Arabella

Arabella

Anne Herries

First published as A Wicked Wench by Severn House Publishers Ltd in 2004.  Now republished by Linda Sole Publications.

Copyright Linda Sole @ 2004.

All rights reserved.  The moral right of the author has been asserted
.

Image from Dreamstime

Cover by Linda Sole

Gervase Winston, Marquis of Roxbourne, paused in the doorway of the busy posting inn, staring at the young woman being assisted from the travelling carriage which had just that minute arrived.  She seemed to be having some difficulty and for a moment he was afforded a glimpse of a pair of neat ankles clad in white stockings.  He smiled to himself, his attention caught.

The carriage itself was a shabby affair, having clearly seen better days, and the woman's gown was plainer than those worn by the more fashionable ladies in town – but, as he looked closer, Gervase saw that there was nothing plain or ordinary about the woman herself.

              By heavens she was a beauty!  His hot gaze intensified as he saw that the neckline of her gown was lower than modesty would suggest proper for the daughter of a well to do farmer, which by the look of her she most likely was.  He could clearly glimpse the tempting mounds of her breasts, enhanced rather than concealed by her charming lace fichu.  He would vow that skin was softer than silk, as luscious as the ripe peaches he sometimes picked from the south facing wall in the gardens of Roxbourne House.

             
Yet it was her face that fixed his attention on her, for she was lovely, as fresh as dew, seemingly innocent until one looked at those cherry ripe lips and her eyes.  It was the eyes that gave her away, for they were green and bold, and now that she was aware of him staring at her, they met his gaze with a proud challenge. 

Only a few wisps of her hair escaped from the tight fitting white cap she wore beneath her severe black hat, but they were a fiery red and curled becomingly against cheek and neck.  He drew his breath in sharply as he pictured that hair unfurled and lying against the pillows of his bed.  She would be as passionate as she was lovely, and he knew a swift desire to bed her, planting himself squarely in her way as she approached the threshold of the inn.

              'Will you not stand aside and let me enter, sir?' she asked and the sound of her voice sent tiny shock waves winging down Gervase's spine.  He had ever the eye for a beautiful wench and the taste to indulge his pleasures, but few women had assaulted his senses as this one did.

             
'Wither so fast, mistress?' he inquired, giving her the arrogant, mocking smile that had brought him many a wench's favour.  'Will you not stay to pass the time of day?'

             
Her eyes went over him, and from their cool expression clearly found him lacking. Gervase smiled inwardly.  This proud beauty needed taming!  He had met others who pretended to resist but in the end they succumbed to his charms, which, he was honest enough to admit, were not always apparent at first glance.

His features were too harsh, his complexion too dark, to be considered handsome by those whose tastes ran to pretty fellows, but there was something supremely masculine about him.  He was tall, large boned, but carried no excess fat, giving the impression of raw physical strength and a will to match.  Men did well to fear him, and women were fools to love him, for he seldom gave of himself although he was generous with money, which he had in abundance and spent as he pleased.

              'I pray you, let me pass!'  There was an imperious tone in her voice, and he recognised that her speech was too cultured to be that of the farm wench he had taken her for.

             
'What is it, Arabella?'

             
A man and another young woman had come up to them.  The man was clearly a country squire, fallen on hard times by the look of his stained coat and shabby boots, neither of which were fit to be seen abroad in Gervase's estimation.  The other young woman might have been the first's sister, though her looks paled by comparison; she was pretty but insipidly fair with blue eyes and a mouth too sweet for Gervase's liking.

             
'Oh, Nan, this
gentleman
does not wish to let me pass,' Arabella replied, looking at the other woman.  'Perhaps Father can persuade him, for it seems that I cannot.'

             
'What?  Eh?  What was that, Arabella?'  Sir Edmund Tucker stared at the fellow blocking the inn doorway in some bewilderment.  'What do you mean by this?  Stand aside and let my daughters pass if you please, sir.  No call for offence, what?'

             
'I was merely admiring the view,' Gervase replied smoothly, his eyes dwelling for a moment on the plump mounds peeping above Arabella's bodice.  She had laced herself tightly to show off her tiny waist and the boned bodice was pushing up her breasts temptingly so that he felt that with the merest persuasion they would pop into his welcoming hands.  'I have gold in my pocket, sir.  If your daughter's wares are for sale I would gladly pay some guineas for a few hours of her time.'

             
'Damn your eyes, sir!'  Sir Edmund roared.  'I am insulted.  If it were not that I believe you have been too freely imbibing of the landlord's good wine, I would demand satisfaction.'

             
At this, Gervase threw back his head and laughed, his large frame shaking with mirth at this quite ridiculous suggestion.  The gentleman now glaring at him so fiercely was at least a foot less in height and his stature was lean to the point of emaciation.  Any duel between them would be of mere seconds in duration and there could be only one outcome.

             
'Think yourself fortunate that I do not care to be insulted by your tone, sir,' he replied easily.  'It is too pleasant a day for quarrelling – and mayhap I spoke too hastily.'  He took off his hat and made Arabella a sweeping bow that served only to mock her.  'Forgive me if I mistook the signs, my lady.  I shall bid you adieu and allow you to continue your progress unheeded…but 'tis a crying shame such beauty should go untasted.' 

His last words were said in a low voice meant for her ears alone and brought an angry flush to her cheeks.  She brushed past him, for he had given her barely enough space to pass, though he stood aside for her sister, who was more modestly dressed.  She gave him a shy, uncertain smile and hurried after Arabella.  Their father glared at him in passing but was too wise to repeat his earlier threat.

Gervase smiled as he walked across the cobbled yard towards his own travelling coach.  There were puddles and fresh horse droppings to negotiate, but the yard was kept reasonably clean by the industry of a young lad busily sweeping.  Seeing Gervase's approach, the lad rushed to clear a path for him.  Gervase threw him a coin, which he caught neatly and grinned as he dropped his broom and opened the door of milord's carriage, a far more elegant conveyance than that of the country squire, with the Roxbourne crest emblazoned on the side in colours of blue, gold and crimson.  Inside, a young man was leaning lazily against the squabs, his eyes half closed as if asleep, but it was a pose as his first words revealed.

'Who was the brazen beauty?' Jack Meadows inquired and yawned, apparently indifferent.  'I thought for a moment that we were in for a short delay.'

'Had her father taken my offer I might have dallied more than an hour or so,' Gervase replied, smiling at his friend.  'I swear there is fire in that wench, Jack.'

'Which will no doubt be wasted on the bovine fool, for whom she is destined,' Jack remarked with a wry twist of his lips.  His features were as pretty as milord's were harsh, his hair as fair as milord's was dark, his eyes a limpid blue: something that had deceived many an innocent wench into thinking him the kinder of the two.  'By the manner of her father's dress, I imagine she is being taken to London for sale to the highest bidder.'

'I daresay he hopes to find husbands for both sisters,' Gervase said and smiled oddly as he wondered at the slightly protective feeling towards the beauty that Jack's idle comment had aroused.  For some reason he would not like to see the wench fall foul of his companion's amorous attentions.  'Which means that neither you nor I are likely to be interested, my friend...unless you are in the petticoat market at last?'

'Not on your life,' Jack replied.  'That is the one redeeming feature of being a younger son.  I do not have to marry to provide an heir for the family.'

'And as long as your luck lasts at the gaming tables you need not look for an heiress,' Gervase agreed with a mocking glance.  'Unless I decide to throw you to your creditors.'

Jack merely smiled at him.  He was in debt once again, but Gervase had bailed him out as always.  He would repay the loan when he was in funds again, because he did not like to be beholden to his friend, who could make him squirm with a word or a look if he chose, but applied the rein only if Jack stepped too far out of line.

'You'd miss me if I was carried off to the debtor's prison,' Jack replied with his lazy smile.  'Who would amuse you when you're in one of your black moods?'

Gervase did not deign to answer, merely settling back and closing his eyes as the carriage moved off.  He was not sure why he kept Jack around, for there were aspects to his character that did not sit well with him – and yet he was amusing, and of course there was the debt to be paid.  Gervase would have died during the attack on Montcalm's stronghold had it not been for Jack, who had carried him to the surgeon as he lay wounded, and because of that much could be forgiven: had been forgiven in the past eight years of their friendship.

'Remind me why we are returning to London,' Gervase inquired, his eyes still closed.  'I know it was some damned dull thing…'

'The King has asked for you to attend him at Court,' Jack replied, aware that Gervase knew exactly why they were returning.  The air of boredom he affected was a mask that disguised a restless and clever mind. 'You were one of Wolfe's best aides, Gervase.  You could have been honoured at court long since had you chosen to dance attendance on His Majesty.'

'I finished with all that after my father died,' Gervase said and his eyes were open now and bleak.  'Had I not been with Wolfe at Quebec…'

'It wasn't your fault that Helen died,' Jack said, sensing that his friend was haunted by the old nightmare.

'I am aware of where the blame lies,' Gervase replied.  'And believe me, one day Sylvester will pay for what he did.'

Jack made no reply, for there was none that he could give that would ease the other's abiding grief.  Yet he would not stand in Harry Sylvester's shoes for any price.

Arabella felt a rising excitement as the carriage drew up outside the house in Hanover Square.  For the past fifty years or more building had been going apace in London, despite the laws and fines imposed to stop the sprawl of the city into open fields, the fashionable world moving away from the squalor of Soho and St Giles.  Because of the restrictions of the past, some of the great houses of earlier times had been turned into stinking tenements that housed many poor families, but now there were fine squares and important houses to be found beyond the old city. 

Passing through some of the poorer areas, Arabella had wondered what they might find at their journey's end.  She was pleased to discover that her cousin, Lady Mary Randall, lived in some style, for she had not thought her rich.  Indeed, in her letters she had complained of having to fend off her debtors since the death of her last husband.  Lady Mary had been married first at the tender age of fifteen, and having now reached nine and twenty had already buried three husbands.

'So we are here at last,' Arabella said to Nan as they were helped down from the carriage.  'I had begun to think that we should never arrive.'

Nan smiled at her impatience.  'We have been on the road some days,' she agreed.  'But the journey from Cambridgeshire is a long one, and we knew it would be tedious before we set out.'

'We might have accomplished it in half the time had Father hired a decent carriage,' Arabella said with a pout.  'That old thing rattles over every pothole and is vastly uncomfortable.'

'You know Father has no money for luxuries,' Nan replied.  As the elder of the two by just ten months she felt that she had a duty to keep her sister in check, for Arabella was both wilful and impetuous.  'Come, dearest, stop sulking.  Cousin Mary will be expecting us, and we must make a good impression.'

'Yes, indeed,' Arabella agreed and laughed.  'Our fortunes depend upon her liking us, Nan.  For if she will not keep us with her we must return to the country and then we shall never find husbands.'

That was not quite true, for both might have been married when they were turned fifteen had they been inclined to take the offers of neighbouring squires.  However, Lady Tucker had been alive then and had been more ambitious for her daughters than the ageing widowers who had wished to bury them in the countryside.

'I visited London when I was sixteen,' she had told Arabella just a few days before her sudden death from a virulent fever.  'I might have married a marquis – but he was fat and Edmund was handsome then…' she had sighed.  'I chose love but I have oft thought that the marquis's fortune would have suited me better.  Lust fades swiftly, my love, money is more enduring.'

Lady Tucker had however seemed content with her lot for many years, and although her husband's wealth had never matched that of the well remembered marquis, he had managed to keep his head above water until a recent series of losses. Some of them had been from business ventures and others at the card table.