Eighteen
Arabella knew she would not be able to carry through with her brave act without Alasdair at her side, with the lie that he was her husband, that she was cherished despite what had gone before. She had to pretend that she was the woman she might have been if Alasdair had declared himself when she was seventeen.
Unafraid. A bit mischievous. Satisfied. Well-loved.
She wanted Giles to know that someonehadwanted her the way she should be wanted—as a wife. She wanted him to know that she had not shriveled up and died from the pain and humiliation he had caused her. She had survived and now she was here with the love of her life,her husband.Even if he wasn’t her husband. But there was still hope for that, wasn’t there? Alasdair had overlooked so many of her flaws already.
And then a laugh rang through the hall. A laugh she remembered. She did not hide her cringe from Alasdair.
“I wondered who among my former acquaintance this might be, but I would have never guessed Arabella Lovelock!”
Giles was walking toward her, swaggering, long strides. Just as light on his feet. Just as big and towering. Same dark hair, dark eyes. Of course, he looked the same. She should not be surprised. It had only been a little over two years.
She curtsied. “Lord Morpeth.” She could feel Alasdair bow next to her. She put her arm through his possessively and clasped her own hands, forming a link. She felt Alasdair’s other hand settle on top of her forearm.
“This is my husband, Dr. Andrews. Darling, this is Lord Morpeth.” She looked up at Alasdair, willing him to behave.
“Thank ye for yer hospitality in this snowstorm, Lord Morpeth,” Alasdair said stiffly. “I am obliged to ye.”
Oh, good, he was trying to be civil.
Giles’ eyes swept over Alasdair with a degree of curiosity, but his gaze quickly returned to Arabella, and as he bowed, he let his eyes continue to rest on her.
“I had not heard you had married, Miss Love—I mean, Mrs. Andrews.”
She smiled coquettishly, even as the bile rose into her throat. “And I had not heard you were married either, when last we met, Lord Morpeth.”
There was shock in his eyes. That she had brought it forward so openly and without shame. Oh, yes, she had startled him. She could tell. Here, in his own house, she had put him on his back foot. She felt a great deal of pride in that.
“Oh, but I forgive you for that, Lord Morpeth.” She wished she had a fan or a lorgnette so she could tap him with it. “How young and foolish I was. Not to read myDebrett'sand find this out. I look forward to meeting Lady Morpeth.”
“Yes,” he said and his eyes took on the hurt and pained look she remembered. “She is not well.”
“Oh, Lord Morpeth, I am sorry.” And she was. She almost made a move toward him to show her sympathy, but Alasdair held her tightly by his side and she remembered. The man with the wounded eyes was not a good man. The man with his arm laced through hers was. She looked up at Alasdair now, hoping to catch his eye, to show him how much she cared for him and how little for the man across from her, but Alasdair was looking at Giles with very little expression.
“My husband is a physician,” she said. “Perhaps he could attend on your wife.”
Giles hesitated. “Yes.” He seemed to make a decision. “Come and meet the house party. We are all drinking rum punch and making wagers on how long we will be snowed in.”
Giles led the way down the hall to a door that showed a large light-filled room beyond. As they walked, Alasdair removed his hand from on top of her arm but she kept her hands clasped, her arms linked around his, staying close, deliberately bumping his arm with her breast and his leg with her hip as they walked.
He did not seem to notice.
And then they were in the drawing room and Arabella was surprised in the most marvelous of ways.
“Rebecca! Juliana!”
It was the Dalrymple girls, those dear, sweet girls whom she had not seen since she had left London. She broke her linked arm with Alasdair, and there was such hugging and kissing and squealing and giggling.
But she was mistaken. It wasn’t the Dalrymple girls, plural, anymore. Rebecca was still one but Juliana had married Sir Timothy and was now Lady Colborne.
Arabella curtsied to Sir Timothy, who seemed the same vaguely irritated and fatigued man he had always been.
“And Rebecca, Juliana, you must meet my husband.” In her excitement, she found it easy to think hewasher husband and she longed to show him off. “Dr. Alasdair Andrews. Alasdair, these are my friends, my very dear friends.” She was unexpectedly emotional. “Lady Juliana Colborne and her sister, the Lady Rebecca Dalrymple.”
Alasdair bowed and said with a serious face, “I widnae have guessed that ye three were friends.” But then he raised his eyebrows a bit and Arabella knew he was teasing her, just like a real husband might. How good he was. She felt such a warmth toward him, she longed to put her arms around his neck again.
Rebecca clutched Arabella’s arm.
