Page 11 of Marrying the Wrong Earl (Lords and Ladies in Love 2)

“Do you truly wish to resume our discussion from before? Your behavior in the park was beyond the pale for a young lady. Racing around, your skirts hiked above your ankles, chasing a cat.”

She pointed her finger at his chest. “This is precisely why I do not want you to rescue me by pretending we are engaged. You disappr

ove of me, I find you arrogant, and a marriage between us would likely lead to one of us swinging from the end of a rope.”

As she stared into his surprised eyes, she had another thought. Had he planned an assignation with Lady Grace? An ill-timed meet-up that had gone awry by her own mother’s maneuvers? “What were you doing in here, Clarendon?”

He raised his eyebrows. “I am suffering from the residue of a megrim due to an encounter in the park this afternoon with a feline.” Apparently pausing to allow that comment to take hold, he added, “I merely came in here to gather my thoughts and have a few minutes of peace and quiet. And we now know how that turned out.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “What brought you here? Were you following me?”

“Following you? I can assure you I would have no reason to follow you anywhere.” She held up the note Cynthia had handed her. “I received a note from my mother asking me to attend her here. It now appears to me she planned for Lord Pembroke to find me, alone, with perhaps the same ending in mind in which we now find ourselves.”

“Had you wanted to marry Pembroke?”

Her head snapped back, and her eyes grew wide. “Lord, no.”

For the first time all evening, Lord Clarendon smiled. Which, in turn, brought a smile to her face, as well.

“Come. It is time I escorted you home.” He took her elbow and walked toward the door.

She stopped as they reached the portal. “No doubt everyone beyond that door will be leaping for joy at my supposed disgrace.”

“Buck up, Lady Arabella,” he whispered as he tightened his grip and moved her forward. “This is only the beginning.”

With his words echoing in her ears, he escorted her out of the library, down the corridor, and to the front door. Whispers floated from behind cupped hands, eyes peered over the tops of fans, and knowing smirks covered the faces of many of the men.

Arabella had never been so embarrassed in her life. Although, due to her odd propensities, she’d never been a favorite of the ton, she had at least enjoyed a somewhat respectable reputation. Oftentimes she thought, were she not an earl’s daughter, she would not be welcomed into some homes. After all, dignified ladies of the ton did not rescue animals.

Now her mother had placed her in a position that could very well take years to overcome. To say nothing of the fact that she found herself engaged to a man she barely knew, and didn’t even like. Add to the mess that Lord Clarendon had been about to offer for another, and the entire matter was a catastrophe.

She was sure that once he had time to think it over, he would come to the sane realization that they should not marry each other.

He assisted her into her pelisse and then held her elbow as they made their way down the steps to his carriage. For the life of her, she couldn’t understand why he was being so gracious when she was more than willing to give him a way out. Their encounters had left her with the firm belief that he was no happier with her than she was with him. Though she had some knowledge of him through her friendship with his sister, Eugenia, who was quite fond of her brother. And Eugenia found him tolerable. At least he was honorable—to a fault, it seemed.

He had been gentlemanly enough to rescue Miss Aphrodite…grudgingly. It was a far cry from rescuing her from her mother’s machinations. Especially since it meant spending the rest of their lives together.

There was also the multitude of young ladies who would be crying into their often-dropped handkerchiefs now that Lord Clarendon was off the marriage mart. If she could not convince him to stop this foolishness, the darling of the ton would be her husband.

Her husband.

Oh lord, Mother, what have you done?

…

Nash handed Lady Arabella into his carriage and climbed in behind her. She huddled in the corner, facing the window. He took the opportunity to study her in the scant light. Certainly not difficult to look at, as he’d noted before. Of course, that was when she’d merely been a pest with odd habits and not his intended bride. She had an acceptable figure underneath her gown. A form he’d noticed even more so when he’d picked her up. Her warm, soft curves had fit nicely against him.

Her skin was creamy, her lips lush and full. He would certainly not find bedding her a chore. But there was more to marriage than a romp between the sheets. She had to be able to handle his household and maneuver them among Society—accepting and rejecting invitations. She needed to plan and preside over dinner parties, garden parties, and balls. One day she would have to guide their children from childhood to adulthood.

Although he knew very little of her, he assumed she’d been trained by her governesses and tutors in all the appropriate competencies. No doubt she played the pianoforte well, stitched a lovely needlepoint, and produced acceptable watercolors. She was probably fluid in French, and perhaps German. Much like he’d found Lady Grace to be.

But the animals. That would be a problem, especially since he could not be near a cat without a sneezing fit. Well, that was something she would have to leave behind. As well as her stubborn nature. Once they married, he would be the one to make the decisions for the both of them. After all, when he’d awoken this morning, he’d had no intention of proposing marriage to Lady Arabella. But, if he put aside their recent unpleasant encounters, she would probably do as well as Lady Grace in the role of his countess.

It startled him to realize the two women were interchangeable. He had no great love or passion for Lady Grace. She had seemed an acceptable bride. And, of course, there had been her dowry.

Which left him with the question of Lady Arabella’s dowry, something he was sure to discover when he met with her solicitor. “Why is it you have no guardian?” The question popped out before he even thought about it.

A surprised Lady Arabella, no doubt deep in her own thoughts about the upcoming nuptials, faced him. “I had reached my majority when my papa passed last year.”

“You are two and twenty, then?”