Rowan
Winning over Arabella was proving harder than I thought, and yet, was I wrong that I still sensed a connection between us? It seemed to flare to life at the strangest moments, drawing me to her like a moth lured to a flame. Outside of my adolescent childishness, I considered myself to be an honorable man with upstanding manners, but Arabella seemed intent on ignoring the growing sentiment between us, seeing something else in me entirely.
For the briefest moment, she would forget she hated me, and her eyes would soften with such tangible warmth that spread through my limbs with one glance, only for her to turn a moment later and skewer me with her icy blue glares. I had fallen exhausted into my bed last night, wishing I could have five minutes of privacy with her to unburden our feelings and finally put the past behind us.
Perhaps if I told her she could have the Third Folio as her—well,our—wedding present, she might fall to her knees and propose herself. I stared at the burgundy canopy above my bed, at the places where the color seemed more red where the morning light touched it. Could I be sure she truly valued Shakespeare and did not have a secret desire to burn the sacred works? No, I couldn’t imagine anyone, even Arabella, would stoop so low. I had to believe after her purchase ofRomeo and Julietthat she would be elated by such a gift.
A sudden memory of my promise to Mr. Delafield killed my enthusiasm before it fully bloomed. Bribery might have worked for Arabella and Mr. Clodwick, but it couldn’t work for me.
A new plan formed in my mind—one that did not include bribery but did include a bit of mischief reminiscent of our childhood. There was something about Arabella that brought out a playful side that I couldn’t resist. It would be a risk, of course, but it might show her that there was no harm in a little fun, and that it was a far sight better than marrying a superstitious stiff.
Before anyone was up for breakfast, I crept up the stairs to the conservatory. I hadn’t been to that room since I was a young boy, but I remembered there had been an easel with a painting Mrs. Delafield had been working on. If I was going to discover any of Arabella’s art before Mr. Clodwick, then this is where I hoped to find it.
The warm hues of sunrise spilled through the door as I opened it. Tall windows lined the long outer wall of the conservatory, making it the brightest room in the house, even with the sun barely poking its head up over the horizon. The narrow room housed a variety of plants: ferns, orange trees, roses, and even a few pots of herbs. It smelled like a forest to me. An easel stood in the corner, just as I’d hoped. I shut the door behind me and crossed to it. The paper on the easel was unfortunately blank, but a leather case sat on the floor beside a large basket of paints and brushes.
Kneeling down, I rifled through the contents. The first I pulled out was a charcoal by Mrs. Delafield. I carefully slipped it back. The second piece was also from Mrs. Delafield. I switched to the other end and discovered a small stack of watercolors tied together with pink ribbons to prevent any bends. In the bottom corner, I saw the initials A.D. in pretty cursive.
With a tug of my fingers, the bow released, and the ribbon fell away. The top watercolor depicted a bouquet of flowers. It was really quite good. I lifted it to reveal a second painting. This one was of Elmhurst Hall. A smile tugged at my mouth. She had captured it in the fall, with the trees dressed in reds and golds, an orange hue painting the sky, and the grass dotted with leaves. I suddenly wanted to return here come autumn, just for a view such as this.
The next image was a girl sitting in the shade of a large tree, a book open on her lap. The details were simple because of the medium, but they were altogether impressive. I had no idea Arabella had such hidden talent. She had grossly undersold her skills.
I dug through the rest of the leather case, hoping for more treasures from Arabella. Sadly, this was it. I wondered why she had not painted more. She clearly had a natural gift that deserved to be shared.
There was no time for me to return downstairs to share my complaints. I had work to do. I carefully set aside Arabella’s pictures and pulled out the paints. It was time for plan B to begin. This was a little more desperate than my usual tactics, but then again, Iwasdesperate. It would take time to convince Arabella to see me differently, so today I would shift my focus to convincing Mr. Clodwick to give up his suit.
I rubbed my hands together. “Prepare to be impressed, Clod.”
Chapter 16
Arabella
Icouldn’t help but look around the corridors after luncheon for the elusive Mr. Rowan Ashworth. He had been everywhere I had been yesterday. I had hardly been able to turn around without bumping into him. And to my great dismay, even after pulling each of my sisters aside and warning them, he had done an admirable job charming them back into his good graces. I was absolutely baffled by it. Father hadn’t helped. He praised Rowan again and again at the dinner table last night, heralding us all with tales of his accomplishments at university. I couldn’t get a word in edgewise about Clodwick’s merits.
The worst was after dinner when Rowan had told everyone about a footrace we’d had as children, and how I had cheated by cutting across the edge of a field containing stinging nettle. I had tripped and developed a painful rash on my face and hands. The whole story was mortifying and, unfortunately, quite true.
Then he had told everyone how he had had to carry me on his back all the way to the house while I cried loud enough for the county over to hear it. Mr. Clodwick had even cracked a smile at that part, after shamefully staring at an empty chair at the table for the entire first two courses. He was not helping our cause at all.
My eyes trailed to the tile floor as I thought of the story Rowan had told last night. Oddly enough, I hadn’t remembered him carrying me until he had mentioned it again. I suppose I had been too focused on hismean-spirited words the next day when he had called me a strawberry face. Perhaps I should be grateful that, like a puff of smoke, he had disappeared this morning. I turned to glance toward the library, curious if Rowan was inside.
He was not my concern. With a shrug, I spun on my heel to join the others in the drawing room so we might go over our plans for this afternoon. Elizabeth had said something about wanting to purchase ribbons to match her new gown. It would be a good time to stop and purchase new ink, as mine was running low.
My gaze strayed to the library behind me again as I reached the door. Was it too much to hope Rowan would stay away for the entire day? I liked imagining that he was hiding away, disappointed that he was losing any suit he’d thought he had with me. I smirked and turned again, reaching for the door.
My shoulder rammed hard into the wall.
No, not a wall.
I had found Rowan the hard way.
My good hand went to my shoulder, and I rubbed it.
“Blast!” he exclaimed, reaching for me. “Your bad arm! Did I hurt your wrist?”
“No, just my life,” I grumbled.
He cupped his ear with his hand. “Pardon, you wish to be my wife?”
In a reflexive moment, I smacked his arm . . . with my bad hand. Pain shot through my wrist, and I gritted my teeth to keep from saying something highly improper.
