“Very well.” Philip looked harassed. “What did you want to tell me, Arab — I mean, Miss Weston?”
“Do you also want ices, Miss Weston?” chattered Katy as she skipped along.
“I —” she swallowed. “Ices will be nice.”
“Watch the carriages,” Philip warned Robin and pulled him back by the collar.
Arabella followed them with a sinking feeling.
The children ranin the park. Joy had taken along her stick and her hoop, whereas Robin pestered them about the balloon ascent that had taken place in Hyde Park at the jubilee celebration in eighteen-fourteen. He was clutching a roll of paper that he fervently refused to give up. Upon asking him what it was, he said with a sly smile that it was a big secret.
Arabella was glad of the big rim of the straw bonnet. She’d already seen more than one person who’d know her as Lady Arabella Astley. She hoped that with her threadbare bonnet and her plain dark brown dress she looked like a typical governess, and no one would pay her much notice. So far, it seemed to work. With some luck she could stay in the park with the children while Philip conducted his business with her brother. But why wasn’t he leaving already? And why was he ushering them all across the street towards Grosvenor Square? He was busy explaining the mechanism of a steam engine to Robin as he strode quickly down the street.
“Sir, don’t you want the children to play the park while you make your call?” Arabella asked breathlessly as she tried to keep up with him.
“You can wait for me on the bench on the square. Ah, it’s here,” Philip came to a full stop in front of a grand townhouse that was very familiar to Arabella. She stared at it as if it were a dream. Philip rubbed his nose. “I had no idea he lived so close. Since we’re already here, I’ll talk to the fellow right away. There is no point in drawing things out.” He started up the stairs.
“I will wait here with the children,” Arabella said hastily. “Or you know what, why don’t we return to the park while your father talks to the duke?” The further away they were, the better. She attempted to usher the children down the road.
“But we’ve already been at the park,” Joy complained. “I’m tired and hungry and want to rest.” She set her mouth in a stubborn line. “Besides, Papa said we could have ices.”
“We can have ices afterwards.” Arabella tried to coax her on. To no avail.
Joy threw a full-fledged tantrum in the middle of the street, right in front of the Ashmore residence.
Just at that moment, the door of the mansion opened, and a whirlwind emerged. It stopped on the top of the stairs shortly before an astonished Mr Merivale.
“Arabella!” a voice shrieked.
Arabella found herself engulfed in her sister-in-law’s embrace.
Lucy. She was a slim woman with unruly brown curls and lively grey eyes, dressed in a walking dress of the latest fashion.
“I was about to go out with Henry, and would you know it, here you are!” She engulfed Arabella in another tight hug. “I knew you’d return! I kept telling Henry, but he wouldn’t believe me. He had to go and send out Bow Street Runners and it took me a devil of a time to convince him not to go dashing out himself, looking for you. Can you imagine? Bow Street Runners! But look at you! You look good and healthy and brown, and that is all that matters. Where have you been? Who’s been screeching like a banshee? And who is he?” Lucy looked at Philip curiously. He’d taken a step back, and the children were watching with open mouths. Joy had mercifully stopped screeching.
Philip turned to Arabella. “Would you care to explain what is going on, Miss Weston?”
Lucy’s eyes grew round. “Miss Weston? As in the name of our English teacher in school?”
“Judging from your expression of astonishment, ma’am, I surmise that this is not our governess’ real name.” His face darkened.
“Governess?” Lucy clasped her hand over her mouth. “You didn’t!”
“It’s — it’s complicated.” Arabella wanted to sit down on the stairs and weep.
Lucy pulled her aside. “Henry’s coming out any minute. He’s —”
“Henry’s already here.” A cool, male voice intruded. An impossibly tall, elegantly clad gentleman stood in the doorway and surveyed the scene. Ash, as Arabella fondly called him. There were lines of worry around his eyes which hadn’t been there before. Arabella felt a pang of remorse. He’d worried about her. He’d sent out Bow Street Runners for her. A sob caught in her throat.
Ash’s eyes rested on her. “Arabella.” An infinitesimal shadow of relief crossed his face before he narrowed his eyes to grey slits of iron as he took in Philip and the children. “What, pray, is going on, here?” he asked quietly. Arabella, who’d been about to throw herself at him, froze. She recognised that voice. He only spoke like that when he was very, very furious.
“My name is Philip Merivale.” Philip scowled. “Who the devil are you?”
Ash threw an annihilating look at Philip.
Lucy drew his arm into hers.
“This is my husband Henry Astley, the Duke of Ashmore. Lady Arabella’s brother.”
