After the doctor had told us that she would likely not live through the night, I had gone to her bedside and begged her to live. I did more than beg; I yelled at her and challenged her to get up and hit me as hard as she could. I would let her do it.
She didn’t move an inch.
By the next morning, a miracle had happened. Her fever had broken. It had nothing to do with me, and everything to do with her fighting spirit. She did not cower or waver when faced with death, and I knew she would do the same when faced with marrying her worst enemy.
Only, in this scenario, a little wavering from her cause would not be the worst for either of us.
“Mr. Clodwick,” Arabella said behind me, her tone normal and very unlike the way she ever addressed me. “There is a beautiful painting in the tearoom in town. I would love your opinion of it.”
With my head lowered, I heard Clodwick’s monotone acceptance.
“Mr. Ashworth.” Mr. Mason’s voice pulled my head from the window. “Will you be joining us?”
I hesitated. It would be the kind thing to do to bow out. But if Clodwick was going, shouldn’t I go too? I might not be the best man, but my house wasn’t haunted, and I could guarantee that I had the better library out of the two of us. Arabella would never learn these advantages of marrying me—however small they may be—if I did not persist in my suit.
“I will come,” I answered. And this time, I would be the perfect gentleman.
Not fifteen minutes later, we were all squished into a carriage together. Mr. Mason, his wife, and Elizabeth were sandwiched on one end, while Arabella sat rigidly between Clodwick and me. This sort of arrangement was getting old. It was about as cozy as it was awkward.
I turned my head to ask about our agenda and accidentally grazed my nose against Arabella’s hair. It smelled of lavender and vanilla.
“Do stay on your side of the carriage, Mr. Ashworth,” Arabella hissed.
The perfect retort came to mind. Perhaps I had spent too much time in my friend Tristan’s company, because I found I wanted to take up the role as flirtatious tease. But I bit my tongue, knowing nothing I said at the moment would be appreciated. I had promised myself I would behave. “Of course, excuse me.” I didn’t attempt to make any further conversation. It was my own fault that I had chosen to sneak away to the conservatory this morning and didn’t know the plans for the afternoon. I would consider it my punishment for interfering. A small smile crept over my lips. A punishment I would gladly endure a second time if it worked.
After a long carriage ride that consisted of silence on my behalf, we made it to town. The other bench dispersed first, and I was the first to the door on our end. I motioned the groomsmen aside and lifted my hand to help Arabella down, taking her good hand.
She raised a brow but accepted. “You were rather quiet on the ride to town.”
I could hear her underlying accusation, as if I was either scheming something or wallowing in the guilt of my transgressions. “I do not desire to wear on your nerves,” I said. Then I quickly added, “Overly much.”
She gave a soft shake of her head as Mr. Clodwick stepped out. My gaze flicked to see Elizabeth speaking to a groomsman by the head of the horses. She smiled coyly at the groomsman while he stood much too close to her.
Arabella seemed to follow the line of my gaze. She went rigid beside me.
When Elizabeth made no hurry to move, I spoke up. “Miss Delafield,” I called to her. “Are you ready?”
Elizabeth turned, a trace of guilt crossing her face. With a last glance at the groomsman, she moved to join us. “Where shall we go first?”
Arabella frowned. “I thought you wanted to look at ribbons.”
“I did? Oh, I did. Let’s go there now.”
Arabella’s gaze met mine, and I could read the concern there. I likely mirrored it. Either the groomsman had distracted Elizabeth, or her desire for ribbons had been an excuse to see said groomsman. Either way, a relationship across stations was more challenging than an arranged marriage of two childhood enemies. I dared not read too much into it, but if my suspicions were correct, Elizabeth was setting herself up for a world of hurt.
While we walked to the haberdashery, Arabella held back until we were beside each other. “Good heavens, what do I do?” she whispered.
I knew she spoke of Elizabeth. “There is nothing you can do now,” I said under my breath. “But when we return home, you might caution her.”
“When did a Delafield woman ever listen to anyone?” She scoffed and stepped away from me to flank Mr. Clodwick once more.
I had to bite my cheek to keep from laughing. This might not be an appropriate time to gloat, but I was quite pleased that in her moment of frustration, she had turned to me for help. Did this mean she was admitting that I was right, and that the two of us stood a chance together?
The thought made a smile spread across my face.
“Miss Delafield,” Mr. Clodwick said just loud enough for me to catch. “Did you have a chance to speak to your aunt?
Arabella’s answer held a note of weariness. “Mother gave me permission to invite her to dinner the day after tomorrow. She helped me write to her this morning. I would not be surprised if there is an answer awaiting us upon our return.”
