I only knew of one of Arabella’s aunts and that was the distinguished Lady Farthington. I had met her once—the last time I had seen Arabella, actually. Lady Farthington was a stuffy old thing and a stickler on propriety. So, of course, she loved me. I might have been a tiresome charge for my nurse, always escaping, reading books in trees, and having adventures with my friends, but when it came to presenting myself to my elders, I could be a perfect angel. And I distinctly remember Arabella’s aunt pinching my cheeks and gushing about how sweet I was. It had driven Arabella mad, so I had encouraged it all the more.
What would Mr. Clodwick want with Lady Farthington?
Mr. Clodwick clasped his hands behind his back and seemed to step closer to Arabella as they walked down the boardwalk. “When might you grace us with your paintings? I am a patient man, but I do not wish to be missed at home. I hope you allow me to see them soon.”
“I thought you lived alone, Mr. Clodwick.” Arabella turned so I could see the confusion on her profile.
“Oh, I am never alone, Miss Delafield.” He shook his head, grimly.
“I . . . see,” she said. “Since Mama has planned some card games this afternoon, perhaps we can see my paintings after breakfast tomorrow.”
“Very good.”
An uncomfortable breeze tickled my neck, causing the faintest of shivers. Mr. Clodwick’s peculiar ways were most unsettling. A sudden smirk formed on my lips. I hoped he would be satisfied with Arabella’s paintings. Any nagging guilt for interfering on that count was rapidly dissipating.
Sometimes a man had to act irresponsibly for the sake of the greater good. I was quite looking forward to tomorrow morning, but until then, I would keep my ears open for any word about Lady Farthington.
“Oh!” Arabella’s voice drew me from my musings. “Excuse me, Mr. Clodwick. I see a friend of mine. Please have a look around the haberdashery. I won’t be but a moment.”
Mr. Clodwick dipped his head and proceeded into the haberdashery. I remained outside and watched as Arabella rushed toward a young lady outside a market stall. Instinct set me to follow her.
“Harriet!” Arabella called as she approached.
Harriet lifted her head, allowing me to see a clear view of raven curls and a look of clear distress on her otherwise pretty face. After she met Arabella’s gaze, she darted past her, coming straight toward me. Rightbefore she passed me, she tripped over her feet. I was in the right place at the right time and was able to catch her before she fell.
Arabella was beside us by the time I had Harriet back on her feet, and she looped her arm through Harriet’s to help support her.
Harriet’s face crumbled and tears streamed down her face. “What a mess I am.”
I whipped out my handkerchief and handed it to her.
“Thank you,” she said.
Arabella squeezed her friend’s hand. “Whatever is the matter? Why did you run from me?”
Harriet shrugged. “I’m embarrassed. My husband keeps such a tight rein on my time that with an hour of freedom granted to me, I should have come to see you and not gone to the market. It’s only that I had to be alone to clear my head. I can barely bring myself to eat, I’ve been so overwrought.”
“Harriet . . .” Arabella hedged. “Mr. Lawrence does not abuse you, does he?
“He does not hurt me, if that is what you mean. I am merely afraid I will do something to displease him. He has such high standards, and I am constantly disappointing him.”
Arabella did not have to say a word for me to read her thoughts. Her eyes narrowed much like that when they had skewered me this morning, and I was grateful they were aimed at Mr. Lawrence and not me this time.
“You must come home with us,” Arabella said. “I will see you are fed a feast.”
Harriet shook her head. “The servants will report to my husband if I am gone more than the hour I promised. I was only supposed to come to town long enough to have my glove mended.”
My own gaze narrowed. “And what happens if you are late?”
Harriet seemed to see me for the first time, even though I had caught her from falling moments ago.
“Forgive me,” Arabella said. “This is Mr. Ashworth. Mr. Ashworth, this is my good friend, Harriet Lawrence.”
“Mr. Ashworth?” Harriet asked, her eyes bulging. “Surely, nottheMr. Ashworth.”
Arabella sighed. “He’s not as nice as he looks.”
I grinned. “You think I look nice?”
