Mr. Delafield grinned. “Yes, butIdid not release her from it.”
I frowned. “Then you will force us to wed? I cannot let that happen.”
“Not at all.” He batted his hand and sat forward. “You can choose it for yourselves. In good time, I am sure all will be taken care of.”
I chewed on my bottom lip. I did not see how to make it work between us. Mr. Delafield spoke again before I could reach any conclusion that did not equate to me being alone and miserable.
“Lady Farthington has asked me to escort her to London. My back has been bothering me, and since you insist on leaving, I wonder if you could take her in my place. You would depart at dawn.”
“I would be happy to help.”
He stood and moved to his library shelf. “I have a few remarkable books you should read on the way. I have no doubt you will find them quite enlightening.”
“Oh?” I stood and stepped to the side of the desk with interest. If Mr. Delafield had a book recommendation for me, I would not refuse it. He had excellent taste.
I stretched out my hand, and just as I gripped the spines, he paused before relinquishing them. “There is only one condition. This is the only copy of these books in the world, and you must return them on your way back from London before returning to Ashworth Hall.
“Elmhurst is not exactly on the way to Ashworth Hall,” I hedged. “Besides, Arabella would not like it.”
“Trust me when I say that these books will change your life.”
My brow furrowed. Were they religious texts? They appeared more like cheap diaries rather than anything of worth.
“Trust me,” he added.
I sighed and took the books. “If I promise to return in a few days, what am I to tell Arabella?”
Mr. Delafield shrugged and motioned me to the door. “That will be entirely up to you. Write a poem. Buy her a meaningful trinket. Get on one knee and profess your love. Whatever it takes.” He opened the door.
“But—”
“You’re a smart man. You’ll figure it out.” He pushed me out and closed the door in my face.
I groaned and stepped back until I hit the wall of the corridor. I slumped against it, falling until I was squatting on my knees. Arabella was going to kill me if I came back. I leaned forward and rested my head against the books. Was this a second chance with Arabella? Or should Isay a third or fourth? Or was I setting my heart on a cutting board for it to be thoroughly mashed and beaten?
Chapter 24
Arabella
Ientered the dining room a few minutes late for dinner. I had been a terrible host and had left Mr. Clodwick in the hands of my mother and brother-in-law after they’d come back from town. Admittedly, I had been hiding. Did that make me a terrible human without any manners at all? I couldn’t face Papa—or worse, Rowan if he was still here—and nothing could induce me to face Mr. Clodwick—I’d be seeing him every day for the rest of my life.
Not to mention Mr. Clodwick was likely upset that I had promised him a private art tour, and I had nothing to show for it.
My eyes focused on the silver chandelier full of glowing candles instead of the faces at the table as I dragged my feet ever closer. I dared not look down and discover Rowan gone. The guilt and disappointment would be too much to face. Something had happened while I’d been hiding away. After attempting to write a new story, from the very first page, I discovered all I wanted to write was about love. And not just any love story.
My own personal romance.
Every heroine I could imagine resembled me, and every hero was the devastatingly handsome Rowan Ashworth. He played the daring knight as well as he did a stern duke with a secret heart of gold. It was hopeless. I was hopeless. I blamed his charming smile that warmed my middle, and the soft words that had wrapped around me like a cocoon of security lastnight. He had offered his comfort so readily, so naturally. I had tried to resist, but could one push away a soft breeze that curled around them, leaving them warm and safe? It was impossible.
And then when I had driven myself mad with frustration, I had snuck into Papa’s office and read every paper and literary review of Rowan’s I could find.
I had been wrong about him.
So very wrong.
He was a literary genius.
And I was an utter fool.
