Page 2 of A Reckless Courtship (A Chronicle of Misadventures #3)

2

ARABELLA

“ C ome, sit down, Aunt.” Arabella Easton gently guided Aunt Louisa to a chair at the tables under the colonnade, watching her nurse her ankle with a gentle hand.

Arabella’s eyes darted to the multitude of people passing by, each attired in a domino and mask. The astounding variety of fabrics on display pulled at her like a magnet, but she forced her focus back to her aunt. “Perhaps we should not have come.”

“No, no, no.” Aunt Louisa waved away her niece’s concerns even as she winced. She had twisted her ankle on a loose stone on the way in and was finding it difficult to walk. “I shall be well directly. The true tragedy would be if no one was permitted to see that marvelous creation of yours.”

Arabella ran a hand down the velvety fabric of her indigo domino, underneath which was a satin emerald dress. “I would much rather your ankle be seen to properly.” She had spent a great deal of time embroidering the domino and making the mask, but she took such joy in the creation that it was no trial for them not to be seen—or at least not too great a trial.

“It truly is a wonder,” her cousin Felicity said, admiring Arabella’s ensemble. “How on earth did you devise such an idea?”

Arabella touched her mask, and her fingers brushed the beads and sequins that lined the wings. She had created it in the shape of a butterfly, and the wings extended well past her cheeks. “That is one advantage of living in the country year-round, I suppose. I have had a great deal of time to imagine up any number of silly things. Can I fetch anything for you, Aunt?” Her gaze caught on a man walking past on stilts, towering over them. She had seen pictures of such things in books, but to witness it in person was something else entirely.

“Oh, no, child,” Aunt Louisa said. “Benedict has that well in hand.”

And indeed, just then, Mr. Benedict Fairchild came hurrying up with a drink, which he gave to his aunt. He was related via her husband, making him no relation at all of Arabella’s, whose mother had been Aunt Louisa’s sister. But it was Mr. Fairchild’s willingness to attend the masquerade that had made Aunt Louisa relent to Felicity’s pleas to come.

“Ah,” Aunt Louisa said after taking a drink. “Much improved already.” But as she adjusted her foot, there was a flinch in her smile.

Felicity was trying valiantly not to look disappointed at the unfortunate turn of events. Arabella sympathized, for she herself was full of tingling anticipation to see more of Vauxhall Gardens. Not only had she never been to a masquerade, but she had never been to any public party—and certainly not one in London.

“Perhaps you and your cousin could take a stroll, Felicity?” Arabella suggested. “I will gladly sit with my aunt.”

“I won’t hear of it,” Aunt Louisa said firmly. “I need no chaperone. Felicity, on the other hand…” She cocked a brow at her daughter, then looked at Arabella again. “Go on with them, my dear. I shall be quite comfortable here. Ah! Only look. There is Mrs. Gilbert. She will sit with me a while.”

“Are you certain?” Arabella felt a twinge of guilt, not just for abandoning her injured aunt but because she was not sure Papa would approve of her wandering here without her chaperone. But if the alternative was not to see any of Vauxhall, there was no question what she would do. She had made her domino and mask without a real prospect of putting them to use, and now that she had just such an opportunity, she was eager to make use of it.

For years, all she had wanted was to see London, and finally, she was here. Now that she was, she was torn between a desire to see and experience every bit she could and the weight of being a model of decorum, as Papa expected. If she was not, there was no chance at all he would agree to any of her future requests.

“I am perfectly certain.” Aunt Louisa smiled kindly and stretched out a hand to Arabella, who took it. She did not release Arabella after squeezing it, however. Gentle but firm, it summoned Arabella closer. “You will help look after Felicity, will you not?” her aunt said in an undervoice.

“Of course.”

She patted Arabella’s hand. “I know I may trust you.” Her eyes searched Arabella’s, brimming with sympathy. “You deserve a bit of freedom after being kept in that out-of-the-way estate all these years. But for heaven’s sake, do not do anything that will land me in a scrape with your father.”

“You may rely upon me, Aunt.” Arabella gently pulled at her hand, for Felicity and Mr. Fairchild were waiting. Now that she was confident her aunt would not be alone, her curiosity was waxing.

“Wait a moment,” her aunt said, still not releasing her hand. “I would be remiss not to warn you, child, before you delve deeper into the gardens.”

Arabella’s brows went up. “Warn me?”

“On no account must you or Felicity be alone. Do you understand? Men behave like common pigs in places like this. If you are not with a chaperone, they lose all sense of decorum. It is the most unaccountable thing. The number of kisses that have been stolen here, the number of reputations ruined…” She shook her head, eyes wide with significance. “It is truly shocking. And do not be fooled by pretended chivalry. More than one woman has been lulled into a false sense of security by a prettily behaved man, only to have her reputation in shreds when she leaves. And for heaven’s sake, do not venture into the Dark Walks!”

Arabella nodded quickly. She had no notion what the Dark Walks were, but the name was enough to keep her away. “I shall take every care. Of Felicity too.”

Aunt Louisa’s shoulders relaxed, and she smiled. “Thank you, my dear. Now, go and enjoy yourself.” She beckoned again to the woman nearby, and Mrs. Gilbert came to join her.

“Poor Mama,” Felicity said, looking over her shoulder as they walked toward the Rotunda. “She will enjoy herself with Mrs. Gilbert, though. Do you know they had their first Season together? Mama will be enjoyably occupied.”

“And you free to run loose?” Mr. Fairchild quipped.

“Hardly,” Felicity said. “Though, to be sure, without her, we are likely to have a bit more fun. I am determined you shall have a proper Vauxhall experience, Bella.”

Mr. Fairchild snorted.

Felicity looked up at him. “What?”

He cleared his throat and controlled his expression. “Nothing. Only that I am not convinced such a thing exists as a proper Vauxhall experience. People come here to be im proper.”

Felicity jabbed him with an elbow. “You mustn’t shock Bella, Benedict. She has never been anywhere like this.”

That was true enough. Arabella’s experience of the world beyond her own home had been confined to a few local assemblies and two town journeys with Papa. He had always refused her pleas to accompany him to London but had finally agreed for her to join him in Manchester.

Her desire to see London had suffered a shock as a result of the visit, so full was Manchester of thick smoke, loud machines, and people in poverty the likes of which she had never imagined.

When Aunt Louisa had invited Arabella to join Felicity and her, Arabella had nearly refused. Thank heaven she had not—and that Papa had relented as well, going so far as to invite Aunt Louisa and Felicity to make use of his townhouse. Arabella had only been in London three days, but so far, it was nothing like Manchester.

“Have I shocked you, Miss Easton?” Mr. Fairchild asked.

Arabella shook her head. “I was warned.”

“Warned of what precisely?” Felicity asked.

“Excusing your presence, Mr. Fairchild, your mother warned me against the men here, particularly if I were to be found alone, which I have promised not to be, at risk of leaving with no reputation.”

Felicity laughed. “Quite rich of Mama to say such things! She was very wild in her day, you know. I found an old letter—from Mrs. Gilbert, in fact—about a kiss between Mama and the son of a nabob. Besides, what is life without a bit of risk?”

“Here, here,” Mr. Fairchild agreed.

Arabella’s eyes roved to the statues they were passing on the left. She considered asking to go see them but decided against it. She could not stop to admire every thing that caught her interest, or they would be here for weeks. She had no desire to betray her ignorance of all things ton , either, so she would allow herself to be guided by Felicity.

“And,” Felicity said, emboldened by her cousin’s agreement, “how many young women have managed to amuse themselves a bit at Vauxhall—to flirt or perhaps even steal a kiss— without damaging their reputations? Far more, I would wager, then have left with their reputations in tatters. Mama is simply afraid of your father, Bella.”

“Afraid of him?” Arabella asked, her curiosity roused. “Why?”

“He is so very strict. Mama has always thought it terribly wrong for you to be kept so far from Society all these years. It has made you quite old for your first foray.”

Arabella felt a flash of defensiveness on Papa’s behalf and, beneath it, a sliver of vexation at being called old. Felicity was but two years younger than Arabella’s two-and-twenty. Felicity had been in London the two Seasons before this one, though. She was not wide-eyed and agog at every corner and stretch of Vauxhall. Indeed, she barely seemed to heed it.

“What you perceive as strictness,” Arabella said, “is merely a wish to keep me safe. I assure you, I have everything I desire at Wetley—and more.”

It was mostly true. Papa spoiled her and her two younger sisters, providing them with the best of everything: tutors, books, horses, food, clothing. Wetley Abbey itself was grand and sprawling, with trails and gardens aplenty. Its library was the most expansive in Staffordshire.

But Arabella had lost count of the number of times she had asked to come to London.

Papa had always refused, and she had felt a wretch for being dissatisfied with the beautiful life she had at Wetley. Arabella had sworn to herself that she would prove she could be trusted to make wise decisions and not give him cause for concern while in London. She might have lived a sheltered life, but her education and upbringing had equipped her well.

Silence followed her attempt to defend Papa and reassure Felicity she had not been living a life of depravation—even if Arabella had sometimes secretly felt that way. No one understood how deeply Mama’s untimely death had affected Papa or how much assistance he had required with Arabella’s sisters, Mary and Catherine. She had become somewhat of a mother figure to them, for even now they were only eight and eleven.

Their progress down the wide, lantern-strewn path was soon halted when Mr. Fairchild came upon friends. Arabella and Felicity were introduced to Mr. Frederick Yorke and Mr. Sebastian Drake, whom Arabella gauged to be somewhere between five-and-twenty and thirty years of age.

Mr. Yorke, a handsome young man with an amiable smile and confident demeanor, took the place beside Arabella as the group turned into the winding paths that would lead, according to Mr. Drake, to the much-lauded Cascade, a waterfall in the middle of the gardens.

“Are you enjoying London, Miss Easton?” Mr. Yorke inquired.

“Yes,” Arabella replied. “I have only been here a few days, but it is a welcome change from the countryside.” She stole a glance at him beside her, and only now did she realize how few men near her own age she knew. Papa’s guests were generally twice Mr. Yorke’s age.

“There is much to be said for the country,” Mr. Yorke said, “but I admit that, for me, there is nothing like the tumult of London. It is ever-changing, full of opportunity.”

Arabella was inclined to agree with him. London had an energy she had never experienced and was eager to explore.

The path continued to wind, and Felicity’s laughter filled the cool night air. She and Mr. Drake seemed to be getting on very well.

“Are you certain this is the way, Drake?” Mr. Yorke asked.

“Of course I am,” Mr. Drake replied genially. “Been here a hundred times.”

“A hundred?” Felicity repeated incredulously.

“Very well. Five, then.”

“I have been here just as often,” Mr. Yorke said, “and I am quite certain we took a wrong turn.”

“Are you?” Mr. Drake stopped and faced Arabella and him. “Shall we test your theory?”

Mr. Yorke looked at him skeptically. “Test it how?”

Mr. Drake shrugged. “Some of us go your way, the others go mine. We see who arrives at the Cascade first.”

Mr. Yorke put out a hand. “Done.”

Arabella listened with a hint of unease. Did they intend to send her with Mr. Yorke, and Felicity with Mr. Drake? It would doubly violate her promise to Aunt Louisa, for it would separate her from Felicity and put one of them alone with a gentleman—and the other alone with two.

Was two better than one?

Not that any of these men seemed dangerous, but Aunt Louisa had not qualified her warning against the opposite sex. Indeed, she had been very clear that even chivalry was to be regarded with a wary eye.

“Shall we prove Yorke wrong, Miss Fairchild?” Mr. Drake asked Felicity.

“Oh, yes! By all means.”

“Yes, indeed,” Arabella added, taking a step closer to them and away from Mr. Yorke.

Mr. Drake looked at her for a moment, then smiled. “We could use your impeccable sense of direction, Miss Easton.”

Arabella had no such thing. In fact, more than once, she had spent an hour in Wetley’s labyrinth precisely because she could not remember her way out, but she would not admit as much, and she was soon walking with her cousin and Mr. Drake.

Mr. Yorke and Mr. Fairchild followed behind for a bit, debating between them which direction to take.

The sound of the music from the Rotunda grew faint as Mr. Drake recounted a story to Felicity just steps ahead of Arabella. She glanced over her shoulder as they turned to the left and was surprised to find Mr. Yorke and Mr. Fairchild gone. Had they turned back in the opposite direction?

“Perhaps we should run,” Felicity said to Mr. Drake in a conspiratorial voice. “Then we are sure to arrive at the Cascade first. Come, Bella!”

Arabella turned her gaze ahead again only to find her dress had snagged on an errant branch from the nearest hedge.

“Drat.” She stooped to free herself. The nearest lantern was behind her, causing her own shadow to obscure the entanglement. It was inconceivable to her how a quick snag could possibly result in such a tangle of thread and twig. “Just a moment.”

Silence met this request, and she looked up.

Felicity was not there. Nor could she hear her laughter.

Arabella’s heart began to race, her fingers working quickly at the snag—too quickly, it seemed, for her efforts to free herself became more complicated still.

“Felicity!” she called, ignoring the guidance of her old governess, who had forbidden her to raise her voice. She had also forbidden her to be alone in public places, so Arabella had no choice but to violate one of the woman’s maxims.

The twig began to loosen its grip, and Arabella looked up again, hoping her cousin would have remarked her absence by now and returned to find her.

But there was no one.

She lowered her head, but something prevented it.

“Drat again .” It was her mask which had now caught on a branch.

Should she remove the mask and leave it hanging from the shrubbery?

The thought pained her deeply, for she had spent hours sewing on the beads.

“Might I be of assistance, ma’am?” asked a voice from somewhere behind her.

Arabella’s eyes widened as the man’s footsteps drew nearer. She might as well have been a hare before the hounds, for she could not escape—not without ripping her dress and her mask.

But the alternative risk was equally terrifying.

Men behave like common pigs in places like this . That was what Aunt Louisa had said.

Her eyes watched as the hem of a domino swept into view. Her attention fixed on it for a moment, for it was unlike any domino she had seen this evening. Rather than the taffetas and satins she had encountered, this one was of fine and heavy black brocade. The starkness of the garment, however, was countered by the glint of gold thread that had been used to embroider an intricate design all over.

The man came before her and stooped, allowing her a view of his face, which was illuminated by the lamp behind her. A black mask covered his eyes and nose, accentuating the lighter color of his eyes.

His lips spread to reveal a handsome smile. “This butterfly chose an unfortunate place to land, it would seem. No matter. She will spread her wings soon enough.” His hands rose toward her mask, the weighty brocade of his domino slipping back over his arm.

Do not be fooled by their pretended chivalry .

“No,” she said.

His hands paused in mid-air, his gaze fixing on her intently and his smile diminishing.

“I can manage,” she said more calmly, her cheeks warming at the violence of her interjection. She must maintain her composure.

The man’s brows rose and his eyes shifted to her mask, then to her fingers fumbling with her hem.

“I can manage,” she repeated, trying to keep her voice calm but firm. Did pigs respond to calmness or firmness?

His smile returned, and Arabella found herself a bit breathless as their gazes locked. He was certainly a beautiful pig, and he smelled not of the sty but of some heady and exotic scent, reminding her of some of the spices in the still room at Wetley.

“An enterprising butterfly, then.” He looked at her another moment, then rose. “Very well.”

Her fingers finally broke the dress free, and she set to the mask as the man’s footsteps receded then stopped.

“When I see Fairchild, I shall inform him his cousin is safe.”

Arabella’s gaze whipped to him, and she caught a last glimpse of his smile before the black domino swept around the next corner.

He was acquainted with Mr. Fairchild? Apparently, well enough to know he had a cousin here tonight—but not to know that cousin by appearance.

Her fingers worked at the mask and finally, with a snap of a string, she was free. A few beads dropped to the dirt path, but she disregarded them, picking up her skirts and hurrying after Felicity. She would mend the mask later.

She was soon faced with a fork in the path, however, and was forced to stop to consider which way to go. If only she had the impeccable sense of direction Mr. Drake had attributed to her.

Nearby laughter caught her attention, and her heart leapt until she realized it was coming from behind, from the path she had just traversed. It grew louder, along with footsteps—shuffling, uneven ones. They certainly belonged to more than one person. Male persons, based on the laughter. And they were singing—or trying to, at least. The song was almost unintelligible, so garbled were the voices and so off-key was the crooning.

Panic bloomed in Arabella’s chest just as two drunken men turned the corner. They slowed at the sight of her, their lazy gazes becoming more fixed.

“Now, who’s this pretty little thing?” one of them said, his speech slurred. The string of his mask had slipped below one of his ears, making the mask sit lopsided on his face. He could only see out of one eye, but this did not seem to bother him.

“Let me have a closer look,” said the other, and he stumbled toward her.

She drew back, and he smiled, revealing a mouth full of discolored teeth.

“A shy one,” he said to his friend.

“My favorite kind,” was the other’s response.

Arabella did not hesitate a moment longer, whirling around and taking the path on the right at a run.

Behind her, the men laughed, and quick, uneven footsteps informed her that they were following.

The black domino with gold embroidery came around the corner ahead, then stopped short at the sight of her running toward him just as the two men came hobbling around the corner behind her.

If you are not with a chaperone, they lose all sense of decorum .

Arabella’s hesitation lasted but a moment. Compared to the pigs behind her, this man who knew Mr. Fairchild was a veritable savior.

She ran headlong into his arms.