Arabella stepped back from the pair and shook her head in refusal. The woman took Arabella’s hand and spoke to her urgently. The young man just looked annoyed.
“Mother.” Rowan turned to his mother. “Do you see Lady Arabella just down there?”
His mother didn’t turn from the window. “Please, I beg of you, do not tell me you’ve grown fond of Lady Arabella. One Dunbar in the family is quite enough.”
The gentleman lightly touched Arabella on the arm as if making a plea of some sort.
“Don't be ridiculous.” Rowan didn’t turn away from Arabella and her companions. There wasn’t anything remotely sinister about the pair, but something seemedoff. “I’m just curious. The lady looks vaguely familiar,” he lied. “I believe I danced with her daughter at some affair recently and would like to know the daughter’s name.” His mother would not be able to resist the thought of adding another young lady to her list of potential brides for Rowan in case a match with Lady Gwendolyn White didn't pan out.
She took the bait and turned around, squinting her eyes. “I don’t believe I know her. Where did say you met?” His mother shook her head and returned her attention to the hats on display in the milliner's window. “Perhaps you should go over and inquire after her daughter.”
“Splendid idea.” Rowan doubted she could make out the woman properly and took a step, meaning to interrupt the three when Arabella opened her reticule and pulled out a slip of paper, handing it reluctantly to the woman.
Patting Arabella's arm, the woman seemed to say something soothing while the gentleman doffed his hat before the pair both turned and disappeared into the crowds on Bond Street.
Once the pair was gone, Arabella bit her lip and looked down at her feet, giving a great shrug of her shoulders as if coming to a decision, and not one she was completely happy about. Looking up from her feet, she spied Rowan. A red flush stole up to stain her neck and cheeks, guilt stamped plainly across her lovely features. Her mouth opened slightly in surprise, then closed firmly as she composed herself. A scowl twisted on her lips and she looked down her nose at Rowan as if daring him to approach her. She gave him one last scathing look before stepping into her waiting carriage.
As he watched the coach bearing the Dunbar coat of arms become lost in the congestion of Bond Street, Rowan was struck again with the feeling that something wasn’t right. What was Arabella guilty of?
* * *
“Come.”Nick answered the knock at his study door. A mass of papers lay across his desk, various notes, bills and other business of the enormous Dunbar empire. Even with two secretaries at his disposal, a team of solicitors and several property managers, the task of seeing to all things Dunbar was a daunting one. His eyes fell to a bill from the dressmaker, all for a vast assortment of frilly female undergarments. “None of them will last long,” he said out loud, thinking of the demise of his future wife's bedroom attire.
“Who will not last long?” Arabella sauntered into the room, her lips compressed into a grim tight line as if she were about to announce a death or some other awful occurrence. “I see she is already costing you a king's ransom.” She nodded towards the stack of receipts. “I assumed as much. She is determined to bankrupt you.”
Nick neatened the stack of bills, laying the dressmaker bill atop the others, preparing himself for the confrontation his sister longed for. He loved Bella dearly, and the two had been close their entire lives. They went together to Grandfather, a matched pair of orphaned Dunbars after the scandalous death of Nick's parents. He still remembered the nursemaid hired by his grandfather prying Bella’s hand from his own upon their arrival so that she could be given a bath. Bella had screamed in agony at the separation from her brother, throwing herself at the ground to wrap her arms about Nick’s ankles.
Arabella viewed the world with uncommon bitterness even though her very station in life gave her much to be grateful for. She set herself apart from others, adopting a stern, closed off attitude to protect herself from the gossipmongers who baited her after the alleged treason of their father. Later, she learned to use the infamy of the the family name to protect herself, wrapping the wealth and power that came from being the granddaughter of the Duke of Dunbar around herself like a security blanket. She blamed her lack of suitors on the treasonous taint of their father and Nick’s own reputation, never once acknowledging her own waspish behavior terrified any man who might pursue her. Even her outrageously large dowry didn’t help. He doubted his sister would ever marry, for who would wish to marry such a shrew?
“You assumed what? That I am delighted to provide for my future wife?” Nick countered. “Then you are correct. It is a pleasure.”
Bella flounced down on the leather chair before his desk. Nick expected her to dislike the idea of his marrying anyone, save Lady Miranda, her dearest and only friend. But, her outright dislike of Jem had lately turned to outright hatred.
He allowed his sister a time for adjustment, but that time was over. Her rudeness towards Jem and her family had become tiresome. Just the other evening, at the opera, Bella refused to acknowledge Jem at all, though the entire family shared a box. Jem, bless her, acted as if her future sister-in-law hadn't just cut her dead in public. She’d only squeezed Nick’s shoulder and leaned into him, murmuring it was of no import.
Nick disagreed.
He was rather close to throttling his sister, or banishing her, which he truly didn’t wish to do. Aunt Maisy told him Bella would come around in time, but Nick wasn’t so sure. Bella stayed mired in her own world, blind to the fact that her brother was happy, truly happy, for the first time in his life.
“She will spend the entire Dunbar fortune,” Bella snapped as she sat back in the chair, bracing herself against the arms as if in an effort to keep herself in place. “Do not make the mistake of opening an account for her.”
“We've plenty to spare, Bella. It will take more than my lifetime to spend all that is in the Dunbar coffers. Why do you begrudge me the joy of gifting my betrothed?”
Arabella shot him an ugly look, reminding Nick of their mother, Charlotte. A most unwelcome comparison.
“I do not begrudge you, I begrudge your betrothed.” Bella drummed her fingertips against the arm of the chair. "Why do you wish to marry her? She allowed you to think she was dead. After all, that does not speak well of her character.”
“As I said previously, we parted on poor terms and realizing my error, I sought her out to make amends. I was given incorrect information that she was dead. She did not know I was looking for her. How could she?” He didn’t care to continue the ruse he and Lord Marsh had concocted, but there was little else Nick could do. Arabella would be unforgiving of Jem’s true identity and might lash out, harming the entire Marsh family. Nick could not allow that. “Why do you dislike her so?”
“If she did not want you in Bermuda, then why does she want you now? I think she is after your fortune and protection.”
“So, my own charms are not enough to induce a woman to love me?” His fingers tightened on the desk.
“Love?” Arabella snorted. “You think she loves you?” she continued, ignoring the coldness in his voice. "She has the look of a gold digger, one who would seduce a man out of his fortune. Did she tell you she's with child? Good Lord, it's probably not even yours.”
Nick turned his palms to press against the cool oak of the desk lest he slap his sister, something he had never done. “Careful, Bella.”
Bella leaned forward, her chest heaving with fury. “Really, Nick, there’s whore’s aplenty in London, why must you have thiswhore?” She questioned vehemently. “The daughter of an Irish servant and a traitor,” Bella hissed under her breath. “How could you, Nick? How could you?”
