Treating a Sinful Earl by Henrietta Harding
Chapter 3
Arabella stared out the window of the Nightingale tearooms, searching the street avidly. This was the second time she had been here in as many days. And the only reason she had agreed to come here was because it was a chance to catch up with her dear friend Timothy, who had sent a note asking her to meet him here at noon.
Lady Walford sighed deeply, sipping her tea. “Where is the dear boy? He insisted that you meet him at noon, Arabella, and yet it is already quarter past the hour.” She glared at the clock on the mantelpiece over the fire to make her point.
“You know Timothy,” said Phoebe, who was seated opposite, rolling her eyes. “He always runs late. I have never met a tardier person in my life.”
“Yes, well, it is most inconvenient,” huffed Lady Walford. “I was hoping to go and visit my sister this afternoon before it got too late….”
Suddenly, the shop door burst open. They all turned. It was Timothy, out of breath, his hair rumpled, sticking out in all directions. He looked like he had just sprinted here from his country estate three miles out of town rather than journeying here in a carriage, as Arabella knew he had.
She jumped to her feet, walking towards him. “There you are,” she whispered, her eyes glittering. “Mama was about to have an apoplexy. What is your excuse this time?”
Timothy smiled wickedly. “I have none, Bella. I am ashamed to say I slept in. The maid came in three times to rouse me, but I did not even hear her.”
“Do not tell Mama,” she whispered, suppressing a laugh. “She already believes you to be a lost cause.” She smiled suddenly, her eyes roaming over him. “It is so good to see you! Come and sit down and let us catch up.”
Timothy kissed Lady Walford’s hand, apologising profusely before he sat down. Arabella’s mother still looked a little grumpy, but she was mollified. Lady Walford had always had a soft spot for Timothy Bolton. He was the only child of her best friend, Davina Bolton, after all. That was why Arabella was so close with him. They had practically grown up together, spending lots of time at each other’s houses since they were babes in arms.
“And how are you, Phoebe?” smiled Timothy, pouring himself a cup of tea from the pot. “I have not seen you in ages, either.”
“I have been very well, Timothy,” said Phoebe. “How was Bath? You were away quite a while this time.”
Timothy grimaced. “Bath is full of very genteel folk taking the waters. It is rather a closed society. I did not have much fun at all.” He paused. “But it was good for a change!”
“I am glad you are back,” said Arabella. “I have missed you. It is not the same without you, Timothy. You are the only one who keeps me on my toes. Are you coming to the Townshends’ ball this weekend?” She glanced at her mother. “I have tried to get out of it, but I am having no luck.”
“You are going, my girl,” said her mother, in a determined voice. “Even if I must drag you to the carriage.”
Timothy sighed dramatically. “My dear mama insists that I must too, so I suppose I shall see you all there.” He gazed steadily at Arabella. “I missed you too, Bella. Are you going to promise me first dance at the ball to sweeten the deal?”
Arabella laughed. “Oh, yes please! It will stop any of those boring milksops who hang around the edges from pestering me.”
“Arabella,” scolded her mother, looking scandalised. “That is not a very charitable way to speak of the local gentlemen! For shame!”
“Sorry, Mama,” she said quickly. But then she couldn’t resist. “However, I speak the truth. Everyone knows it. The local pool of gentlemen in this district leaves a lot to be desired.”
“Oh, Arabella, you are being harsh,” laughed Phoebe. “There are many admirable gentlemen in the district.”
“Name me one,” shot back Arabella, her eyes glittering. “I dare you.” She stared at Timothy. “Present company excluded, of course.”
“Why, thank you,” said Timothy, in a mock grave voice. “I think.”
Phoebe laughed again. “Well, you have rather put me on the spot,” she said slowly. “But what about Lord Huntly? He is rather dashing. He was in the army in India. That is rather exotic.”
“Lord Huntly is a boring old windbag,” declared Arabella stoutly. “He drones on about his exploits in India and can talk of nothing else. It is obviously the only exciting thing that has ever happened in his life, and he is determined to dine out on it forever more.”
“Arabella,” warned her mother. “Lord Huntly comes from a very fine local family. You could do much worse than him.”
“I suppose he is rather tiresome, from time to time,” conceded Phoebe, her mouth twitching. “But what about Mr Gillies? He is from a very good family, and all the ladies flock around him. He is very attentive. Whenever I have spoken to him, he is always charm personified.”
“Mr Gillies could charm the birds from the trees,” said Arabella drolly. “But there is not much beneath the surface, Phoebe. I spoke to him one evening, and he is quite ignorant on most subjects. I think he is rather feeble-minded, when all is said and done.”
Phoebe and Timothy burst out laughing. Lady Walford looked affronted.
“I do apologise, Mama,” said Arabella. “I shall not denigrate the local gentlemen for a minute longer. It is a boring subject anyway.” She stared at Timothy. “And how were the ladies in Bath? Did you form a particular attachment to anyone there?”
Timothy laughed. “There were many pretty and accomplished ladies. But I am afraid I did not form an attachment to any of them. Truth be told, not one stuck out from the crowd.” He gazed at Arabella. “None of them hold a candle to the light that is you, my dear old friend.”
Arabella laughed delightedly. “I should think not! I am glad you know my worth, Timothy Bolton!”
They smiled at each other fondly. Arabella felt a rush of affection. She truly had missed Timothy. She had missed their banter. He always flirted outrageously with her, telling her she was the only woman for him, but it was just their way. They were like siblings. Timothy was the older brother she had never had.
She sighed. If only she could find a gentleman who made her feel at ease like her dear friend did but also caused her heart to melt. She had always believed that lovers should be friends as well. It would truly be the best of both worlds.
She studied Timothy covertly. Objectively, her friend was a handsome man. He had golden-red hair, the brightest blue eyes, and a manly countenance. He was also charming and witty.
She was immune to him, of course, but she had often wondered why he had never become enamoured with any ladies over the years. She had often teased him about it, asking who he was saving himself for. He always flippantly replied that, of course, it was her. Then they would fall about laughing.
It seemed he hadn’t found anyone that he admired greatly in Bath. She hoped that he would find love soon. He deserved it.
A sudden wave of sorrow swept over her. She had once wished for love herself and thought she had found it. But how wrong she had been.
***
They were just finishing the last of their tea when the shop door opened again. Arabella automatically turned to see who had entered. And then rather wished she hadn’t.
It was Mr Peter Mowbray, James Fernside’s best friend. Fearfully, Arabella gazed over his shoulder, expecting her former amour to walk through the door after him. But thankfully, it seemed he was alone this time.
Their eyes caught and held. Mr Mowbray had no choice but to come over to the table and acknowledge them.
“Mr Mowbray,” she said in a falsely bright voice. “What a delight seeing you two times in the same week.” She turned to her friends. “You are acquainted with Miss Phoebe Bastable and Mr Timothy Bolton, I trust?”
“Indeed,” said Peter Mowbray, bowing slightly. “It is a pleasure to see you all.” He hesitated, looking awkward. “The weather is very fine, is it not? Unseasonably full of sunshine. I think we are heading into a hot summer.”
“Yes, I believe so,” said Lady Walford darkly. “I have never been overly fond of summer. Too bright for my liking.” She shuddered. “Are you having a good day, Mr Mowbray? Are you meeting friends for tea?”
Peter Mowbray looked uncomfortable. “Ah…actually, I am meeting with Lord Fernside once again.” He glanced back at the door. “He should be here at any moment.”
Arabella stood up abruptly. “Well, that is good, as we were just about to leave ourselves.” She stared at the others. “Shall we?”
Her mother grumbled a bit, but they all got to their feet. Peter Mowbray looked a bit sad. Arabella felt sorry for him. He was just the meat in the sandwich, after all. She had always quite liked him and was a little regretful that she was being so rude towards him.
However, she simply had no choice. There was no way she was going to risk running into James Fernside in these tearooms again. She had barely recovered from the first time.
They said their farewells quickly. Once out on the street, Arabella walked briskly, the others barely able to keep up with her.
“I say, Arabella,” puffed Timothy. “What is the infernal rush? You are acting as if the very hounds of hell are on your tail.”
Arabella couldn’t help it. She burst out laughing. Timothy always made her laugh, even when she was feeling low. It was a special gift that he had. She slowed down, linking her arm through her friend’s.
“Why did you rush out like that?” he whispered, gazing at her.
She hesitated. Timothy knew nothing of what had happened between her and James Fernside all those years ago. She had wanted to confide in her friend many times during their relationship and since, but something always stopped her. She supposed she didn’t want to see the look of disappointment on his face that she had fallen for such a cad.
Timothy had never liked James. He had always claimed he was a dandy who toyed with ladies. And how right he had been. Her face burnt with mortification. It was herself she was angry at, as much as she despised James. She was angry at herself for falling for a rogue, when she really should have known better. She only had herself to blame.
“I was simply desirous of some exercise,” she said now, not meeting his eye. “It is rather stifling in those tearooms. Shall we do a long walk along the street and perhaps beyond to work off those cream cakes?”
He laughed. “Why not? We still have much to catch up on.”
The group kept walking. Arabella pushed the thought of James Fernside out of her mind. But she knew she was going to be on tenterhooks the whole time he was in the district now. She could only pray he would leave for London soon, and she could put it all behind her once more.
***
That evening, after her maid had brushed her hair and she was in her nightgown, Arabella walked to the window, staring out into the darkness.
It was a fine night. A pale full moon hung in the sky, and there were hundreds of tiny stars twinkling in the firmaments. She sat down on her window seat, lost in contemplation. Suddenly, she was assailed by a memory so vivid she almost felt like she could reach out and touch it…
It was a night, just like this one, with a full moon. She had been dancing at a ball and had just returned home. But before she could climb into her bed, she had been shocked to hear a stone against her windowpane.
She had opened the window, gazing down. And standing there, looking up, was James.
“I could not sleep,” he had said in a loud whisper. “Can you come down?”
She had giggled nervously. “What if someone sees us?”
“The household is abed,” he called. “No one will know. Please. I am begging you.”
How could she resist?
The night had been cooler than she thought, when she had slipped out into it. But still mild enough to walk without a cloak or a shawl. She had suddenly turned shy, that he was seeing her in just her night attire, even though it was as modest as anything she wore during the day.
He had gazed at her longingly, ardently. But he did not say a word. Instead, he took her hand, and they walked off through the gardens. Her heart had been hammering in her chest with excitement as well as fear. She simply could not believe she had behaved so recklessly, but at the same time, it was thrilling beyond words.
Just the two of them, seemingly alone in the world, beneath a beautiful moon.
When they reached the end of the gardens, he had stopped, pulling her into his arms. She could still feel the coolness of his lips upon her own. His face was in half shadow and so beloved to her that she couldn’t resist reaching up and slowly caressing it.
He turned his head, kissing her palm feverishly. A wave of intense desire had crashed through her. It seemed he didn’t need to do much at all, to evoke these wild sensations within her. A look. A touch. Sometimes it was just the sound of his voice.
She had never experienced anything like it in her life. She felt as if she was enslaved to it.
“You are all that I think about, Arabella,” he had said, kissing her forehead. “All that I dream of. It is as if you have infected my blood.” Gently, he tilted her face upwards. “Tell me that you feel the same.”
She sighed, gazing at him. How could he not know how much he meant to her? How much he would always mean to her?
“You are my one and only,” she whispered back, her heart flipping in her chest. “I do not believe that I even existed before you came into my life. It is like looking back at the life of another woman entirely.”
“Never leave me,” he whispered furiously. “Promise me….”
But before she could vow that her love was eternal, his lips had descended upon her own once again. A kiss of such passion she almost swooned. It was always like this between them. It had been like it since the very first time he had kissed her.
She had known then that he was the man for her. The man she was destined to marry. He came from a noble and wealthy family. So did she. There was nothing to stand in their way, no obstacles to overcome.
She knew they would make their relationship known to their parents soon. They had just been meeting in secret because it was so exciting. He had swept her off her feet. But very soon, they would make it respectable. An engagement and then a wedding.
She trembled underneath the onslaught of his lips. She was the luckiest woman in the world. She had everything she had ever wanted, right here in her arms. Her heart was filled to bursting with a wild joy unlike any she had ever known…
Arabella sighed deeply, fiercely pushing the memory away. It sickened her to think of the young and naïve girl she had been. For James Fernside had never intended to make their relationship known. It had all been honeyed lies. He had encouraged them to meet secretly because he had been using her all along.
He had never intended to marry her.
She walked away from the window, so melancholy that her heart felt like a stone. She didn’t want to look at that beautiful moon and sky if it reminded her of him. It seemed he was always robbing her of joy, even in the smallest of moments. And Phoebe wondered why she held onto her hatred of him.
She sat down on the bed, her eyes filling with hopeless tears. She had cried herself to sleep for months after he had betrayed her and then fled to London like a dog with a tail between its legs.
During the days, she had been like a windup doll, going about her life, but it was as if nothing could touch her. She felt no joy. Everything that she had previously taken pleasure in were now pointless pursuits, only existing to pass the time.
The realisation that he had never loved her like she had loved him had been brutal indeed. It had felt like a knife to her heart.
Furiously, she blinked back the tears. She would not waste a single one on him any longer. He did not deserve it and never had. And if she ran into him at this ball, she would hold her head high and walk in the other direction. She would do the same if she encountered him again anywhere else. He would not be here for long, and then she could go back to her life, safe in the knowledge he was far removed from her.
She blew out the candle, climbing into bed. No, she was not the innocent and trusting girl she had once been. She felt like a shell had encased her heart. Phoebe was still giddy with the thought of romance, but her friend had never had a broken heart. She didn’t know how painful it was to experience the faithlessness of men. She still had hope.
Whereas Arabella had none.
***
Arabella tossed and turned in her sleep, gripping the sheets. The dream was upon her again. It was the same dream every time.
He was standing beside a river, beckoning to her, swathed in darkness.
Her heart was beating hard in her chest as she walked towards him. He was more beautiful to her than anything she had ever beheld. Broad-shouldered and tall, with his unruly dark hair and eyes so dark they burnt like coals.
“Come to me,” he whispered. “Lay with me….”
She was wrapped in a spell, an enchantment, so heavy with longing she felt as if she might burst. His arms crept around her, smooth as silk. She shuddered with delight, closing her eyes in pure bliss.
But when she opened them again, everything had changed. His beautiful face grew darker and sinister. His arms around her were like tight rope. He laughed nastily. And then, he was growing, shooting up from the ground, like a beanstalk, carrying her with him.
She beat at his chest, desperate to escape. But he only gripped her tighter. They were climbing at a dizzying speed.
“You can never escape me,” he whispered. “I have your heart forever. You must deal with it, my dear. There is nothing you can ever do about it.”
She screamed. Over and over. Until her voice was hoarse, and her hands bloodied…
Arabella’s eyes flew open. She was sitting up in her bed, her heart pumping frantically. All was dark, and there was the fleeting hoot of an owl in the distance, outside her window.
It was only a dream, she told herself. Just a dream.
But she knew it was more than that. For in the dream was the truth of what she tried to fight during the day.
She would never escape him. And there was nothing she could do about it.
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