. She opened her mouth to ask him whether he would ever change his mind, then thought better of it. Instead, she said, “I love him, Father. I cannot marry anyone else.”
“You will marry whom I say you will,” he replied. “You will marry a gentleman of title and noble birth who can keep you at a level of comfort as you are used.”
Who are you?
This was not her Father. She didn’t know this person who stood, facing her. His eyes seemed wild and he was grimacing so that his teeth were bared.
“I don’t even know you.” She’d said it before, recently. She should never have had to say it. What had changed? Or had this always just been hidden?
“I forbid you from talking about this again,” he said, advancing toward her. Arabella stepped back. “I forbid you from seeing Mr. Conolly, I forbid you from speaking to him, and I forbid you from having any sort of affection toward him.”
