He nodded. “We did grow up together.”
“That is not what I meant.”
He looked genuinely confused.
I was about to accuse him of substituting my paintings, but his expression left me unsure. Which meant, even though my wrist was improving, I probably should not hit him again. “Never mind. I have a headache. Excuse me, Mr. Clodwick. I will see you at dinner.” Not even for him could I summon better manners. Once he had a chance to think on how completely unartistic I was, he would be excessively disappointed. It would be up to Lady Farthington to impress him now.
Otherwise, I might end up engaged to Rowan Ashworth. Heaven forbid. He was back to his old tricks. I knew he hadn’t changed completely, and somehow I would prove he was responsible for this catastrophe.
Chapter 19
Rowan
Ileaned against the chest of drawers in my room and stared at the simple but lovely watercolor of the girl reading beneath a tree. I could easily replace the girl for myself. I would be reading my favorite book from my youth,The Highwayman’s Escape, written by a passing traveler. And father would have all the servants searching for me while I evaded my tutors.
Holding the painting close, I imagined the details a watercolor did not allow for. Could it be a self-portrait of Arabella? Here, she looked pretty, even whimsical. It was not at all how I had thought of Arabella as a youth. However, thinking of her gangly legs that constantly tripped over her long dresses and rail-thin arms that would attempt to push me away when I whispered irritating words in passing did not quite conjure up the same distasteful image.
In fact, her awkwardness and too many freckles now seemed slightly endearing. The youthful Arabella wasn’t the beauty she was now, but neither was she as horrid as I had thought her to be. That day in the library, where she had burned the book, had ruined my opinion of her likely more than it should have. Someday, I would ask what book she had so cruelly destroyed.
Opening my top drawer, I tucked the painting back with the others beneath a stack of nightshirts. I would have a maid return them at thefirst opportunity. It was time to head down to dinner and see if Lady Farthington recalled the angelic boy from years ago.
Leaving behind my bedchamber, I made my way down the stairs just as a footman opened the door to allow Lady Farthington to enter. My timing had been beyond perfect. I took quick stock of the woman before me. Her hair was possibly whiter under her black lacey mobcap and her scowl lines had deepened since I last saw her, but I hoped there would still be a glimpse of mischievousness in her gaze. As soon as the door was shut behind her, I stepped forward.
“Lady Farthington.” I bent into a deep bow. When I rose, I gave her my widest smile. “You haven’t aged a day since I saw you last.”
She met my smile with a glare. “I hate flattery above all else. Who are you? Have we been introduced?”
“Years ago. My name is Rowan Ashworth.”
She harrumphed and tapped her cane with a thud against the marbled tile floor. “So the prodigal betrothed returns.”
Why did this family keep using the word prodigal to describe me? Clearing my throat, I attempted to smooth over my absence. “I had to stay away until we were both of an appropriate age. I couldn’t very well court a girl of twelve, now, could I?” I stepped up beside her and offered her my arm.
She took my arm, but her pointed glare had not reduced at all in severity. “It’s been done before, although I found it quite abominable. Don’t you think you could have returned a year sooner?”
“Before I finished making a name for myself?” I tsk-tsked, pulling her slowly toward the drawing room. “A man must offer his best self if he hopes to marry someone as fine as Miss Delafield.”
Her features softened the barest amount. “I suppose. But could you not have visited for the holidays at the very least?”
I leaned closer and adopted a conspiratorial tone. “Miss Delafield required time to forget the youthful version of me. I do not think she cared for me as much as she ought to have.”
Lady Farthington’s eyes narrowed. “That girl is an ungrateful twit.”
I drew back, both confused and surprised that her aunt would be so condescending to her own niece. “Now, Lady Farthington. You mustn’t insult the woman I am to marry.”
“Then she had better marry you forthwith. No daughter has been more trying to a mother than that young lady.” She shook her head and made a disgusted sound.
Atryingwoman, I could believe. Arabella was certainly trying my own patience at the moment.
“When are the banns to be posted?” she asked. “It had better be forthwith.”
I pinched my lips together. “Well . . . that is an excellent question. I think forthwith is my ideal timing, but since we have been apart for so long, I am attempting to win her good opinion first. In the name of marital felicity, of course.”
Lady Farthington growled. “What will these young people think of next?”
“I know it must seem silly, but I do wish for Miss Delafield’s happiness. She has grown on me since my arrival, and I find she suits me more than I had thought possible. You don’t have any advice for me, do you?”
“Advice?” Lady Farthington gave a sharp laugh. “I have enough wisdom to fill a library.”
