Devil of a Duke by Kathleen Ayers
22
“Lady Arabella! Over here!”
Rowan turned as he heard the name, immediately searching the crowds that roamed Bond Street for a glimpse of that cantankerous female.
“Rowan! Do watch yourself. You almost stepped in a puddle.” Lady Mary Marsh frowned at her son. “You'll ruin those boots.”
“Sorry.” He scanned the crowd and finally spied her, looking like a sparrow in a group of brightly colored birds. As usual, Arabella was clothed in a variation of dull, muted brown, which failed to hide her stern beauty. She was engaged in a somewhat animated conversation with a plump, older woman and a young man. Rowan’s eyes narrowed as he took in the gentleman who politely nodded and brought Arabella’s gloved hand to his lips. He didn’t look familiar, nor did the woman.
“Oh look at these lovely confections.” Lady Mary clapped her hands at the hats displayed in the milliner's window.
Rowan gave his mother a weak smile. His cousin's wedding to the Duke of Dunbar would be taking place within a fortnight, and Lady Mary had no wish to look provincial. She’d spent a small fortune on her gown and had now turned her attention to a hat befitting the aunt of a duchess. His attention returned to Arabella.
Arabella stepped back from the pair and shook her head in refusal. The woman took Arabella’s hand and spoke to her urgently. The young man just looked annoyed.
“Mother.” Rowan turned to his mother. “Do you see Lady Arabella just down there?”
His mother didn’t turn from the window. “Please, I beg of you, do not tell me you’ve grown fond of Lady Arabella. One Dunbar in the family is quite enough.”
The gentleman lightly touched Arabella on the arm as if making a plea of some sort.
“Don't be ridiculous.” Rowan didn’t turn away from Arabella and her companions. There wasn’t anything remotely sinister about the pair, but something seemed off. “I’m just curious. The lady looks vaguely familiar,” he lied. “I believe I danced with her daughter at some affair recently and would like to know the daughter’s name.” His mother would not be able to resist the thought of adding another young lady to her list of potential brides for Rowan in case a match with Lady Gwendolyn White didn't pan out.
She took the bait and turned around, squinting her eyes. “I don’t believe I know her. Where did say you met?” His mother shook her head and returned her attention to the hats on display in the milliner's window. “Perhaps you should go over and inquire after her daughter.”
“Splendid idea.” Rowan doubted she could make out the woman properly and took a step, meaning to interrupt the three when Arabella opened her reticule and pulled out a slip of paper, handing it reluctantly to the woman.
Patting Arabella's arm, the woman seemed to say something soothing while the gentleman doffed his hat before the pair both turned and disappeared into the crowds on Bond Street.
Once the pair was gone, Arabella bit her lip and looked down at her feet, giving a great shrug of her shoulders as if coming to a decision, and not one she was completely happy about. Looking up from her feet, she spied Rowan. A red flush stole up to stain her neck and cheeks, guilt stamped plainly across her lovely features. Her mouth opened slightly in surprise, then closed firmly as she composed herself. A scowl twisted on her lips and she looked down her nose at Rowan as if daring him to approach her. She gave him one last scathing look before stepping into her waiting carriage.
As he watched the coach bearing the Dunbar coat of arms become lost in the congestion of Bond Street, Rowan was struck again with the feeling that something wasn’t right. What was Arabella guilty of?
* * *
“Come.”Nick answered the knock at his study door. A mass of papers lay across his desk, various notes, bills and other business of the enormous Dunbar empire. Even with two secretaries at his disposal, a team of solicitors and several property managers, the task of seeing to all things Dunbar was a daunting one. His eyes fell to a bill from the dressmaker, all for a vast assortment of frilly female undergarments. “None of them will last long,” he said out loud, thinking of the demise of his future wife's bedroom attire.
“Who will not last long?” Arabella sauntered into the room, her lips compressed into a grim tight line as if she were about to announce a death or some other awful occurrence. “I see she is already costing you a king's ransom.” She nodded towards the stack of receipts. “I assumed as much. She is determined to bankrupt you.”
Nick neatened the stack of bills, laying the dressmaker bill atop the others, preparing himself for the confrontation his sister longed for. He loved Bella dearly, and the two had been close their entire lives. They went together to Grandfather, a matched pair of orphaned Dunbars after the scandalous death of Nick's parents. He still remembered the nursemaid hired by his grandfather prying Bella’s hand from his own upon their arrival so that she could be given a bath. Bella had screamed in agony at the separation from her brother, throwing herself at the ground to wrap her arms about Nick’s ankles.
Arabella viewed the world with uncommon bitterness even though her very station in life gave her much to be grateful for. She set herself apart from others, adopting a stern, closed off attitude to protect herself from the gossipmongers who baited her after the alleged treason of their father. Later, she learned to use the infamy of the the family name to protect herself, wrapping the wealth and power that came from being the granddaughter of the Duke of Dunbar around herself like a security blanket. She blamed her lack of suitors on the treasonous taint of their father and Nick’s own reputation, never once acknowledging her own waspish behavior terrified any man who might pursue her. Even her outrageously large dowry didn’t help. He doubted his sister would ever marry, for who would wish to marry such a shrew?
“You assumed what? That I am delighted to provide for my future wife?” Nick countered. “Then you are correct. It is a pleasure.”
Bella flounced down on the leather chair before his desk. Nick expected her to dislike the idea of his marrying anyone, save Lady Miranda, her dearest and only friend. But, her outright dislike of Jem had lately turned to outright hatred.
He allowed his sister a time for adjustment, but that time was over. Her rudeness towards Jem and her family had become tiresome. Just the other evening, at the opera, Bella refused to acknowledge Jem at all, though the entire family shared a box. Jem, bless her, acted as if her future sister-in-law hadn't just cut her dead in public. She’d only squeezed Nick’s shoulder and leaned into him, murmuring it was of no import.
Nick disagreed.
He was rather close to throttling his sister, or banishing her, which he truly didn’t wish to do. Aunt Maisy told him Bella would come around in time, but Nick wasn’t so sure. Bella stayed mired in her own world, blind to the fact that her brother was happy, truly happy, for the first time in his life.
“She will spend the entire Dunbar fortune,” Bella snapped as she sat back in the chair, bracing herself against the arms as if in an effort to keep herself in place. “Do not make the mistake of opening an account for her.”
“We've plenty to spare, Bella. It will take more than my lifetime to spend all that is in the Dunbar coffers. Why do you begrudge me the joy of gifting my betrothed?”
Arabella shot him an ugly look, reminding Nick of their mother, Charlotte. A most unwelcome comparison.
“I do not begrudge you, I begrudge your betrothed.” Bella drummed her fingertips against the arm of the chair. "Why do you wish to marry her? She allowed you to think she was dead. After all, that does not speak well of her character.”
“As I said previously, we parted on poor terms and realizing my error, I sought her out to make amends. I was given incorrect information that she was dead. She did not know I was looking for her. How could she?” He didn’t care to continue the ruse he and Lord Marsh had concocted, but there was little else Nick could do. Arabella would be unforgiving of Jem’s true identity and might lash out, harming the entire Marsh family. Nick could not allow that. “Why do you dislike her so?”
“If she did not want you in Bermuda, then why does she want you now? I think she is after your fortune and protection.”
“So, my own charms are not enough to induce a woman to love me?” His fingers tightened on the desk.
“Love?” Arabella snorted. “You think she loves you?” she continued, ignoring the coldness in his voice. "She has the look of a gold digger, one who would seduce a man out of his fortune. Did she tell you she's with child? Good Lord, it's probably not even yours.”
Nick turned his palms to press against the cool oak of the desk lest he slap his sister, something he had never done. “Careful, Bella.”
Bella leaned forward, her chest heaving with fury. “Really, Nick, there’s whore’s aplenty in London, why must you have this whore?” She questioned vehemently. “The daughter of an Irish servant and a traitor,” Bella hissed under her breath. “How could you, Nick? How could you?”
Nick saw red the moment his sister used the word ‘whore’ in reference to Jem. He barely heard anything else his sister said, his anger so great he was afraid he would do Arabella bodily harm. Instead, he slapped the top of the desk with his open palms, causing the carefully sorted piles of paper to flutter like a flock of birds to the floor. “Enough,” he bellowed.
Bella fell back into the chair in front of him, the color leaving her face. “Nick, you must listen—”
“You,” he slowly stood and came around the side of the desk to face her, “will shut up. Do not dare to utter another word about Jem in my presence.”
Bella’s eyes grew wide. “You must—”
Nick leaned over and grabbed his sister’s elbow, pulling her out of the chair, not caring if he hurt her. “I must what? How I regret ever allowing you to comfort me while I grieved for the woman I love.”
“She was not worth your grief, nor is she worth your love. She—”
“Silence!” He shook her, his nose nearly touching hers.
Bella’s nostrils flared, but she stayed silent.
He let go of her arm, pushing her away. “Listen well, sister. I tire of your unceasing litany of hatred for my future wife. That you cannot understand the feeling that lies between Jem and myself tells me how deep rooted your own misery must be. You will not insult her again.”
Bella fisted her hands at her sides but did not look away from his anger. “She is a charlatan.”
Nick turned and beat his fist upon the desk, this time causing a frog shaped paperweight to slide to the floor with a dull thump. Why must Bella be so difficult?
“You’d best reconcile yourself now, sister, to Jem.” Nick grit his teeth, trying to regain control of his emotions. “She will be my duchess, the mother of the Dunbar heir and your blood kin. If you do not treat Jem with the respect due her, you will find yourself shipped off on an extended trip to one of our lesser country estates. Perhaps Twinings?”
That threat hit home. His sister sucked in her breath with shock. “Twinings is cold and dark and in Wales. You would not dare. Aunt Maisy would object, not to mention me. You can’t be serious.” She waited for him to gainsay her and when he did not, she said, “Dear God you are serious. Has she that much power over you then? She tells you to send me away, and you will do it? What lies does she tell you about me to drive a wedge between us?” A short, ugly laugh came from his sister's mouth. “I should have expected as much from her.”
“Jem has said nothing to me about you, Bella.” Nick watched his sister carefully. “Never in action or word has she maligned you to me, though it appears you have not offered her the same courtesy.”
“I cannot believe you truly mean to marry her, that you cannot see what she is. How can you do this to your family?”
"Stop behaving like a spoiled child, Bella. I tire of your tantrums. You just do not wish to be alone and unmarried with no family of your own. I am not of the same mind.” He pressed his fingers to his temples, exhausted from battling his sister.
“You will see that I am right.” Bella turned on her heel, flinging open the study door so forcefully the knob bounced against the opposite wall. Skirts swirling about her ankles, Bella stormed out, her heels angrily clicking against the tile of the hall.
Nick watched her leave, wondering if he actually would have to send her to Wales.
He bent to pick up the scattered papers strewn across the floor of the study. As he carefully put them back in order and placed the frog paperweight in its place on his desk, he glanced at the clock hanging over the mantle, determined to push the argument with his sister aside. Jem would be going for the final fitting of her wedding gown, and if he didn’t hurry, he’d miss her.
