Page 7 of A Reckless Courtship (A Chronicle of Misadventures #3)

7

ARABELLA

T here was a knock on the bedroom door just as Arabella’s maid put the finishing touches on her hair the next evening. The door opened, and Felicity’s head peeked in.

“Finished?” she asked.

“Nearly,” Arabella replied. “Am I late?”

“No.” Felicity closed the door behind her and came to sit on Arabella’s bed. She looked particularly beautiful this evening, despite the fact that they were spending it at home.

Arabella thanked and excused her maid, then opened the jewelry box on the dressing table, glancing at its contents. Her mind went to the butterfly bracelet Mr. Hayes had purchased, and she felt a flash of regret and guilt—regret for not accepting it and guilt for seeming ungrateful as a result.

She was simply unaccustomed to navigating interactions with young gentlemen.

“I just spoke with Mama,” Felicity said, “and she informed me that Benedict and the others are joining us for dinner.”

Arabella’s gaze snapped to her cousin’s through the mirror, her heart skipping a beat. “The others?”

“Mr. Drake, Mr. Yorke, and Mr. Hayes, of course. Benedict was complaining about the quality of food from their kitchen the other day, you know, and Mama was so taken with Mr. Yorke and Mr. Hayes yesterday that she sent one of the footmen over with a message inviting them.”

“And they accepted?”

Felicity laughed. “Of course they did.” Her eyes fixed on Arabella’s, her smile perceptive. “You and Mr. Hayes spent a great deal of time conversing at the market yesterday.”

Arabella broke her gaze away and selected a necklace from the box, focusing all her attention on fixing the clasp behind her neck, though it reminded her of doing the same with the bracelet around Mr. Hayes’s wrist. “He was very attentive.”

“And…”

“And kind,” Arabella said, her fingers fumbling with the clasp.

Felicity stood and came up behind Arabella, taking the ends of the necklace and securing it with ease. She smiled at her through the mirror. “Do you fancy him?”

Arabella’s cheeks grew warm, and she turned away, smoothing her skirts. “I hardly know him.”

“That is precisely when one fancies a gentleman, Bella.” Felicity took her by the hands and pulled her up. “There is no shame in it. I am sure I have fancied two dozen men since I first came to London. It makes the Season so much more enjoyable when one can look forward to seeing a particular face at parties and engaging in a bit of flirtation.” She clasped Arabella’s hands more tightly and smiled. “Mr. Hayes seems just the right sort of man for it. Handsome, amusing, easy to converse with.”

“Felicity,” Arabella said, her cheeks burning like a winter fire, “I am not here to pursue courtship.”

“Courtship? We are speaking of harmless flirtation. Or do you mean to say that you feel more for Mr. Hayes?”

“No, no,” Arabella hurried to say, embarrassed at her own naivety. The truth was, she didn’t know how she felt. She simply hadn’t the experience to describe it. She certainly felt an affinity for him, but she could not confidently say anything beyond that. “I merely do not wish for Papa to disapprove of my actions.”

“And he shan’t,” Felicity reassured her. “Your father would not consider Mr. Hayes an eligible prospect as a husband for his treasured eldest daughter, but I imagine Mr. Hayes knows that as well as you and I do. That is when flirtation is safest—when both parties understand that flirtation is all it ever can be. If you come to doubt that with Mr. Hayes, you know it is time to put an end to things.” She shrugged. “It is as easy as that.”

Arabella let out a breath. “As easy as that.”

“Come,” Felicity said. “Let us go downstairs.”

Arabella hardly knew what to hope for as they did so. She did not wish to put an end to things with Mr. Hayes, for she enjoyed his company and found conversation with him interesting and enlivening.

But Felicity was right—Papa would not approve of Mr. Hayes as a marriage prospect. Arabella had been raised with the knowledge that when she married, it would be to a man of Papa’s choice, and that man would be titled or wealthy—likely both. Mr. Hayes was genteel, but he was not titled, and there was nothing to give Arabella to think him possessed of the sort of wealth Papa would expect. Papa had always sought the very best for her, and marriage would be no different.

But did she hope, then, that Mr. Hayes merely saw her as a way to pass the time in Town? As an entertainment, much like Vauxhall or the opera?

Felicity might be content with such a thing, but Arabella found it a lowering prospect.

Perhaps what she wanted was a friend.

And perhaps it was naught but the novelty of having a new one that made her heart skip when Mr. Hayes arrived and then again when he smiled at her and bowed.

Whatever it was, Felicity seemed to have full confidence in Arabella’s ability to manage a flirtation with him, for she arranged it so that he and Arabella were seated beside one another during the meal.

Mr. Hayes assisted Arabella into her chair. “I have been anxious to see you, Miss Easton,” he said as he took the seat beside her.

Her heart flipped. “You have?”

He nodded. “I have come to rely upon you to tell me what I am—a husband, then a liar and a coward—and not having seen you, I had no choice but to continue being a liar and a coward. I find myself eager for a new role, so I trust you will tell me what I am today.” He shook out his wrists and set them on the table.

Something glinted, and Arabella searched for the source until her eyes caught on it: the butterfly pendant, hanging from the chain around Mr. Hayes’s wrist.

Her gaze flicked to his, which was entirely somber, belied only by the barest twinkle in his eye.

Arabella pulled at the fingers of her gloves to remove them. “Happily for you, I know precisely what you are today.”

He shifted toward her with interest. “And what, pray, is that?”

She set her gloves on her lap and met his eye. “An incorrigible tease.”

The edge of his mouth quirked up. “I think you will find me quite corrigible.”

Their conversation was interrupted by the placing of the food on the table, and Arabella’s mind was caught up trying to determine what Mr. Hayes’s intentions were. He certainly enjoyed teasing her, which seemed to confirm Felicity’s assertion that it was entertainment he sought.

Arabella disliked the way the thought bothered her.

“Take care,” Arabella said as he served her a helping of green beans, “or you will sully your bracelet.”

“It is not my bracelet,” he said. “It is yours. I am merely caring for it until you wish for it.”

She admired the piece of jewelry, which she liked even better than she had remembered. It was uncanny how well it matched her masquerade costume.

“Are you still pleased with your purchases from the market?” he asked.

“Quite,” she said, leaving thoughts of the bracelet aside. “I have begun working on the designs.”

“You design your own gowns?” he asked.

“I have done so for years.”

“Did you design that one?” He indicated the dress she was wearing with a nod. It was made of silk—a dusky rose with small pearls adorning the neckline and matching the earrings and necklace she wore.

“I did.”

His eyes ran over the dress, patent admiration in them. “You have considerable talent, Miss Easton.”

A flush of pleasure coursed through her, warming her cheeks and her chest. “Thank you. It is easy to make beautiful garments with beautiful fabrics, and I have been fortunate to have had access all my life.”

“And how comes that to be?”

“My father deals in textile imports.”

His brows rose. “And do you guide him in this endeavor?” He asked the question as though it was the most natural thing in the world that a daughter would advise her father on such matters. She doubted Papa would agree. He did not solicit her opinion—indeed, he rarely spoke to her regarding matters of business.

“Given the keen eye you have for fashion,” he clarified after her silence, “it would seem a great waste of talent if you did not.”

“That is kind of you.” She hesitated, glancing at him from the corner of her eye as she stabbed a green bean on the outer point of her fork. She had never spoken the desire she harbored, but given what Mr. Hayes had just said, he seemed a safe recipient of her confession. “I have often thought it would be enjoyable to curate the pieces on display in the shop Papa owns.”

“And what is preventing you from doing so?”

She searched his face, then turned back to her food. “Papa would not approve.”

Mr. Hayes watched her for a moment. “Have you put the question to him?”

“No,” she admitted.

He returned to cutting his potatoes. “Perhaps you should. Life is too short to let important questions remain unasked.”

Important questions . He thought her desire to curate the window display of Papa’s shop important. Not silly or improper.

Papa was a talented businessman, and he had his hand in many a pie, but he was also conscious of what was owed his dignity, which meant that some of those endeavors—the shop, for instance—required a certain degree of distance to avoid sullying the family name.

But it was not as though Arabella wished to work in the shop herself. She would simply design the window display. What harm was there in that?

“Is that a bracelet you are wearing, Mr. Hayes?” Felicity craned her neck for a better view.

Arabella’s eyes widened, but Mr. Hayes lifted his wrist without the least bit of embarrassment. “It is. It belongs to a friend.”

Heat crept up Arabella’s neck, and she forced her gaze to her food.

Felicity squinted and leaned forward for a better view. “It is a butterfly! It is very beautiful. Do you not agree, Bella?”

The pointed question was not lost upon her, and Arabella glanced reluctantly at the bracelet. “It is very pretty.” She turned to Mr. Drake on the other side of her, leaving Mr. Hayes to speak with her aunt.

The conversation with Mr. Hayes lingered in her mind as she spoke with Mr. Drake on her left. What would Papa say if she asked to curate the window display?

He would refuse, she was nearly certain.

But what if he did not? Papa wanted her to be happy. He had always given her everything he could—everything within reason. Mama’s death had made him overly anxious about anything that might put his daughters or their reputations in danger. But what if she convinced him there was no danger?

Sometimes, she wondered if he continued to see her as but fourteen. Perhaps his decision to allow her to come to London was evidence that he was growing more open and realizing she had left behind her schoolroom days.

If she never asked about the window display, she would always wonder.

Mr. Hayes did not tease Arabella again with the bracelet, engaging her in polite conversation and seeing to it that her plate always had what she desired until the women left to the drawing room.

Aunt Louisa went to fetch her knitting, and Felicity waited until the door was closed before coming over to Arabella.

“I saw that butterfly pendant at the market yesterday,” she said excitedly. “He bought it for you, didn’t he? You are the friend he spoke of.”

“He only wishes to tease me,” Arabella said.

“Then you should tease him back,” Felicity said. “That is the art of flirtation, Bella, and when it is done right, it is simply delicious. Take Mr. Drake, for example. I am already impatient for the men to rejoin us to continue our conversation. Not that I shall let him know I am impatient, for that would entirely destroy the fun.”

Arabella frowned. “What shall you do?”

Felicity shrugged a shoulder, her face full of happy mischief. “Ignore him for a time. Converse with Mr. Yorke, perhaps, to elicit a bit of jealousy.”

Arabella could barely wrap her mind around such stratagems, much less execute them herself. Besides, she was hardly certain what she wanted from Mr. Hayes. It was strange for her to feel so na?ve and uncertain, for at home, she was the eldest, and Mary and Catherine looked to her for instruction and wisdom.

Aunt Louisa returned presently, eager to discuss their guests. She was quite taken with all three of them, deeming Mr. Yorke an able conversationalist acquainted with all the most important names in the Commons , Mr. Drake charming and handsome but a suspected fortune hunter Felicity and Arabella were not on any account to fall in love with , and Mr. Hayes an engaging and attentive gentleman who had the misfortune of being terribly obscure .

“What did you think of Mr. Hayes’s bracelet, Mama?” Felicity asked with a glance at Arabella.

“I thought it strange,” Aunt Louisa replied. “I do not think I have ever seen a man wear a bracelet.”

“And had you any other thoughts about it?” Felicity asked, a hint of amused impatience in her voice.

“It was pretty,” her mother responded.

“And do you have any guesses as to the identity of the friend to whom it belongs?”

Arabella shot her cousin a look.

Aunt Louisa’s mouth turned down at the edges. “How should I? I barely know the man, much less whom he claims as friends.”

“Did it not remind you forcibly of Bella’s masquerade costume?” Felicity urged.

Aunt Louisa looked up from her knitting, her gaze settling on Arabella for a moment. It shifted to her daughter. “Say what you mean, dear.”

“What I mean is that Bella has her first admirer.”

“You exaggerate, Felicity,” Arabella said, her cheeks warming.

Aunt Louisa’s knitting resumed. “She is bound to gain any number of admirers. You shan’t let your head be turned by them, though, will you, child?”

“No, Aunt,” Arabella assured her.

Perhaps Mr. Drake felt a similar impatience as Felicity, for the men did not linger over their port for long. True to her plan, Felicity paid him no heed, but contrary to that plan, it was Mr. Hayes she engaged in conversation rather than Mr. Yorke.

Arabella’s heart pricked with jealousy, which she snuffed out like a candle by speaking with Mr. Drake.

For her part, she could not understand why Aunt Louisa suspected him to be a fortune hunter. The designation had always brought to mind the image of a man with a devious grin and calculating eyes. Mr. Drake, on the other hand, had pretty manners, a ready smile, and seemed harmless enough. But perhaps this was yet another example of Arabella’s lack of experience.

When Aunt Louisa rang the bell for tea, Arabella found herself seated next to Mr. Hayes again. Whether it was happenstance or something he had orchestrated, she did not know, but she was glad for it. Of all the people in the room, it was he she most enjoyed conversing with, and despite the amount of time they had spent together at Covent Garden yesterday, she had unfinished business with him.

“I have been meaning to thank you, Mr. Hayes,” she said, stirring her tea.

“Have you?”

“Yes. For coming to my aid at Vauxhall.”

His eyes flitted to hers. “It was my pleasure, Miss Easton.”

She ignored the rhythmic pattering of her heart. “I also owe you an apology for being so reluctant to accept your help.”

“You were being careful. I do not fault you for that. For what it is worth, though, I feel you would have managed well enough without me.”

She smiled ruefully. “I am not so certain of that.”

“And I respectfully disagree. You proved yourself capable of defending yourself.”

Her brow furrowed as she thought back on that night. “When did I do such a thing?”

He chuckled. “Do you not remember when you struck my arm?”

She winced. She had forgotten when she had smacked his arm while chiding him for leaving his wife in the maze. In retrospect, it had likely been unnecessary, but there had been no time for thinking through her actions in the moment.

He smiled, and it was she who was struck now by the utter charm of it. “Do not worry your head,” he said. “I am sure I deserved it.”

She spun her teacup absently on its saucer. “I am becoming acutely aware of how life in the country has ill-equipped me for London Society.”

He regarded her keenly. “You have good instincts, Miss Easton. You should trust them.”

She raised a brow. “What of the instinct that led me to refuse your help?”

He smiled. “Let us think rather on the one that led you to trust me.” His eyes held hers thoughtfully. “I would never hurt you, you know.”

The feelings that swirled in Arabella’s chest were so entirely novel and unfamiliar that it took her a moment to pull her eyes away. She cleared her throat. “And what of you? You hail from Devon, I believe.”

“I do.”

“And did you travel all this way alone?”

He looked at her for a moment, then his gaze dropped to his tea, and a slight frown appeared on his brow. “Yes. My parents dislike Town. My father needed business transacted and sent me in his place.”

“Business,” she repeated. “What sort?”

“Investments. He dislikes the hustle and bustle of Town, but he does not dislike the opportunities it provides for his pocketbook.”

Arabella smiled, and a thought occurred to her. “My father is always looking for investors. Perhaps I could arrange for you to meet—if it is of interest to you and your father, of course.”

His eyes warmed with gratitude. “Certainly. That is a kind offer.”

“He should be in Town soon. Tomorrow or the next day, I expect. Perhaps Mr. Fairchild can help us arrange a meeting.”

“I shall persuade him to do just that.”

Mr. Yorke came up beside Mr. Hayes. “We should be going, Hayes. I promised Lady Broughton I would make an appearance tonight, and it is growing late.”

Mr. Hayes nodded and rose from his chair. “I am being whisked away, Miss Easton, so I must bid you goodnight. I shall await word from you, though—or Fairchild will await it, rather.”

“I will send it as soon as I can.”

He bowed, then went to thank and bid farewell to Aunt Louisa and Felicity.

Arabella’s gaze was drawn to him again and again—his smile and the ease with which he made others smile. When the four men left the drawing room, she was conscious of a sense of disappointment—emptiness, even.

Felicity went over to the window that looked over the street.

Arabella hesitated a moment, then allowed her curiosity to win and joined her cousin as the front door shut. The four men had come on foot and could be seen in the light of the gas lamp in front of the house, buttoning their coats and donning their top hats.

Her eyes fixed on Mr. Hayes as he said something that elicited a laugh from Mr. Drake, and she wished she knew what he had said.

A carriage rolled to a stop in front of the house just as the men began their walk away.

“Are we expecting anyone, Mama?” Felicity asked.

Aunt Louisa laughed. “I certainly hope not! Who on earth should we expect at this hour?”

Arabella squinted and drew her face nearer the window glass until the crest on the chaise became clearer. “It is Papa.”

The postilion opened the carriage door, and sure enough, Papa stepped down, wearing his brown traveling greatcoat.

“We do not expect him for another two days, though.” There was a hint of panic in Aunt Louisa’s voice as she stood and made her way to the window.

“It is too bad the men just left,” Arabella said, thinking of her promise to introduce Mr. Hayes to Papa. Not that she minded having a reason to see him again soon.

“Indeed,” Aunt Louisa said, though she did not sound confident in her agreement.

Two minutes later, Papa strode through the door of the drawing room, and Arabella went over to him. Much as she was enjoying London, there was something about having him here that brought a sense of home. If only Mary and Catherine could have been here, her joy would have been complete.

Papa wrapped her in his arms and kissed her upon the head.

Arabella breathed in his familiar scent. “We did not expect you so soon.”

“My business was transacted more quickly than I anticipated, so I thought I would surprise you. Have I done so?”

She pulled back and looked at him with a smile. “You might have done so more successfully had we not been at the window already.”

His brows went up. “Because you were expecting me?”

“We had guests,” Arabella said. “They left just as you arrived.”

“My nephew,” Aunt Louisa explained quickly.

“And a few of his friends,” Felicity added.

Aunt Louisa gave a forced laugh. “Only listen to us keeping you when you are undoubtedly exhausted from your journey. You must be hungry.”

“I am,” Papa replied. “But I shan’t force you and Felicity to linger when you have other things you wish to do. Arabella, on the other hand”—he smiled at her—“I would like to join me.”

The servants were instructed to prepare something for Papa, and Arabella returned to the dining room with him. She felt the impulse to show him the way, only to remember that he knew this townhouse better than she, for it was his. She had come to think of it as Aunt Louisa’s, for that was the only way Arabella had known it—with her aunt giving orders.

None of the staff had been familiar to Arabella upon arrival, but Papa addressed the footman who served him by name. It was strange to see him so at home in a place that had been foreign to her just a week ago. How many times had he sat at this table and walked these streets? She was accustomed to their life at Wetley, to thinking of it as both of their homes, but Papa spent nearly as much time here and at his estate on the outskirts of Town as he did at Wetley.

The realization sat strangely with her, making her own world, her own life, feel small and…inaccurate.

“Now,” Papa said, settling into his seat and picking up his utensils, “tell me about your time in Town.”

And so she did. While he ate a hearty dinner, she told him the places they had gone and the people she had met who had seemed so thrilled to make her acquaintance when they discovered she was his daughter.

“Most of them seemed not to know you had children,” she said, stealing a glance at him as she fiddled with the tablecloth. The surprise so many had shown was another thing that had sat strangely with her.

“I have not spoken freely of you or Mary or Catherine,” he said. “I do not care to have your names bandied about amongst the ton .”

“Ah,” she said, a weight lifting from her shoulders. He was always acting with the interests of her and her sisters at heart, even when it sometimes seemed like his protective measures were excessive.

The furrow on his brow when she mentioned Vauxhall was enough to keep her from going into more detail about the night. She had no wish to lie to him, but neither did she desire to cause trouble for Aunt Louisa.

“And what of these guests Louisa mentioned?” Papa asked.

“One is Mr. Fairchild—Aunt Louisa’s nephew, you know—and the others are his friends—the gentlemen he lives with.”

“Ah.” His expression was concealed as he looked down at the food on his plate, so she could not ascertain what he thought of this.

“Speaking of which,” she said, “I offered to introduce you to one of them—Mr. Hayes—for he is in Town on business and searching for investment opportunities. What is more, he has experience investing in the textile industry.”

Papa’s brows went up as he chewed, a look of casual interest in his eyes.

“Now that you have come to Town early,” she said, “you could accompany us to Lord Woodrow’s party, and I could introduce him to you.”

“I am agreeable, though that reminds me that I have some unwelcome news.”

Her heart sank, her mind flitting immediately to the possibility that they would have to return to Wetley.

He grimaced and took her hand, squeezing it. “I must go to Dover next week. Not for long, of course, but it is inevitable, I fear.”

She tried to conceal her relief. She would rather he be in Town with her, of course, but having him leave again for a few days was far preferable to their leaving London entirely.

She offered a bracing smile. “We shall manage our best without you, but do not stay away longer than you must.”

“Of course not. Duty will bring me back as swiftly as I may return, for I have both paternal and parliamentary duties here.” He broke his hand away to pick up his fork again, and only the light clanking of his silverware on the china filled the room.

Life is too short to let important questions remain unasked.

Arabella’s stomach tightened with nerves, but Papa seemed to be in a good humor at the moment. Now was as good a time as any, surely.

“Papa.”

“Hm?” He gestured for the salt, and she handed it to him.

“Now that I have been in Town a bit and seen its fashions firsthand, I wondered if you would ever entertain the notion of my designing the window display in Burlington Arcade.”

His gaze swept to hers.

“I have received more compliments on my attire than I can count,” she hurried to say. “Aunt Louisa took us to see the shop last week, and the current display is well enough, but it could be so much more! I am certain I could help.”

Papa regarded her for a moment, and she met his gaze, unable to hide the hope in her face.

“Would it not be beneficial for you to have the inventory sell more quickly, making way for new fabrics?” she asked.

The edge of his lip tilted upward, and he smiled at her. “A persuasive argument.”

The hope within her bloomed. “If it proved to be unsuccessful, I would not press you further.”

He kept his eyes on her for what seemed like an age. “Very well.”

She grasped his hand impulsively.

“Provided”—he held up his other hand to check her enthusiasm—“everything goes well for the next few weeks.”

Arabella nodded, eager to show she understood what was expected of her.

“Acquit yourself well, as I know you shall—heed your aunt, be a credit to the Easton name—and you will be rewarded with this wish of yours.”

“Thank you, Papa. I promise you I shan’t give you any cause for concern or any reason to worry.”

She embraced him again, her mind already teeming with ideas for the display.