Amanda StoNeS
Historical Regency Romance Author
An Arranged Marriagewith a Beast
First Chapters
Prologue
Trent Rycroft carefully plucked a fresh, fragrant daisy, gazing at it fondly as he cradled the delicate stem in his fingers. It was a beautiful specimen, almost as beautiful as the woman who adored daisies, the woman to whom he intended to give it. He glanced up toward the front of the manor, despite having not yet heard an approaching coach, anxious for the arrival of a certain young woman. His heart thumped in his chest at the mere thought of her fiery hair, pale cheeks with a dusting of freckles and brilliant smile. Millicent, he thought, giddy with excitement.
Each moment until she arrived felt like its own eternity. But the instant he heard gravel crunching up the winding driveway to Rylingdale Manor, he rushed through the gardens toward the entrance, nearly making new path entrances through the bushes on his way.
As he burst through the gardens, Millicent Clapham rounded the corner to the back of the mansion. His breath caught and he stared, watching her glide toward him. She was a vision in a green silk gown trimmed and embroidered with gold thread, with her red hair piled high on her head and held in place by a gold and diamond tiara. She walked toward him with her gold-gloved hands clasped in front of her, and she offered him a small smile.
“Millie, darling,” he said, running up to her and taking her into his arms. “How I have missed you.”
He expected her to nestle into his arms as she always did, or giggle and push him playfully away and tease him about propriety. She did push him away. However, there was no jest in the strength of her shove, and there was a heavy sadness in her green eyes.
“Mille,” he said, giving her a warm smile to try to ease whatever worried her. “My dearest, it brings me great joy to express that my affection for you surpasses all else in this world. I wish for you to understand that this sentiment shall remain steadfast, regardless of the circumstances we may face. In truth, I am compelled to inquire about a matter that has weighed upon my heart for some time.” He understood he was rambling. But whatever had darkened his companion’s face was worsening as he spoke, rather than lightening. It sent a terrible chill down Trent’s spine, and he knew he would do anything to remedy the situation.
When her expression remained the same, he gently took her hand and gave her another loving smile. But she quickly retracted her hand as though his touch had burned her.
“Please, Trent,” she said. “Do not finish what you were going to say. I simply cannot bear it.”
Trent shook his head, his chest tightening as fright and bewilderment took the place of his previous delight and excitement at seeing the woman before him. Desperation eventually won out over the other emotions, and he dropped to one knee, trying again to take Millicent’s delicate hands.
“My dearest,” he declared. “I cherish you beyond the bounds of expression. If only I could rend open my breast and reveal to you the depths of my true affection. There exists no greater desire in all the world than to share the remainder of my days in your company.”
But even before he had finished speaking, Millicent was shaking her head. There were no tears in her eyes, but her voice carried the same weight that the rest of her expression had since she had arrived.
“I cannot get into matrimony with you, Trent,” she declared. “I cannot, for I do not harbour love for you.”
Trent staggered backward, feeling as though an invisible hand had dropped down from the heavens and stricken him directly in the chest. He struggled to breathe, and his arms and legs felt suddenly weak and paralyzed. He tried to make sense of what Millicent had just said. But the only words that would come to his mind were those of petrified confusion and disbelief.
“No,” he declared, his voice trembling with emotion. “No, surely you love me, my dear. If I have inadvertently caused you distress, I assure you I shall endeavour with utmost diligence to make amends. But I am certain in my heart that you love me, just as I cherish you. We are destined to be united, as we have always envisioned.”
Millicent shook her head again, sparing him a pained glance. He still saw no tears, but she drew a ragged breath as though she had been crying the entire time she stood before him when she looked away from him once more.
“I am truly sorry, Trent,” she said with a heavy sigh. “I once believed that I held affection for you. Yet, alas, I find it is not the case. I cannot bestow upon you my heart, nor can I permit myself to enter into matrimony when my sentiments do not mirror your own.”
Trent’s world shattered around him, and he fell from his knees to his backside. All he could do was stare at the golden hem of the dress of the woman to whom he had, only moments prior, been prepared to propose. Though his chest heaved with short, panting breaths, he felt as though no air could reach his lungs. His chest ached, and he scrambled back to his knees, determined to plead his case with Millicent and resolve whatever was making her say such terrible things.
But as he looked up into her eyes, he could see that further efforts would be useless. She stared at him with lips that spoke of sadness, but eyes that seemed distant, almost as if thinking of something else entirely.
“Please,” he whispered, despite the futility of the attempt.
Millicent shook her head one last time, turning her body to leave.
“I am sorry, Trent,” she said with a surprisingly strong voice. “This is my decision. Goodbye.”
With that, Millicent walked away from him, leaving him crumpled on the ground, still desperately trying to breathe. He sat on his hands and knees until both went numb. He did not know how long he had remained outside, but his body felt chilled, and every step made his legs ache. Yet none of the discomfort compared to the bleeding pieces of his broken heart.
He did not realize that he had missed dinner until his father, the duke of Rylingdale, had him summoned to his study. Bradley, the family’s butler since before Trent’s teenage years, found him in his chambers with the door wide open, staring out the window at the gardens where hours before, his entire life had changed. He barely acknowledged the butler’s summons, using all his remaining strength to drag himself down the stairs and to his father’s study. By the time he had reached the door, he had a shred of hope. His father surely loved him, and he would have words of comfort to aid his broken son.
When he entered the room, the duke was scowling.
“You missed dinner,” he said gruffly. “Where were you?”
Trent sighed, shaking his head.
“Millicent ended our courtship,” he said.
There was a long silence. When it ended, however, Trent wished it had not. In fact, he wished he had remained in his chambers.
“What of it?” the duke asked, looking at Trent as though he were mad. “She was a horrid match for you. Now, you will be free to find a more suitable bride.”
It was Trent’s turn to stare at his father. He had always known his father to be a tough man, especially after Trent’s mother died. But how could he compare Millicent, the woman whom Trent had loved for more than six months, to a mere match?
“Father, I loved her,” he said, hoping to soften the glare in his father’s eyes. “I had planned to propose to her when she arrived today. I wanted to spend the rest of my life with her, and I am certain that you knew this.”
The duke snarled, his eyes narrowing to slits.
“You are naught but a fool,” he said with a disdainful curl of his lip. “I forewarned you of the ruin love inflicts upon men. It renders them feeble and ineffectual. You entrusted your heart to a woman, and she shattered it. Just as I predicted she would. Let this serve as the lesson you disregarded from your own father, and carry on with your life.”
Trent shook his head. His eyes were red and burning, and he knew his father should be able to see his agony. And yet all he could offer was cold mocking and indifference.
“Please, Father,” he said. “I cannot bear the ache of losing her. I seek only understanding and kindness. I was sure that she loved me as I loved her, and to learn otherwise is stripping the very air from my lungs.”
Trent did not think that his father could get crueler to him than he already had been. However, he was wrong.
“You are a disgrace to the Rycroft name, Trent,” his father said. His face contorted into a mask of disgust, and he spat the words as though he could not wound his own son with them quickly enough for his liking.
Trent felt like collapsing, the pain of his father’s words adding fresh injuries to the wounds left by Millicent’s declarations of rejection and her loveless heart. He managed to hold himself on his feet, but only just. Fresh tears stung his eyes and, in another desperate attempt to garner some fashion of warmth from the man who had sired him, he allowed them to begin to fall.
“Do you have nothing kind to say to me?” he asked. He understood that he was a grown gentleman, pleading to his aging father. But he would have done anything for a moment of relief from the suffocating heartache he felt.
The tears only served to anger his father further. The duke slammed his fist on his desk and scowled more fiercely than ever before.
“You are a disgrace,” he said again, his voice rising with every word. “You have shown ultimate weakness with these useless, despicable emotions, rendering you unfit to be the heir to the Rylingdale dukedom.”
Trent’s mind reeled as he processed his father’s words. He had worked hard to learn everything his father had to teach him about becoming duke when the reigning Duke of Rylingdale passed. It was something to which he looked forward, not for the prestige or wealth that came with the title, but because it was his birthright, and he was proud. Now, his father was threatening to take it from him, after the only woman he could ever love had broken his heart so completely. The words hit Trent as if they were a physical strike, and the precious little that remained of his heart shattered.
There is no solace to be found with Father, he thought, dejection coursing through him and leaving him unable to speak. He prayed for a quick end to his father’s cruel abrasiveness so that he could crawl back to his chambers and stay.
“Even now, you can say nothing in your defense,” the duke said, his upper lip trembling as the snarl curled into a full baring of his teeth. “I shall never tolerate such behaviour from my son. You will learn strength and ruthlessness, or you will be nothing. To both society and to me. I will tell you one final time, Trent. Love is a weakness, and I will not have the heir to my fine legacy falling victim to such foolish childishness. Now, get out of my sight.”
Trent forced himself to turn away from his father, but not before catching sight of the duke’s last disgusted stare. As he left the study that night, he swore that he would never again allow anyone to hurt him as Millicent had. As his own father had. His father wanted him to become a ruthless beast, like he himself was. Now, he would show the callused duke precisely what that meant. No mercy for anyone…
Chapter One
Trent followed the short, frail looking man who had introduced himself as Boyd, or Boyce, or something Trent did not care to try to remember through the halls of the Benson mansion. He towered over the butler, so he could see the bald spot forming on the top of the man’s head, and he smirked. Even the man’s hair wants nothing to do with him, he thought wryly.
Each footstep echoed on the brilliantly polished marble floor. He had not met many viscounts of incredibly vast wealth. But the gold trimmed dressers and tables, the satin curtains and sparkling gold chandeliers told Trent that Lord Benson’s reputation and fortune was in a class that rivaled his own. He smiled again, albeit dryly, to himself. It appeared that any dealings he had with the viscount would be most profitable. And that was all that Trent cared about.
He was so busy admiring the well-maintained and furnished mansion that he was looking up as he and the butler rounded a corner. He did not see the young woman until his chest was stinging and she lay sprawled out on the ground before him. For a moment, she was nothing but ruffling pink skirts and short gasps, and Trent shook his head, scowling at her. He locked eyes with her, boring into her with icy eyes and a disapproving stare that seemed to render her speechless, even as he waited for an apology for her incompetence and clumsiness.
“Why were you not watching where you were going?” he asked, direct with his irritation and distaste.
The young lady, brushed strands of golden hair out of what he could then see were brilliant, hazel eyes, which were widening as her face turned pink with embarrassment.
The butler knelt down beside her, looking at her with a fatherly concern that made Trent’s stomach churn.
“Are you all right, Miss Arabella?” he asked.
Trent frowned. Arabella? He pondered. Is that not the name of Lord Benson’s eldest daughter? Or am I mistaken?
He watched as the young woman tried to speak. But any words that might have come from her gaping lips were silenced by another booming voice.
“For heaven’s sake, Arabella,” a tall, round man in a well-tailored red suit said, looking at her with a disgust that made even Trent shudder. “Compose yourself and conduct yourself as befits the daughter of a viscount.”
Trent looked away, his earlier thought confirmed. She was, indeed, the eldest daughter of the viscount, who he presumed was the tall man glowering at the woman on the floor.
As if reading Trent’s mind, the man gave him a slight bow.
“Please, excuse my insubordinate daughter,” he said, shooting the young woman a bitter, sideways glance. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Your Grace. My name is Isaac Benson. I do regret that we are meeting under such humiliating circumstances, however. I hope you can forgive my family for this indiscretion.” He turned to his daughter, who was being helped off the floor by a very anxious looking butler. The short man would look at no one, even as his master glared at him.
“Are you sure you are all right?” he asked her again.
The viscount stepped between the smaller man and Miss Arabella, shaking his head with a brow furrowed so deeply that Trent almost felt sorry for the young woman.
“I am sure you are perfectly fine,” he said, addressing his daughter rather than the butler. “You are twenty years old, and far too old to be running through the house like an unruly child. This is utterly mortifying, Arabella. And if your insolence was not bad enough, you embarrass me in front of a duke.”
Trent shivered again, his earlier irritation weakening. He was not thrilled that a young lady had behaved so carelessly, as one of them could have been seriously injured. But as he listened to the Viscount Benson lecture his daughter in front of a perfect stranger, he wished for the encounter to end. Best that it all be forgotten so that they could get back to the business at hand, after all. He would have forgotten all about the woman and the incident in a matter of hours, after all.
Miss Arabella smoothed out her pink shirts, the trembling in her hands evident when she would struggle with a particularly creased pleat. Her shoulders slumped, and Trent suddenly had the impression that he was watching her wilt under the gaze of her disapproving father right before his eyes.
“Well?” the viscount asked as his daughter tried to straighten herself. “What do you have to say for yourself?”
Trent winced. This was hardly a matter to settle in front of any form of company. It was making him more uncomfortable by the moment, and he wished the woman would just leave.
“I beseech your forgiveness, Your Grace,” she said suddenly, with the softest and sweetest voice that Trent had heard in ages. “My actions were most egregious and thoughtless, and I am sincerely contrite.”
Trent nodded curtly. He did not know what to say, so he remained silent. But not other words were necessary, because Miss Arabella gave him a quick curtsey, after which Trent noticed that her cheeks were redder than ever and streaked with tears, then she hurried off, seemingly in a bigger hurry than she had been when she had bumped into him.
For the first time in years, Trent felt a pang of sympathy. The guilt and shame on the young woman’s face, the cringing under the weight of harsh words from a parent and the compounding of what Trent was sure was soul-crushing embarrassment for the woman by her father was something that Trent understood very well. There was clearly no displayed love or affection for the viscount’s children, and it melted some of Trent’s annoyance.
“Forgive me,” the viscount said again once his daughter was out of sight. “That shall not happen again, I assure you. Now, if you would please, follow me.”
Trent gave him a polite smile and a nod.
“Very well,” he said, silently following the viscount. As they walked the remaining distance to the study, Trent forced the brief distraction from his mind. He did not care about the young lady, or about the viscount’s feelings about her careless mistake. All that mattered to him was the business at hand. That was where he put all his focus.
The viscount poured them both drinks, which Trent politely accepted. He sipped delicately during business meetings, until the point at which he and any other man present came to a mutually beneficial arrangement. That day was no exception, despite the residual feelings from the encounter with the eldest Benson daughter. He watched the viscount pull out some papers, rifling through them before handing them to Trent.
“As you can see, there is quite a market here for imported silks,” he said.
Trent flipped through the few pages in his hands, appearing disinterested.
“Naturally,” he said. “All of high society wears the finest silks. But from whence will these silks be imported? What makes them so much more appealing than those currently readily available?”
The viscount grinned, showing Trent an uncanny resemblance to his own father.
“These will be imported from the Far East,” he said, handing Trent another page. “I have already itemized the costs of importation from there, including the payment of any employees who must be hired and those of purchasing the silks in bulk shipments. I also calculated the projected profits, and the rate at which the profits can expect to increase, as well as by what margin, over the next five years.”
Trent nodded, looking at the papers with more care. It seemed that Lord Benson did have a keen mind for business and making money, after all. But what was the trick?
“I see,” Trent said, keeping his voice hard and indifferent, despite the already obvious advantages to the arrangement. “And how would you suggest that we share in these profits?”
The viscount’s expression lit up in a cold, satisfied light.
“Well, naturally, as the head of this arrangement, I am entitled to seventy percent of the base profit,” he said. “Not including my percentage of the profits from the sales in the regions where our silks are being sold.”
Trent snorted, shaking his head. It was true what they said about Lord Benson. He was, indeed, ruthless, as well as cunning. And perhaps, under different circumstances, and with other men, he would be correct in his calculations. But he failed to remember one thing.
“I am a duke,” he said matter-of-factly. “And as a duke, I have far more influence in many industries. Despite your wealth and reputation, my name being involved in this agreement will garner far more interest, many more clients and much more of a profit margin. Thus, I will settle for no less than sixty percent of the base profits, plus forty percent of the sales profits.”
The viscount blanched. Trent knew that he himself had proposed a higher profit margin than he likely deserved. But what he had said about his status and its impacts on the business dealings was true, and the expression on Lord Benson’s face told him that he knew it. However, the viscount would not be so easily deterred.
“However true that may be, I am still entitled to more than half the base profits,” he said. “I am bringing in more business connections than you are.”
Trent smirked again, giving the viscount a patronizing shake of his head.
“That is also false,” he said. “Thus far, you have secured two potential investors. I have secured three in writing, and two more are reviewing the final drafts of the agreement I proposed to them and will be returning it to my attorney by the end of the week.”
Once more, Lord Benson looked defeated. Trent could be as merciless as necessary. But the drooping of the viscount’s eyes told him that testing his wit would not be necessary.
“Very well,” Lord Benson said, nodding. “I agree to your terms. However, I retain the right to renegotiate if I should surpass you in secured connections in the future.”
Trent gave the man a slow smile and nodded. That was next to impossible, he knew. But he was already well ahead in the deal. And the viscount knew that even with his lesser percentage reception, the arrangement would still be exceptionally profitable for his own family, too. Thus, he gave Trent the smile of a satisfied businessman as he refreshed their drinks.
“Now, shall we get to the paperwork drafting?” he asked, raising his glass to toast Trent.
Trent nodded, touching his own drink to the viscount’s.
“We shall,” he said.
As the men outlined their agreed upon terms for the drafting of the document that would eventually seal their business arrangement, Trent’s thoughts wandered back to his encounter with Miss Arabella.
He had initially presumed her to be a frivolous and superficial young lady of the ton, the sort whom he found utterly intolerable.
But in her eyes, he had seen a flicker of warmth and life, something completely opposite from everything he had ever known. Particularly in his world of calculation and soulless business transactions. It was the precise thing he had sworn to avoid after Millicent destroyed his heart. And yet, he could not stop thinking about Miss Arabella.
Hours after reaching their verbal agreement, Lord Benson at last had a draft of the terms prepared. Trent read over each page painstakingly, aware that men who allowed themselves to become complacent in this part of business transactions ended up robbed of earnings or rights that were rightfully theirs. But the viscount, however cunning in his ways of negotiating financial gain, was a man of his word. Every word in the pages precisely matched their spoken terms. Trent folded the papers, tucking them in the pocket of his coat.
“I shall take these to Lawrence, as we agreed before this meeting, and we shall return them to you shortly with our signatures,” he said, offering his hand.
Lord Benson grinned, clearly satisfied with himself and the agreement. He took Trent’s hand, giving it a tentative shake.
“I look forward to working with you, Your Grace,” he said, bowing.
Trent mimicked the bow, giving his new business associate another slow, cold smile.
“As do I, my lord,” he said.
Chapter Two
Arabella leaned against the large window in the drawing room of her family’s home, allowing the cold glass to ease the burning of her cheeks. She had not stopped blushing since she had run, quite literally, into the Duke of Rylingdale. His title rang a bell with her, but she could not quite place how she knew it. But right then, that was the last thing that mattered to her. She had humiliated both her family and herself in front of a duke. And her father, who had returned the embarrassment tenfold with his visible scolding, would not soon allow her to forget it.
She winced as she thought about the lecture that was sure to come later that day. For as harsh as Isaac Benson had been to Arabella in front of a guest, he would hold back no sharp words when he summoned her to his study that evening. She understood that bumping into the duke the way she did was very unladylike, which was against everything her etiquette studies had taught her. But she had not known that her father was expecting company.
And she had not even been running, as he had accused. She was walking quickly to go meet her younger sister in the gardens. Had that truly warranted the lashing she had taken, and the one she knew was coming?
With a groan, she turned to lean her back against the window just in time to see the drawing room door, which she had closed firmly behind her when she sought refuge there after the embarrassment, flew open. Arabelle gasped, darting futilely behind the purple satin curtain. There was a pause, then a light, delightful laugh.
“Sister, what are you doing behind the drapes?” Lydia asked, giggling.
Arabella let out a sigh of relief, pushing aside the curtains and reclaiming her seat.
“You scared me to death, Lydia, that is what,” she said.
Lydia seemed to take great delight in that fact. She laughed again and clapped her hands together before taking up the rest of the daybed sitting beside her older sister.
“I have it on good authority that there appear to be some interesting developments that we can expect this upcoming season,” she said.
Arabella took a deep breath, still trying to steady her racing heart after the fright her sister gave her.
“You are terribly concerned with the season for a young lady who is still two years away from her debut,” she said.
Lydia put her hands on her hips and gave her sister a playfully smug pout.
“Well, if you do not wish to hear what I just heard, I will not tell you,” she said.
Arabella giggled again and nodded.
“All right, Sister,” she said. “I apologise. You may enlighten me on what has caused such a disturbance in your spirits.”
Lydia beamed, scooting so close to her sister that she was nearly in Arbella’s lap. Arabella snickered as her sister looked at her with conspiracy in her eyes.
“I overheard some of the servants talking,” she said in a hushed voice. “It would seem that the Beast himself, the duke of Rylingdale was seen following Father into his study today.”
Arabella felt her cheeks grow pale at the mention of the duke. Now, she knew where she had heard his name before that day. He was referred to as Beast and, while she had heard it had something to do with his business dealings and heartlessness, she did not know anything specific.
It was clear that her sister was enthusiastic, and she could hardly blame her. Their father dealing with a man of such repute was the most exciting thing that had happened in their home in months. But that was the last subject that Arabella wished to discuss right then, not after the spectacle which had taken place involving him. However, as Arabella opened her mouth to explain the humiliation she had endured, the viscountess entered the room. Her eyes found her youngest daughter, setting a firm gaze on the sixteen-year-old.
“Lydia,” Josephine Benson said, her voice even quieter than Lydia’s had been. “I should not need to remind you that it is very unladylike to gossip about your father’s business partners. The Duke of Rylingdale is a crucial associate of your father’s, which means he is crucial to our family’s fortune. You would do well with that.”
The scolding, despite the soft, feminine voice, almost reminded Arabella of the one her father had given her earlier, and she wanted to cower again. But she saw something in her mother’s eyes that gave her pause. Their usually kind and inviting mother looked worried, almost frightened as she lectured them about their gossiping, which was something that, as far as Arabella could recall, had never occurred before. What had happened that caused such discontent and concern with the viscountess?
“I apologise, Mother,” Lydia said, giving their mother a sheepish smile. “It is merely that I was quite overwhelmed with excitement, and—“
“That is enough, Lydia,” the viscountess said with a sharper edge still. Arabella shivered at the ice in their mother’s voice. What was happening that could get such a reaction out of such a typically kind woman?
Dread began to build within Arabella. Since before she was Lydia’s age, she had been aware that some of her father’s business deals were not what one would call completely straightforward. He sometimes made deals with gentlemen with more profit in mind than he told those considering going into partnerships with him, although Arabella did not know exactly why he would do such a thing. And more than once, he had taken up partnerships with gentlemen whose reputations were not as clear as others.
However, to become involved with someone as notorious as the man they called Beast was truly worrying. It made no sense, which rattled Arabella. Had her clumsy lack of decorum forced her father into a partnership that he would regret? What occupied the duke in their mansion that day?
“My apologies, Mother,” Lydia said again.
The viscountess nodded her head, her expression softening.
“Very good,” she said. “Now, tell me, my darlings. What do the two of you think about those new stays?”
Arabella blinked, trying to switch her focus with the sudden shift in conversation topics. It took her a moment to understand what her mother meant.
“They are quite lovely,” she said, giving her mother a tentative smile. “The ones I recently purchased are rather comfortable.”
The viscountess nodded, seeming pleased that she had successfully snuffed out the gossip.
“I can recall wearing corsets at your age,” she said with a grimace. “All my corsets were so terribly uncomfortable. I had a dear friend who could not wear them without fainting. Poor dear missed so many social events due to her condition.”
Lydia furrowed her brow.
“What is a corset, Mother?” she asked.
Arabella giggled at her sister’s naivety.
“They are stays, only tighter and more suffocating,” she said.
The viscountess also laughed, but Arabella noted that there was still an air of tension about her. She said nothing to her mother. But she knew it was related to the duke.
“Yes, darling, they were quite uncomfortable,” she said. “But they were the fashion of my time. I dare say that I shall not miss them, now that we have stays.”
Arabella nodded. She herself had only worn a couple, as stays became in style shortly after she entered her teenage years. But she could appreciate her mother’s sentiment. They were restrictive and painful, and she could hardly believe that she would spend the rest of her days wearing them. She had been incredibly relieved when stays became available in the shops on Bond Street.
“Thank goodness we do not have to wear them now,” Lydia said, looking horrified.
Arabella and their mother laughed.
“Yes,” Arabella said. “It makes attending season events much more enjoyable.”
The viscountess nodded, her eyes truly lighting for the first time since she entered the room.
“Speaking of which, what gatherings do you young ladies think you would care to attend this season?” she inquired.
Lydia gasped.
“May I start attending formal balls?” she asked.
Josephine Benson laughed heartily and shook her head.
“No, my darling,” she said with the genuine merriment to which the sisters were accustomed and helped dispel the dread that Arabella had been feeling. “However, I know that there will be quite a few assemblies, particularly small dances, to be held this season which you could attend. And we can always host small dinner parties here for our family and closest friends, and make dancing the entertainment of the evening.”
The disappointment on Lydia’s face vanished at the promise of a dance.
“Oh, could we, Mother?” she asked. “I would love to go shopping for some new dresses for such occasions.”
The viscountess nodded, giggling once more.
“That sounds delightful, sweetheart,” she said.
As her mother and sister talked, Arabella thought again about the Duke. He had been a cold, callused man, not unlike her father. And yet, she would have sworn that she saw a flicker of something in his eyes as she struggled to get herself off the ground. Had he been concerned beneath his chastisement? Was there a desire to help her that he suppressed?
She shook her head, dismissing the thought. Her first impression of him had been correct, she was sure of it. While he was incredibly handsome, he was as hard and emotionless as the rumors told. She could not entertain any wild notions of the duke having any caring in his heart. And why was she still thinking of such a beastly man, anyway?
***
As the Benson family carriage pulled up in front of the Hamilton townhouse later that evening, Arabella was beside herself. She waited impatiently as her father helped her mother, younger sister and her out of the coach and escorted them to the gray-painted oak front door. The exterior of the townhouse, painted light blue with dark blue trim, was inviting in itself. However, Arabella knew that what awaited inside was even more so. They waited for the butler to answer their knock, then followed him into the dining room. George Hamilton, Josephine Benson’s brother, was already seated at the table, joined by his wife, Violet, and his son, Lucas.
When the Hamilton’s saw the arrival of their family, they all rose from their seats. Violet smiled warmly and embraced both her sister-in-law and Lydia. Lucas’s face lit up and he rushed straight for Arabella.
“Dearest Cousin,” he said, squeezing her tightly as his arms enveloped her. “How I have missed you.”
Arabella reveled in her cousin’s warm embrace. He was the opposite of her father in every way: kind, compassionate, understanding and incredibly protective of her. He loved both Arabella and Lydia. However, as he was closer to Arabella’s age, at one and twenty, he had formed a closer bond with Arabella.
“And I have missed you, Cousin,” she said.
Lucas escorted Lydia and Arabella to their seats, greeting Lydia as warmly as he had greeted Arabella and helping her into her chair. Then, he claimed his seat beside Arabella, smiling brightly at her.
“Tell me, Cousin,” he said. “How have you been of late?”
Arabella smiled warmly at her cousin.
“I have been getting along,” she said. “I do hope to attend some literary salons this Season.”
Lydia chimed in, beaming at her sister.
“Are you not looking forward to attending parties, as I am?” she asked. “There is nothing more elegant than dressing in your finest attire and dancing the evening away.”
Arabella giggled, shaking her head.
“The parties are fun in a way,” she said. “But you know perfectly well that I prefer books and discussions regarding literature.”
The viscount snorted, and Arabella blushed before he even began speaking.
“A young lady in her second season should be thinking of marriage,” he said. His tone was marginally kinder than it was in his own home. However, the words cut just as deeply, as their meaning was just as clear. She nodded, putting her head down.
“Yes, of course, Father,” she said meekly.
The silence that fell on the table was broken by the viscountess.
“We were just discussing Season parties we would like to attend today,” she said brightly.
Arabella’s uncle exchanged glances with his wife, who smiled warmly at both her nieces.
“Lydia, do you have any shopping plans this week?” she asked.
Lydia launched into her excited chatter about the assemblies their mother had mentioned and the dresses she hoped to buy. George Hamilton engaged his brother-in-law in conversation about business. And Lucas nudged Arabella, giving her a reassuring smile.
“Do not let him upset you, not here,” he said. “You are safe to discuss whatever you wish with me. I am always happy to hear what you have to say, sweet Cousin.”
Arabella nodded, giving her cousin a grateful smile.
“Thank you, Lucas,” she said.
The rest of the dinner went flawlessly, and Arabella felt comfortable speaking with Lucas. As ever, he was witty and charming, and he listened to her every word with great interest. He even expressed sympathy when she whispered to him of her incident with the Duke of Rylingdale. She never felt more herself or at home than when she was with her cousin. It was a great relief from the pressure and scolding and expectations that threatened to bury her at home.
As the final course of the meal was served, Lucas leaned in close to Arabella, his expression urgent and filled with concern.
“Please, promise me that no matter what happens, you will not allow yourself to end up in a marriage you do not want,” he said, glancing inconspicuously at his uncle.
Arabella sighed.
“There is nothing more that I want,” she said. “But I fear that Father might have different ideas about my future.”
Lucas shook his head.
“You are a grown woman now,” he declared. “It would be far more prudent for you to remain an unwed lady than to bind yourself to a gentleman incapable of loving you. I hold you in the highest esteem, my dear cousin. Nothing is of greater import to me than your happiness. And surely, that ought to be your utmost priority as well.”
Arabella nodded, giving her cousin another smile.
“It is,” she said. “And I promise that I shall defend my freedom with all my might.”
Lucas smiled at her, though his eyes still held concern.
“Good,” he said, kissing her on the cheek.
That night, as she retired to her bedchambers, she lay in her bed, thinking about what her cousin had said. Of course, she wished for the freedom to choose a marriage for love. However, as much as he loved her, Lucas did not understand that as the eldest daughter of a nobleman, she had a duty to marry well to secure her family’s future.
She could try to be as brave as she pleased if her father tried to force her to marry. But she also understood that she would have no choice, should things come to that point. And her mother, as kind and understanding as she was, was too often overshadowed by her own husband. She would be of no help to Arabella if the viscount chose to force her into a marriage.
With a sigh, she closed her eyes. Sleep likely would not come for a few hours yet. But she knew she needed to settle her mind if she were to prepare for the season ahead. Whatever happened, she knew that there would be some challenges for her. She could not be certain what those challenges might be. But she intended to greet them with confidence and strength.
This Post Has 4 Comments
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Interesting so far
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Enjoyed story so far, will read book in it’s entirety.
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I want to read the rest of the book
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I like this book so far. I look forward to reading more.
This Post Has 4 Comments
Interesting so far
Enjoyed story so far, will read book in it’s entirety.
I want to read the rest of the book
I like this book so far. I look forward to reading more.