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But they didn’t understand. Suppose Arabella had expressed her fears that Guy was marrying her for honor and duty and nothing more? He would have denied it, of course. His honor and sense of duty demanded that he marry her, and his good character demanded that he pretend to be glad. He would have concealed his true thoughts behind bonhomie and jokes, but she would have felt his underlying tension. She would have felt it worsen over the years.
Besides, it was too late now anyway. A lady could not jilt a man, then wander back a few weeks later and say, “Actually, I’ve changed my mind.”
Finishing her sketch, Juno hopped up and handed the page to Arabella. The drawing was of Guy, but Guy looking solemn and stern. Arabella ran a fingertip along the charcoal line of his jaw, as if she could magically touch him, but all she got was a dark smudge on her skin.
“He should be smiling.” Absently, she rubbed at the smudge. “Draw me one of him smiling.”
“He wasn’t smiling when he visited the studio with Leo,” Juno countered, but she started a fresh sketch anyway.
“He has a lot on his mind.” Arabella lowered the page and turned back to the window. In the park, Guy and Ursula were playing a game of chase. Guy was laughing. Once or twice, Arabella had made him laugh. “He is in the papers most days. Between us all, we’ve been keeping the news correspondents busy.”
The inquest had ruled Sculthorpe’s death accidental, and the newspapers overflowed with accolades for the heroic peer, tragically lost in his prime. Speculation buzzed as to why the baron had even been on the Larke estate, and why Hardbury was no longer engaged; few yet dared to explicitly name Arabella, but the implications were clear, if one read between the lines.
The papers had also reported that Chancery was hearing Lord Hardbury’s petition to gain custody of his sisters, while observing that his sisters already lived in his house. Next, they announced his success: The late marquess’s will had been overturned and the guardianship was his.
“They’re going back inside now,” she said. “Ursula has grown. I think Guy’s hair has darkened. Or maybe that’s the light.”
“You could become a news correspondent yourself,” Juno said. “I can imagine your reports: ‘Today, Lord Hardbury wore a new blue coat and scratched his chin. It was very exciting.’”
“That’s hardly exciting news.”
“Exactly. You are becoming boring, Arabella.”
Arabella whirled around with an imperious glare. “Don’t be absurd. I am never boring. My reputation, certainly, is becoming much more interesting. Almost as interesting as yours,” she added archly.
Juno responded with her merry laugh. “My reputation is only interesting because I am friendly with the Duke of Dammerton.”
“Whenever the newspapers report that, they put ‘friends’ in italics.”
“Because they are incapable of understanding that a man and a woman can enjoy each other’s company without tupping each other. It’s excellent for business. Wealthy bankers’ wives commission portraits in the hope that if they sit in my studio, they’ll meet a real live duke. Leo is very obliging about it. He says he ought to charge me a commission.”
Helplessly, as if compelled by a stronger force, Arabella turned back to the window. Across the park, the front door was closed. In that house was Guy, creating the peaceful, loving home of his dreams. Already he had his sisters; soon he would find a bride, someone as unlike Arabella as possible, and she would read about his betrothal in the news.
Perhaps he’d send the flowers and a thank-you note then.
And she’d send them right back. It was not his gratitude she wanted.
She wanted to be in that house with him, sharing his troubles and triumphs. She wanted to be the one he came home to. The one he confided in and teased and quarreled with and kissed. She wanted to be the one on his arm when he entered a ballroom, exchanging looks down the table when they hosted a dinner. Riding beside him through Hyde Park, nestled against him in a cozy parlor at the end of the day.
She wanted to be the one he opened his arms for, the one who made him smile. The one he looked for when he had news. The one he held against him when he slept.
But more than that, she wanted him and that great big heart of his to be happy. She wanted him to create the warm, peaceful home he craved, to have the freedom to love whomever he wanted and marry as he pleased.
That, at least, she could do for him.
“Leo is leaving for Lincolnshire shortly to visit his mother and younger sister. Lord Hardbury will accompany him,” Juno said. “Lady Gisela is making her come-out next year. Leo says she’s very pretty. I wonder if Lord Hardbury will think so too.”
“You are not subtle, Juno.” She turned back. “Is Lady Gisela amiable and pleasant? That’s what Guy wants in a wife.”
“I thought what he wanted was you.”
Juno handed her another finished sketch. This one showed an old woman, with sharp cheekbones and finely arched eyebrows. Her haggard face was creased with lines and frowns.
“That is a portrait of you,” Juno said. “When you are old and miserable and lonely, all because you’re too proud to talk to him.”
“It isn’t pride this time.” On the paper, her miserable future self scowled at her. “He is going to Lincolnshire, you say?”
“Soon.”
