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Mama raised an eyebrow.
“Yes, Mama,” Arabella said, and with as much dignity as she could muster, headed to her room.
Chapter 25
Carrying the portfolio containing the manuscript, Arabella knocked on the door to her father’s study. Behind it, she heard Queenie cry, “What a day! What a day!” and then Papa’s voice, inviting her in.
Inside, she ignored Oliver. He ignored her.
“’Tis a lovely day, you beautiful bird,” Arabella said to the parrot, who nodded sagely and said, “Yes, yes, indeed.”
“Good timing,” Papa said from behind his desk. He stood, waving the page in his hand. “One of my colleagues recommends a former student to take over your work editing the journals. Have a read.”
Arabella exchanged the letter for the portfolio.
“That’s the final manuscript for the guide to your aviaries. It wants only your foreword,” she said. “If you could complete it before the wedding, I can take the whole thing to London when Hardbury and I go.”
That they would go first to London was one of the few details Guy and Arabella had decided on so far. It was not for want of trying. Every time he had called in the days since he left Vindale Court to stay with Sir Gordon Bell, they had not managed a minute alone.
No sooner would he enter the house than someone would intrude: a dressmaker insisting Arabella attend an unnecessary last-minute fitting; Ramsay asking questions on matters he had dealt with for years; and, on the third day, Ursula, bursting into the room out of nowhere, toddling along with a stream of urgent chatter.
“This is a bloody conspiracy,” Guy had said, scooping his laughing sister into his arms. “Isn’t it, Little Bear? Lady Belinda will not give us a minute alone.” He had lowered Ursula to the floor and shaken his head at Arabella. “There are things I wish to say to you.”
“I daresay even Mama will leave us in peace on our wedding night.”
Under this persistent surveillance, they managed only practical, sensible conversations.
“We’ll go straight to London, if you don’t mind,” Guy had said. “Then on to Roth Hall once this matter in Chancery is settled. Sir Walter has agreed that Freddie and Ursula can come with me in the meantime, with their maids and nanny, if you approve of her. An instant household for you to manage, which you’ll do easily. You’ll be a brilliant marchioness, you know. Society will be shocked and the lawmakers will be scared.”
Then he had announced an impromptu trip to Birmingham, to keep him busy until their wedding, muttering something cryptic about jewelry makers and diamonds.
Arabella had plenty to keep her busy during his absence, as she prepared to leave her childhood home. Cassandra and Juno called several times, eager to discuss the inquest into Sculthorpe’s death.
Evidence indicated that many people in the household had known Sculthorpe was in the far stables, and the grooms testified that the baron had been conscious and active after his fight with Guy. Yet still Sir Walter grumbled that no one had yet confirmed whence Sculthorpe procured the flame.
Juno had laughed over her teacup. “Yesterday, Sir Walter called on Uncle Gordon to insist that Lady Belinda could have lit the fire. Apparently, Lady Treadgold’s maid claimed to have seen her heading for the stables at the pertinent time.”
“No!” Cassandra said. “I refuse to believe it.”
“As did Uncle Gordon. Ramsay and Mrs. Ramsay immediately said they were with Lady Belinda, so the maid must have been mistaken. You should have heard Uncle Gordon saying, in that lawyerly way of his, ‘We are dealing with evidence, Sir Walter. We do not randomly accuse people of murder without evidence.’”
In the meantime, the dressmakers had finished Arabella’s gown for her wedding and the rest of her trousseau. Her trunks were packed and nearly ready, and she had written to Hadrian Bell about her marriage.
Finalizing the manuscript was the last item on her list of tasks.
Papa opened the folio on his desk and turned over a page. “I hear Hardbury has gone to Birmingham.”
“Yes.”
“He had better come back.”
Arabella unfolded the letter and stared unseeingly at the words. Of course Guy would come back. Unless he didn’t. Unless he fell back on their old scheme, wrote letters full of detailed, regretful excuses, stayed away until the banns were no longer valid.
Don’t be silly, she scolded herself. He had days, yet, to get back before their wedding. He would not have made love to her like that if he didn’t intend to marry her.
But perhaps he had changed his mind.
She pressed a palm to the familiar dull ache in her abdomen. Their passion in the drawing room would not lead to any babies; the signs had come that morning. If Guy didn’t return, there would be no consequences. He could run free if he pleased.
