Treating a Sinful Earl by Henrietta Harding

Chapter 1

 

 

The day was filled with a soft, misty rain as Lady Arabella Walford stepped out of the carriage onto the main shopping street in the small town of Lockham in Dorset. Carefully, she put up the hood on her blue velvet cloak, protecting herself from the weather.

 

 

 

“We should not tarry, Arabella,” said her mother tartly, gazing up at the sky as if the weather was a personal affront. “We still have twenty minutes before your dress fitting with Mrs March. Since the weather is so inclement, perhaps we should settle down for a pot of tea at the Nightingale until then?”

 

 

 

Arabella suppressed a smile. The weather was hardly inclement; it was barely raining. But Mama always did have a habit of overdramatising everything. And the thought of a pot of fresh, hot tea was rather appealing, when all was said and done. Better than wandering the street window shopping, at any rate.

 

 

 

“Of course, Mama,” she replied, following her mother in the direction of the Nightingale Tearooms, which were only halfway down the village street. Her mother walked briskly, her back ramrod straight.

 

 

 

Lady Walford cut a formidable figure, indeed. Other shoppers greeted her with their usual deference as they scurried past. The Walfords were one of the first families in the district, and everyone knew it.

 

 

 

The tearoom was almost empty when they entered, pulling off their hoods. Arabella cast her gaze around. There was old Miss Grave, a local spinster, seated by herself in a corner, sipping her tea, a faraway look in her eyes. Arabella knew it was the old lady’s habit to come here every day, rain, hail, or shine.

 

 

 

In the opposite corner sat timid Miss Laura Banfield and her mother, polishing off a plate of scones. They greeted them with slight nods of their heads, before taking a table near the back, placing their order.

 

 

 

“I do hope Mrs March is not running behind schedule,” muttered Lady Walford, pursing her lips. “That lady does tend to book too many young ladies for fittings. We had to wait half an hour the last time we went to her shop.” She paused, gazing at her daughter. “And we want that blue silk ready for the ball this weekend. I shall be most insistent.”

 

 

 

“Do not fret, Mama,” sighed Arabella, only just stopping herself from rolling her eyes. “I am sure Mrs March will be most accommodating. Besides, even if the blue silk is not ready for the Townshend ball, it will not be the end of the world. I have a dozen other gowns which would be suitable for the occasion.”

 

 

 

Lady Walford looked shocked. “Arabella, the whole district has seen you wear them before,” she said, shaking her head. “We might get away with it if you were attending an event in London or somewhere else, but not here. One must always make an impression. And you need to dazzle an eligible young gentleman or two. You are not getting any younger, my dear.”

 

 

 

Arabella turned her face away, hiding her smile. Her mother spoke as if she were two and thirty, rather than two and twenty.

 

 

 

“I am hardly in danger of turning into poor Miss Grave yet, Mama,” she said in a loud whisper. “Please, you must stop fretting about it. When the time comes, I am sure I shall make a dazzling match to appease you and Papa.”

 

 

 

“Arabella,” scolded her mother, frowning. “That lady is only a few tables away from us! Where are your manners?” She was silent for a moment as their tea arrived. Once the cups were poured, she turned to her daughter once more. “Your reluctance on this matter baffles your father and I, Arabella. It is almost as if you do not want to be admired or courted. It is most distressing.”

 

 

 

Arabella sipped her tea without replying. What was the point of it? It wasn’t as if she could ever tell her mother the truth anyway. Lady Walford didn’t even know what had happened two years ago.

 

 

 

She would be shocked to learn that not only had her daughter once had a serious suitor but that she had been badly let down by him. And that was the reason Arabella was reluctant to allow anyone to court her.

 

 

 

She simply did not trust men. It was as simple as that.

 

 

 

She took another sip of her tea. She knew she must move on from it—it had been years, after all. But every time she started to relax and flirt back with a gentleman, forgetting about it for a brief moment, it would return with a vengeance.

 

 

 

Her mind would become so consumed by it that she would mumble excuses and flee. The thought of one of them actually getting close enough to her to propose filled her with numb terror.

 

 

 

Her best friend, Miss Phoebe Bastable, was the only one who understood. The only one Arabella could talk about it with. But Phoebe only sympathised to a certain point. Her best friend was a hopeless romantic and kept telling Arabella that she must look past her broken heart and try again.

 

 

 

That the gentleman of her dreams might be around the next corner, and how would Arabella find him if she was so mired in the past? It was a thought that Arabella agreed with, in theory. But she still could not find the courage to put her heart on the line again.

 

 

 

Perhaps she would end up an old maid like Miss Grave. Perhaps it might even be her destiny.

 

 

 

Arabella was so distracted with her reverie, she didn’t even notice the shop door was opening until the figures were standing in the centre of the room. Suddenly, they came into sharp focus. Two gentlemen, one dark and one fair. And she knew both of them.

 

 

 

Her heart seized. There was simply no escape. She could hardly grab her mother and drag her out of the tearoom without paying, could she?

 

 

 

Please, do not let them see us! Please, let them just walk to a table near the window!

 

 

 

But it was too late. Already, the tall figure with the dark hair was slowly turning, gazing around the room in an idle fashion. And then his eyes stopped as he registered the two ladies sitting at the back table.

 

 

 

Arabella’s breath caught in her throat. Her heart was hammering in her chest. She felt like she was going to be sick.

 

 

 

She was staring into the face of Lord James Fernside. The gentleman who had broken her heart all those years ago. It was as if she had conjured him out of the air, summoning him from her very thoughts.

 

 

 

It was the first time she had seen him in over a year. And it still felt like yesterday.

 

 

 

***

 

 

 

Lord James Fernside cursed underneath his breath as he stared at the lady, her teacup poised in her hand. Of all the places his good friend, Mr Peter Mowbray, could have dragged him into, he had chosen this one. Nightingale’s Tearooms on Main Street. He hadn’t even wanted to come here. He didn’t even feel like tea.

 

 

 

It was Lady Arabella Walford. And she looked almost exactly the same as the last time he had seen her.

 

 

 

Desperately, his eyes darted around the room, seeking an escape. But there wasn’t any. Apart from turning around and marching out of the tearooms entirely, they were caught, like flies in a spiderweb. Damn Peter. Damn everything in the world.

 

 

 

Suddenly, Peter saw the ladies. He smiled cautiously.

 

 

 

“Fernside,” he whispered. “We must go and say hello to them. It would appear intolerably rude not to. It is Lady Walford, after all. I am sorry, old chap.”

 

 

 

James nodded. His friend was right, of course. There was no avoiding it. Lady Walford, Arabella’s mother, was a society doyenne of the district. She was the local queen bee. One never ignored her. Not if one did not want to become a social pariah, that is. It was just how things worked in this corner of Dorset.

 

 

 

He grimaced. The irony of it wasn’t lost upon him. He hadn’t been back here in so long, and this visit was a whirlwind affair. He had been back only a week. He had been living in London for over a year and rarely came home.

 

 

 

But his father had been ailing, and his mother had appealed to him to come home, and what was a chap to do? To add insult to injury, this was only the second time he had stepped out of Temple Hall, his ancestral home, since his return.

 

 

 

And who did he run into? A ghost from his past. One that he would rather forget. Of course. It was just his luck.

 

 

 

I should have stayed indoors for the duration, he thought dismally. I should have not left the damn house at all.

 

 

 

His eyes swept over her. She was just as beautiful as ever, of course. Her honey-gold hair was in curls around her face, in the fashionable style. Her blue eyes were still the colour of forget-me-nots.

 

 

 

Her oval face still had the wide, sweeping cheekbones he remembered, and her complexion was still peaches and cream. She was dressed elegantly, in a white muslin and lace morning gown, suitable for a shopping trip.

 

 

 

Lady Arabella Walford. A lady who utterly despised him.

 

 

 

He took a deep breath. “Well, here goes nothing,” he muttered to Peter. “You are taking me to the club in Gillridge after this, my friend. I think I will need a stiff drink or two to recover from the tongue lashing which awaits me.”

 

 

 

He walked over to the table, forcing a smile onto his face. It rather felt like it might crack entirely. Peter was just behind him.

 

 

 

“Ladies,” he said, bowing. “What an unexpected pleasure. And how are you faring, Lady Walford?”

 

 

 

Arabella glared at him, her lip curled in distaste. Suddenly, she put down her teacup with a loud clatter. Her mother gazed at her in surprise but quickly recovered, turning back to the two gentlemen standing next to their table.

 

 

 

“Lord Fernside,” she said, smiling brightly. “And Mr Mowbray. It is an unexpected pleasure, indeed.” Her gaze was razor-sharp, fixed upon James. “What brings you back into the district, pray tell? I heard that you are now a resident of London. Grosvenor Square.”

 

 

 

James nodded, feeling sweat dripping down his neck. “Indeed, ma’am. I live in my family’s townhouse in London for much of the year.” He took a deep breath. “I am only back for a quick visit. My father has been poorly, and my mother needs my assistance.”

 

 

 

“Yes, I did hear that the Marquis is ill,” said Lady Walford, shaking her head. “Please, send my regards to your good parents. I hope that it is not serious?”

 

 

 

James shook his head. “He is still running the estate from his chambers. And bright spirited enough to find fault with everything that is being done.” He forced himself to laugh, trying to avoid looking at Arabella. “He shall be back on his feet in no time.”

 

 

 

Lady Walford nodded, turning to Peter. “And you and your family are well, Mr Mowbray?”

 

 

 

Peter nodded, smiling. “Yes, indeed, Lady Walford. We are all in good health, I thank you.” He paused. “And how is your husband? I have not seen him in a while.”

 

 

 

Lady Walford pursed her lips. “Lord Walford spends most of his time holed up in his study with his newspapers and his political tomes, but he is well enough, despite that.” She laughed mirthlessly. “Are you both attending the Townshend ball this coming Saturday, perchance?”

 

 

 

James glanced at Peter. “Is this the ball you were telling me about, Peter? The one you are intent on dragging me to?”

 

 

 

“The very one,” laughed Peter. “Yes, we shall be attending, Lady Walford.” He looked hesitantly at Arabella, who still hadn’t uttered a word. “Are you going, Lady Arabella?”

 

 

 

Arabella smiled sourly. “My dear mama is quite insistent that I must.” She glared at James. “So, the warning is there. Heed it if you will.”

 

 

 

There was an awkward silence.

 

 

 

Peter looked uncomfortable. “Jolly good, then!” He turned to James, a slightly desperate look in his eyes. “We should probably take a seat and order, old chap, if we want to get to the tailors on time.”

 

 

 

James winced. There was no way he was going to sit in this tearoom with Arabella Walford glaring at him like a spiteful cat the whole time. He would probably choke on his tea.

 

 

 

“Actually, I just recalled a previous appointment,” he said quickly. “We do not have time for tea at all, my friend.” He took a deep breath, turning to the ladies. “Well, it was marvellous running into you both! Please give my regards to Lord Walford. Peter, shall we?”

 

 

 

His friend looked surprised but didn’t argue with him. They both quickly bowed to the ladies and exited the tearooms. It was only when they were halfway down the street that he finally let out the breath he had been holding.

 

 

 

“There is no previous appointment, is there?” asked Peter sardonically. “Honestly, James, you acted as if you had just been scalded with a hot iron.” His friend gazed at him curiously. “It has been years. Why is there still such rancour between you and Arabella?”

 

 

 

James felt his mouth set into a thin line. He kept walking briskly. The more distance he could put between him and Lady Arabella Walford, the better. It was crazy that there was still such ugly emotion between them after all this time, but it was obviously still there. He hadn’t seen her in a year or more, and she still gazed upon him as if he was something unsavoury she had just spotted on the bottom of her shoe.

 

 

 

A wave of guilt assailed him. He knew why Arabella looked at him that way and why she would barely speak to him. It was all his fault. He knew that. He had been the one who had ended things between them. And the worst of it was he couldn’t even really recall the reason he had done it now.

 

 

 

He took a deep breath, trying to push the ugly emotion away. He supposed he had just been young and foolish. He had barely been three and twenty when they had secretly courted. He had been swept away with passion for the beautiful and charismatic Lady Arabella, but he hadn’t wanted to marry. Not at that point in his life. There was still too much to do.

 

 

 

Arabella had never forgiven him for it. She had only been twenty, and he supposed she believed he was going to propose to her. When he had discerned how serious she was about him, he had panicked. And had set about sabotaging their relationship entirely.

 

 

 

He took another deep breath. It was all ancient history now. He barely thought about her anymore. He had a new, exciting life in London. There were many beautiful, fashionable ladies there to occupy his mind.

 

 

 

He had been dallying with them like he was selecting morsels from a plate. He had ended things only a month ago with Lady Louisa Stanhope, his most recent flame. That was just what London was like—there was always something more exciting and interesting just around the corner.

 

 

 

He turned to his friend now. “How should I know?” he said quickly, his lip curling. “If Arabella wants to hang onto that animosity, then so be it. I have tried to let bygones be bygones. We did not have to greet them then, did we? And yet we did.” He exhaled slowly. “Let us forget all about them, my friend. Gillridge it is. Let us head to the club and call it a day.”

 

 

 

Peter raised his eyebrows. “James, it is still only morning. It might be the fashion to while away the day at gentleman’s clubs in London, but this is the country. I doubt it shall even be open yet, my friend.”

 

 

 

James sighed irritably. He simply couldn’t wait to get back to London. The sooner that his father was on his feet, the better. It truly could not come a moment too soon for him.

 

 

 

***

 

 

 

Arabella’s hand trembled slightly as she held the teacup. The encounter with James Fernside and his friend, Mr Peter Mowbray, had left a very bad taste in her mouth.

 

 

 

“Arabella, you were insufferably rude to those gentlemen,” scolded her mother, rounding on her like a spitting cat. “You did not utter a word for the longest time, and then when you did, strange gibberish emerged. What were you referring to, when you told the poor man to take heed?”

 

 

 

Arabella’s mouth tightened. “I do not like either of those gentlemen, Mama. And I do not wish to go to this ball if they are going to be there.”

 

 

 

“Fiddlesticks,” said her mother tartly. “You are going to the ball whether you like it or not. You have a dress fitting, and we are spending good coin on a new gown for you.” She gazed at Arabella curiously. “Why have you taken such a dislike to those gentlemen? Lord Fernside is from a very highly placed family indeed. His father is a marquis and dripping in wealth. You could do far worse than him!”

 

 

 

Arabella felt her control snap. “Really, Mama? Even if he is a feckless, impulsive man who treats ladies as if they are just decorations placed in front of him for his amusement? You would truly have me take such a man seriously, even if he is dripping in wealth, as you so tastefully put it?”

 

 

 

Her mother looked shocked, reeling back as if she had been slapped. Arabella was instantly ashamed of herself. Her mother meant well, and she had no idea of the history between Lord James Fernside and herself. Thank the Lord.

 

 

 

“I am sorry, Mama,” she muttered, reaching out a placating hand. “Do not take any notice of me.” She paused. “Shall we finish this tea and be on our way to Mrs March’s? We do not want to be late for the fitting, as you have reminded me.”

 

 

 

Her mother looked mollified, nodding and finishing her tea. Within minutes they had paid and were out the door, heading towards the dressmaker’s shop.

 

 

 

It was still drizzling as they walked down the street. Arabella stared up at the sky mournfully. In some way, the weather was matching her current mood exactly. Grey, dark and foreboding.

 

 

 

She took a deep breath. Seeing James Fernside again had rattled her, there was no doubt about it. And yet, she could not for the life of her fathom why. It was over and done with—years had passed. Her heart should be well healed by now.

 

 

 

Carefully, she probed her feelings. It wasn’t as if she still had any left for him, not at all. Too much time had passed, and there was too much water under the bridge. So why did she react in such a violent way when she saw him?

 

 

 

He was still a handsome man, she thought sardonically. Even more handsome than when they had courted. It seemed that Lord James Fernside grew better with age. At least physically. She had no idea what his character was like now, whether he had matured, or whether he was still the feckless cad he had always been.

 

 

 

As she walked into the dressmaker’s shop, she trembled at the thought of seeing him again at this ball. But that was just something she would have to deal with if it happened. Firmly, she cast him out of her mind entirely. James Fernside was not worth dwelling upon. She had learnt that the hard way.