“Really Jemma? Petra was to be the sacrifice,” Uncle John stated with a bit of irony, his voice calm. “But then you fainted at his feet. Your poor aunt was horrified and worried that we had offended him beyond repair.” Uncle John took another sip. “Had he wished to, His Grace could have brought your father back to London in chains. I doubt seriously that the Crown would have stopped him even if he wished to hang William. But something changed in his plans for revenge.”
Sliding the sherry around her mouth with her tongue, she still felt the press of Nick’s lips against her own. “Me. How convenient then, that he’s ruined me, for all our sakes.”
“Niece.” Uncle John took her hand in his. “His Grace has told me of his time in Bermuda. I was given to believe that you have feelings for him as I know he does for you. He did not leave you willingly.”
“What—”
“It is his story to tell, and not mine. Suffice it to say niece that if you will just put aside your anger and pride, you will find yourself to be that rarest of things amongst theton. A love match.”
Remembering the pain in Nick’s face as she lashed out at him, tears welled up in her eyes. “What have I done?” She put her head in her hands as a sob caught in her throat.
“Angered a very dangerous, very powerful man. He loves you though, so that is something.”
19
Lady Arabella Tremaine sipped her lukewarm tea and wished to be anywhere but at the Ladies Society for Orphans. Miranda, curse her, should be here suffering as well, but she’d begged off today's tea in order to attend some boring, dry lecture. Miranda simply adored lectures about ancient dead people who Arabella could have cared less about.
The hostess for today’s gossip mongering masquerading as an event to raise funds for parentless children was none other than Lady Tomlinson. Lady Tomlinson, bless her, wasn’t known for her kindness towards others, and certainly not orphaned children, but as the wife of the wealthy, highly respected, and elderly Lord Tomlinson, she was expected to show her support. The one thing Lady Tomlinsonwasknown for was being the onetime paramour of Arabella's brother, Nick.
Most young ladies of Arabella’s age would be overcome with shock at such knowledge. But Arabella was no typical young lady. She was the sister of the Duke of Dunbar. Her brother had been a topic of gossip since their mother screamed upon seeing Nick’s eyes. Nick had continued to endear himself to thetonby running wild at Eton. Society still called he, Sutton and Lord Kilmare the “Wickeds.” Then, of course, there was the “accidental” death of her parents. Thetonsimply adored treason and suicide, especially when served up in a London town home complete with screaming servants and blood splattered walls.
Arabella glanced around the room and spied a nice overstuffed couch hidden partially behind a palm where she could sip her tea in peace.
It wasn't as if she didn't care about orphans, she did. She donated loads of money to various causes but didn't actually take part in any of the social niceties that went along with them. She detested ladies luncheons, having nothing to say to the vapid women of theton,many of whom remembered her parents, as evidenced by the way they addressed Arabella with a look of spiteful pity in their eyes. Besides, she was in no mood for company, having had another row with her brother over his determination to marry that girl. Dear God, Arabella almost preferred Lady Petra to her cousin, Jane Emily.
"More tea?"
Arabella smiled politely to the servant. “No, thank you.” She took another sip.Ugh. Tepid and lacking a bit of taste. The tiny cakes being served even looked bland and dry, certainly she couldn’t hope to choke one of those down. She should have gone to the lecture with Miranda, at least they had decent tea at the Royal Exposition.
An older woman, her hair a faded red laced with gray, walked slowly past Arabella and stopped, nodding politely. “May I join you?”
Arabella tilted her head. “Of course, though you won’t be able to hear the proceedings from here. Lady Tomlinson will be taking the small podium up there.” She pointed to a small stand at the other end of the room.
"Oh, I’ve already made my donation and I’m just waiting for my daughter to collect me. She’s an avid supporter of the orphans.” The woman said in a dry tone, “Are you, my lady?”
“I try to be supportive of all those in need. It is my duty,” she replied politely, the practiced words slipping off her tongue with ease. She couldn’t place the woman beside her. Had they met before?
“A pretty speech.” The woman smiled wryly and munched on one of the cakes. “My, this is very,” the woman hesitated, “light.”
Arabella smiled over her teacup, beginning to enjoy her new companion. “Have we met? I am Lady Arabella Tremaine.” She inclined her head and waited for the inevitable gasp as the woman realized who Arabella was.
“It is my great pleasure to meet you. I am Lady Corbett. My daughter, Dorthea Jennings is just there,” she nodded towards a plump redhead in violet. She took another sip of her tea and wrinkled her nose. “Is this the usual way that tea is prepared? I’ve been gone from London for such a long time, but I don’t remember it tasting this way.”
“I don't make tea,” Arabella shot back. “I’ve absolutely loads of servants to do that sort of thing.” It amused her to say shocking things to people, something she and Nick had in common.
Ignoring Arabella’s rudeness, Lady Corbett gave a soft chuckle. “Forgive me, as I said, I’ve not been to London in ages and my daughter resides in Yorkshire, but you are related to the Duke of Dunbar? Perhaps his granddaughter? I heard he was at the Cambourne ball. I’m sorry to have missed him.”
“My grandfather passed away last year, Lady Corbett. It was my brother who attended the Cambourne ball. He is the current duke.”
The color drained from Lady Corbett’s face. Her teacup rattled against its flowered saucer. “Your brother?” She blinked rapidly.
Arabella tried to keep the polite smile on her face. Apparently, Lady Corbettwasfamiliar withNick. “Yes, my brother.” Arabella tried to keep her tone bland waiting for Lady Corbett to give her a horrified look and suddenly pretend she needed to find her daughter.
Lady Corbett blinked once more, then took a deep breath. “I beg your pardon, Lady Arabella. Please accept my deepest sympathies on the death of your grandfather.” An embarrassed laugh escaped her lips. “I just assumed. I knew your mother, you see, we were friends.” She fanned herself and looked away. “It did not seem so long ago. Why, I’m quite embarrassed to have reminded you of your grandfather’s passing. I fear my only excuse is I have traveled much of late, and it has me feeling a bit rattled.”
A spurt of sympathy welled up inside of her for the woman, quite an unfamiliar feeling for Arabella. She did not suffer fools gladly, but the poor woman looked as if she would faint, for her face was deathly pale. “So you knew my mother? Where did you say you were from?” Arabella signaled a servant to bring more tea. Perhaps she should also ask for some smelling salts.
“Bermuda.” Lady Corbett’s lips were pulled into a thin, taut line.
