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Chapter Thirty-One
There was no time for Arabella to sneak away the next morning. Unfortunately, the Duke of Longmire showed up just after breakfast. He was then closeted away with her father for almost an entire hour.
“Well, they’re certainly taking their time,” the Duchess commented serenely.
“Mother,” Arabella said. “Did Father say something about this to you?”
“Not a word,” the Duchess replied. She continued her work on her needlepoint. This one was of a lighthouse, overlooking a bright blue and gray sea.
Arabella stood up. She should sneak out now. Leave here, before she became embroiled in whatever plans her father and the Duke of Longmire were making. She could go to Charles.
“Where are you going, my dear?” Her mother looked bewildered.
“Out,” Arabella said. She needed to get out of there, before they came back down. Remaining would mean that she would have to suffer through an audience with the Duke.
The door to the parlor opened, and both Dukes entered. Arabella’s father was beaming proudly. The Duke of Longmire was looking at Arabella, as though he owned her. It made her skin crawl.
“The Duke of Longmire has requested a private audience with Arabella,” her father said. “Come, my dear.” He held out a hand to her mother.
“Of course,” the Duchess said, standing up. She smiled at Arabella. All of her talk about finding a suitable match for her gone.
“No,” Arabella replied, flatly. “I do not want to be alone with him.”
“Listen to what His Grace has to say,” her father replied. “Just listen. Then you are free to say what you will.” As if whatever His Grace the Duke of Longmire had to say was so good that even she couldn’t say no to it.
Her parents left the room. Arabella remained where she was, sitting down with a sigh. It was clear that she would have to suffer through this audience. She folded her hands in her lap. His Grace sat down beside her. He held out his hand for her to take. She glared at him, keeping her hands folded.
He nodded, placing his hand on his leg. “I imagine that this comes to you as no surprise,” he began. “I have requested permission from His Grace, and he has given it.”
“Just ask your question.”
The Duke laughed. “Lady Arabella, will you do me the honor of marrying me?”
“Absolutely not,” she replied. To her shock, His Grace laughed, shaking his head, as if she were amusing.
“You are…absolutely hilarious,” he said. “His Grace said that that’s what you would say. I beg you—Please consider me. In all ways, I am able to give you the life that you want, My Lady.” His tone had finally become serious.
“How would you know what I want?” she asked. After all, he clearly had no clue. If he had, then he would have known that she wasn’t free to marry anyone, except for Mr. Charles Conolly.
“You want to have fine horses, a large estate, on which you can walk around, wearing your breeches,” he said. “Not to mention, the weight of the title of Duchess, behind which you can do as you please. Tell me, what type of life would you rather? The life of a barrister’s wife?”
So, he had heard, yet didn’t care. Arabella didn’t know what to say. She had given him her answer. Why couldn’t he accept it and leave? When she was silent, he went on.
“You’ll always be in a small London house. You will never be in the country. There will likely be no horses or no money to feed them properly. That is no life for a lady of your pedigree.”
“What do you know?” she whispered. He was putting Charles down, in an effort to make his own suit appear better. It only served to make her angrier.
“I will return in a week’s time. I have…things to set in order. Consider all that I have said. You’re a smart lady. You know how the world really works. When I come back, I will ask the question again—today’s refusal will be entirely forgotten.”
He bowed to her. She stared back at him. “It won’t change,” she told him. “My answer will be the same in a week’s time as it will in ten years’ time.”
“So you say, My Lady,” he said, putting his hat on his head and leaving.
Arabella remained where she was for a very long time. If things mattered to her, then she would have accepted. Her father, as well as the Duke of Longmire had grossly miscalculated. What mattered to Arabella was love. It didn’t matter that she wouldn’t have fine things or horses. She didn’t care at all for her title.
She loved Charles, and she would do whatever it took, deny the Duke of Longmire a thousand times over—if it all meant that she would finally be Charles’s wife. She thought of Charles, undressing her, claiming her for his own. It was worth all of that, and more. She raised her chin, steeling herself for whatever else they planned to throw her way.
* * *
