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For long moments, he stared out over the lake. She picked up her bonnet and tried to smooth out its crumpled ribbons, as if she could smooth out all the wrinkles in her past, all her missteps and mistakes.
“Tell me honestly, Arabella,” he finally said, as though he truly believed that every other word she spoke was a lie. “What is your scheme? I confess I haven’t the wits to keep up with you. I have only my principles to guide me, and my desire for you so addles my mind I hardly know what to think.” He pinned her with his direct, honest stare. “Speak plainly. Do you mean for us to marry in the end?”
What a thing for him to admit! How easily he revealed his weaknesses, so sure of his strength that it diminished him not at all to reveal his flaws. How marvelous it must feel, to live like that. How freeing.
Yet she could use his weaknesses against him. If she chose the right words, in a few weeks, she would be a marchioness, and her position in society, future, and inheritance would be secure.
She could have it all—including a husband who despised her. Guy deserved better than that. He deserved better than to spend the rest of his life trapped with a woman he loathed. Just imagine: a lifetime tied to Guy, craving his good opinion, but receiving only resentment.
“Honestly, no,” she said. “That would be the worst thing in the world.”
He nodded in agreement, and added, “For your father to disinherit you in these circumstances would be an injustice. I abhor lying to everyone, but allowing that injustice would be worse. Let us make a plan. I wish to play this out. It need only be until spring.”
Papa would say the injustice was that Oliver had died, that his wife had not borne him more sons, that his daughter was a hoyden and a scold. Arabella would say the injustice was that she did not have the same rights as men, that her brother’s death hung over her like a curse.
“I promise I shall never try to make you do something you don’t want to do,” she said.
It was meant as a sincere promise, but this, too, made him laugh, and she wondered what she had misunderstood. He turned, their eyes met, and it seemed they would both break ranks, close the space, start kissing again.
But instead, he spoke. “How do you plan to find a husband? You have a plan, of course.”
“Of course.” She turned to watch the waterfowl surfing the choppy waters of the lake. “I am corresponding with Hadrian Bell. Sir Gordon’s son. You remember him?”
“I hear he’s at the embassy in Potsdam.” He stilled. “You mean to marry Hadrian?”
“He is interested in discussing it. Their estate neighbors ours, so our marriage would combine our estates. That will ensure Papa’s agreement.” Turning back, she lifted her chin. “So you see, all I ever needed was time.”
“Because you have a plan.” He nodded and nodded and kept on nodding. “Right. Yes. Hadrian Bell. Good match for him. He always was ambitious. Well played.”
Ambitious. Because, of course, no one would want to marry her for any other reason.
“You must go away, to delay the wedding,” she made herself say. “We cannot remove the vicar, the church, or the witnesses. And I cannot go anywhere, so that leaves you.” She shoved back her loose hair, pulled on her bonnet, and briskly set about tying the ribbons. “If we are not married within three months of the third banns, it has to start again. Tell Papa you have urgent business and will return for the wedding. But you get caught up in business and stay away for three months, writing frequently…” She dropped her hands. “It’s a lot of trouble for you. You didn’t ask for this.”
“I have to go to London anyway, deal with this matter in Chancery.” He shoved his hands back into his pockets. “If others make demands on my time, an invitation from a peer, perhaps an order from the Crown, the weather could turn. Staying away is not unreasonable. We’ll call your father’s bluff. He cannot truly mean to will his estate away from his direct line, when there’s still a chance of a grandson.”
Side by side, they watched the waterfowl.
“We shall proceed like this,” Guy said. “Over the next week or so, we do whatever is necessary to make everyone believe this engagement is real, and that we are indeed in love, and if that sometimes means…” He glanced at her mouth, shook his head with a rueful smile, and looked away. “We are sensible adults, in full control of ourselves.”
“Indeed.”
She thought of Mama, caught in this decades-long struggle between Arabella and her father. She thought of herself being cast out. “I wish I didn’t have to do this,” she said.
“No, but I cannot stand by and allow an injustice, when I might help put it right. I’ve come through trickier situations.”
In silence, they walked back along the path. Guy retrieved his hat from the statue’s head and pulled his gloves back on.
As they neared the lawn, a quartet of workers’ boys dashed past, yelling greetings, clutching little boats.
Guy paused to watch them run. “I remember Oliver designed the fastest boats. He was something of a prodigy.”
“Yes, I suppose he was.”
“Do you ever think about him?”
“We were very young and it was all so long ago.”
“I still think of my brother sometimes, though of course he was older than Oliver when we lost him.”
