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In a way.
He was happy to be marrying her. For now.
He was content with the decision. For now.
He enjoyed their arguments. He looked past her flaws and mistakes. He indulged her prideful nature and her foibles.
For now.
But marriage was not just for now. It was for years. Decades, if they were lucky. Guy’s reality would not meet his dreams: the pleasant, amiable bride, the peaceful home. Arabella was not his first choice.
Every time I look at you, I see what I could have had. What could have been and never was.
Guy got himself into these situations and then he made the most of them. He didn’t waste time and energy considering future possibilities, not the way she did. He was spared the curse of seeing seventeen moves ahead. Seventeen years ahead. Would he still be content with his decision a decade from now? Or would she start one quarrel too many? Issue one too many commands? Devise one too many insupportable schemes? Offend the wrong person one too many times?
Until the day came when Guy did not see her, but instead saw what he could have had. What could have been and never was.
Arabella climbed onto a low section of wall and hauled herself back into the saddle. On she rode, her thoughts and feelings swirling into a fierce, tangled mess.
Never again. She could not bear to feel like this again. She could not bear to see Guy turn remote, find interests that separated him from her, hide his resentment under smiles and false cheer.
Arabella kept riding, across her father’s estate to the neighboring estate of Sunne Park, with the old Tudor pile that was Cassandra’s home. By the time she dismounted, her roiling emotions had settled. She had a plan. Arabella liked having plans. Having plans gave her the illusion of having control.
Cassandra was in her garden, singing to herself as she tended a flowerbed, an old bonnet sitting lopsided on her head.
“Arabella?” Her smile faded. “Whatever brings you here? You look distressed. What is the matter?”
“You said if I ever needed help, I should come to you.”
“Of course. What is it?”
Arabella briefly squeezed her eyes shut. This was the right decision. Guy would be happy this way, and his happiness mattered more than anything else in the world. That knowledge helped her utter words she had not spoken in more than a decade.
“Cassandra,” she said. “I need your help.”
Chapter 26
Guy’s errand in Birmingham took longer than he had anticipated, for while the city boasted some of the country’s best jewelry makers, it took time to perfect the piece for Arabella.
As he arrived back in Longhope Abbey, he pictured giving it to her: the firelight caressing her skin and catching in the diamonds, her hair tumbling around her face, her eyes darkening as he told her of his love, her lips parting to tell him of hers.
And perhaps he would also tell her of this odd sense he had, that this was where his long journey finally came to an end.
It had not ended in Rome, when he had learned of his father’s death. Nor when he arrived back in England. Nor when he entered the house in London, or even Roth Hall, the place where he was born.
Now, today, that restlessness vanished.Zugunruhe, the Germans called it. The restless need to move, to fly home. This was the end of his journey, and the years of travel had prepared him only for this. Coming back to Arabella—that was what it meant for Guy to come home.
The light was fading when he arrived at Sir Gordon’s house; the first evening stars had appeared. The days were already getting short. The years were long. Good. Long years and lots of them. Guy was thrilled at the thought.
Indeed, the thought of seeing Arabella again, of their wedding night, and provoking her and loving her for decades to come had him in such a good mood that he was whistling when he strode through the Bells’ front door.
Servants ran into the foyer. Stared at him nervously.
A moment later, Sir Gordon came racing in.
Guy’s heart lurched and thudded. “What’s going on? What happened?”
Sir Gordon said, “You haven’t heard yet.”
