Margaret Moore (7 page)

Neville’s familiar tread sounded on the stairs, then the outer door opened and shut.

So he was gone, and she was glad of it. She would not have to dread his return or a repetition of tonight’s shameful episode.

Perhaps she would never see him again, and she told herself that was good. Never again would she be tempted to linger in his presence, trying to discover if some vestige of the Neville she remembered still existed. Never again would she feel this sinful desire to be in his arms or to feel his lips upon hers.

If she should happen to meet Neville Farrington
again, she would remember tonight and be on her guard.

Indeed, she doubted she would ever be able to forget.

Chapter 5

L
ate the next morning, Arabella stared in some surprise at the unknown lady sitting in the earl’s withdrawing room.

Arabella had gotten an early start cleaning and had gone to fetch a fresh bucket of water with which to wash the windows. Obviously, at some point during her brief absence, the stranger had arrived, and the earl had been summoned.

Seated by the hearth, the woman appeared to be of an age with the earl. However, the lady also seemed very desirous of giving the impression that she had ceased to age past nineteen years, to judge by her liberal use of paint and powder as well as her garments. The bodice of her dress was cut very low, the waist very pinched, the skirts very full. The overskirt of bright green and yellow striped satin was, in the fashion of the day, drawn back to reveal
a petticoat of golden silk. Her green broad-brimmed hat, which threatened to tumble off with every utterance, was trimmed with gold and yellow ribbons that fluttered down so far as to be an obvious nuisance, for she occasionally blew them out of the way as she spoke.

As for the woman herself, her face was thin and her nose long, rather like that of a hunting dog. Indeed, she looked as if she was on the scent, although for what, Arabella couldn’t tell.

She also wondered what the wigmaker had used to achieve that particularly flat shade of black that had surely never naturally occurred on a human head.

The earl tore his gaze away from this aged vision to address Arabella. “Come, Arabella, and meet a dear friend of mine, Lady Lippet of Peath. Lady Lippet, my ward, Arabella.”

Arabella obediently took a step further into the room and curtsied. Then she waited, not quite certain what to do next or where she should look, tempting though it might be to stare at their visitor, provided her eyes could accommodate themselves to the riotous stripes of Lady Lippet’s clothes.

“I trust you were not disturbed by the commotion last night,” Lord Barrsettshire said.

“Commotion?” Arabella replied noncommittally.

“Neville was here. Came in the middle of the
night, as if this were a tavern! He was drunk, too.”

Arabella didn’t think the earl’s son had been drunk, but she certainly did not wish to discuss Neville’s disturbing nocturnal visit. “He did?”

“You must sleep deeply. He made enough noise to wake the dead.”

Or a soundly sleeping elderly man, she thought, glad the earl was such, or else she might have been discovered in Neville Farrington’s bedroom, clad only in her nightdress.

She should never have remained alone with him! She should have fled the moment she saw Neville Farrington’s naked back. Then he would not have been able to kiss her again and touch her. She would not have experienced the lustful desire his warm, soft lips provoked or the sinful craving engendered by his hands stroking her thinly clad body—

She flushed hotly when she realized the earl was staring at her.

“I do sleep soundly,” she said with a silent prayer for forgiveness of this little lie.

“Rest is so important for maintaining one’s beauty,” Lady Lippet announced in a voice that reminded Arabella of the barn cat when it had gotten its tail caught in the door.

Her tone also implied that this regimen of rest explained her own youthful appearance.

“She is charming, Wattles, simply charming!” the lady continued. “Pretty as can be, and
with a form—well, the young men will all go mad for her!”

Wattles?
She called Lord Barrsettshire Wattles? Now that she thought about it, Arabella realized, he did look like a turkey.

The earl must have seen her effort not to laugh, for he scowled darkly. Arabella quickly turned her attention to the floor.

As she regarded the worn and wine-stained carpet, suggestive of many bacchanals, she reflected that a nickname indicated a friendship of some intimacy and age, and she wondered what Lady Lippet thought of Neville.

“I don’t want them to go mad for her,” the earl said petulantly. “I want one of them to marry her.”

“I do not see any trouble there!” Lady Lippet cried archly. “Turn around, my dear, and let me get a good look at you.”

“Do as she says, Arabella,” the earl commanded. “Lady Lippet is here to help you get a husband.”

Arabella reluctantly did as she was told.

“Her shape is more than acceptable,” Lady Lippet declared when Arabella, blushing, had completed her circle. “But these clothes, Wattles! They are an affront! They simply will not do!”

“I thought they were a little plain,” the earl confessed.

“A little plain? She looks like a poor penitent.
You were wise to send for me, Wattles, very wise! We must have some new gowns without delay, and I am just the woman to help you buy them.”

Arabella’s heart beat a little faster. Oh, to have a new dress! And one in the latest fashion!

“Nothing too expensive,” Lord Barrsettshire replied warily.

“You do not put a lovely jewel in a setting of tin.”

“No, no, I suppose not.”

“Therefore, she must have some fine new gowns. Do not worry. I shall ask my dressmaker to do what she can as cheaply as she can.

Her
dressmaker? Arabella’s heart sank even as it had risen moments before.

“Mademoiselle Juliette is a marvel.”

She had to be something extraordinary if she was responsible for Lady Lippet’s current ensemble.

“I would be grateful if you would be so good as to importune this Mademoiselle to be quick. I would not be longer in London than I must.”

“These things take time, Wattles, if we are to make the best possible match. Unless there is some reason for haste?”

“No, there is not,” Arabella said firmly.

Lady Lippet started a little, as if she had forgotten that the subject of the conversation was
in the room. She quickly turned her attention back to the earl. “Then there are two ways to proceed. I will be happy to give a dinner party for her, and we can hope other invitations will follow. Or …”

“Or?” Lord Barrsettshire demanded.

“Or we could go to the theater and show her off to many at once.”

“The theater?” Arabella cried happily.

She had long wished to see a play performed. Her father had denounced plays as works of Satan, yet she thought they sounded harmless enough. As she had been tempted to say to her father, if a person’s morals could be harmed by a play, it was likely they were not very sound to begin with.

And what if the king came? King Charles enjoyed the theater. Indeed, he was a patron.

Surely that would be too much to expect.

She realized Lord Barrsettshire was giving her a condemning glance worthy of her late father.

“Perhaps the theater is too wicked,” she said, trying to sound more subdued.

“Nonsense! The theater is no more wicked than any other place where courtiers gather,” Lady Lippet said, as if Arabella had insulted her personally. “I assure you, Wattles, it will be the best thing if you wish a speedy marriage.”

“Must we make such haste, my lord?” Arabella
asked. “Would it not be better for me to have some time to learn about the man I am to marry?

“Do you want to be a spinster all your life?”

“No, my lord.”

“Then I see no reason for delay. We must find you a nobleman with sense, if there is such a thing in this terrible place.”

“A nobleman? I assure you, my lord, I do not aspire to a nobleman,” Arabella said. “Indeed, I am most certain one of them will not suit my temperament. I would prefer a more modest man. Perhaps a banker or merchant—”

The earl bolted from his chair as if he had been shot.

“A merchant?” he thundered. “The daughter of the Duke of Bellhurst marry a merchant?”

“My father tried to renounce his title,” she reminded him.

“That does not matter!” the earl retorted as he threw himself back into the chair like a cranky child. “To allow you to marry anyone below the rank of viscount would be an abomination! It would be anarchy!”

The earl’s son was a viscount, which was utterly unimportant.

“My lord, naturally I would be extremely flattered to have such a man court me. However, I think we must be practical. My father
gave the bulk of his estate to his church when he converted to Puritanism.”

“You are rich, nonetheless, and of noble rank.”

“Rich?” she asked, bewildered.

“Your fortune left by your father is ten thousand pounds.”

While Lady Lippet’s falsely black eyebrows rose to amazing heights, Arabella stared at him in stunned disbelief. “How … can this be?”

Her father had prided himself on his frugality, even though a Puritan was not supposed to be proud. He had counted every penny when she went to market and chastised her for vanity if she so much as bought a ribbon for her hair. He even begrudged candles, always claiming rushlights would do.

“Ten thousand pounds?” she whispered. “He always said he intended to leave what money he had left to the church, too.”

“Obviously, he wisely reconsidered,” Lady Lippet exclaimed. “Why, with that sort of fortune, a title, and your own loveliness, it should be ease itself to find a good husband!”

“With that sort of fortune, I could perhaps do without one entirely,” Arabella noted.

“Don’t be a fool,” the earl rumbled. “You need someone to look after your money. A noble husband will be used to overseeing a fortune.”

“Noblemen are also used to spending a fortune,” Arabella mumbled.

Unfortunately, she would have done better to keep that thought to herself, for the earl overheard her.

“Like my son, eh?” he demanded.

Arabella had no desire to get into a discussion about Neville. “Be that as it may, I think—”

“I will be making inquiries and I will insure your husband is a man of good character and morals, and well able to oversee such a vast sum. I will choose someone who has not been indulged and spoiled, someone who will not disappoint me.”

He sounded as if the main thing was to replace Neville, not find a good husband for his ward.

Arabella thought of the boy in the garden those years ago. He had not seemed spoiled or arrogant or overindulged. He had seemed lonely, as lonely as she.

Neville Farrington had no place in her life now and should not be in her thoughts, either, she inwardly commanded.

“Do you know, I think we may be in great luck with the gowns, Wattles,” Lady Lippet said, leaning forward excitedly. “Dear Lady Spotsford has passed away at last. She’s been ailing for ages—since I first met her in the days when those horribly dull Puritans took charge of the country.”

“Arabella’s father was a Puritan, Lady Lip-pet,” the earl whispered loudly.

“Oh, yes, of course, and quite the scandal that was, too.” She gave Arabella a pitying, patronizing look. “That also explains your hair and clothing, my dear. Never mind. I shall fix you. And I have just the maidservant for you, too. I shall send for her to come directly.”

“I have never had a maidservant,” Arabella said dubiously. “I would hardly know what to do with her.”

“But
she
will know what to do with
you
,” Lady Lippet said, as if Arabella were in great need of renovation. Her ladyship faced the earl. “What Nancy doesn’t know about hair is not worth knowing. I will give your ward the loan of her while you are in town.”

“Is this maid responsible for your fascinating coiffure?” Arabella inquired.

Lady Lippet squirmed with pleasure and touched a gloved hand to her brow. “Indeed she is.”

“I shall be most intrigued to see what she can do with mine.”

Lady Lippet’s brow puckered for a brief moment, as if she was trying to decide if she had been criticized or not. However, the matter of gowns proved to be enough to make her forget any possible insult. “Now about poor Lady Spotsford—her new gowns were almost finished when she shuffled off this mortal coil and
went to her reward, although why that woman deserves any reward after the scandalous life she led … Well, it doesn’t do to speak ill of the dead.”

Lady Lippet cleared her throat delicately, as if, given the chance, there was much ill she could speak about the dear departed. “However, if I am any judge, she was close enough in size to Arabella for it to be a simple thing for Mademoiselle Juliette to alter the gowns for her.

“And,” she added significantly, “we should be able to get them cheap, because Mademoiselle will be anxious to sell them.”

“Excellent!” the earl cried, the point apparently decided.