Page 45 of Marrying the Wrong Earl (Lords and Ladies in Love 2)

her would push older men on you. Certainly, you would have had no problems attracting a young man.”

“There were one or two that showed interest, but Mother felt an older man would ‘take me in hand’ and—I hate to say this, not live long, so I would be free to pursue my interests.”

Nash’s brows rose. “But you turned down those who offered. Had you no intention of ever marrying?”

“Oh, I knew, given my station, it was inevitable, unless I wished to be left afloat. I have no relatives who would have been willing to take on a spinster. A governess or companion might have solved that issue, but what of Mother?”

“You might have continued on at your country home. You mentioned the new earl was willing to allow you and your mother to stay.”

“For how long? We have recently ascertained he is a single man with a duty to his new title. He would have needed to marry, and few new wives relish the idea of sharing their household with another woman. No, there was never a doubt I would one day wed, I merely wanted a couple of years to take my time.”

He chuckled and squeezed her hand. “Instead you got three days.”

“Yes. As did you.” She gave him a soft smile. It seemed the conversation had relaxed her a bit.

The slow queue their carriage had been stuck in finally moved forward, and the vehicle rolled to a stop. A footman opened the door, and Nash stepped out, turning to assist Arabella. He placed her hand on his arm, and they made their way up the stairs to the Kendall townhouse. Arabella continued to take deep breaths, making him wonder if her stays were laced too tight. Lord, he hated those things.

Just as they arrived at the doorway to the ballroom, he leaned in and whispered into her ear, “Relax, sweetheart. ’Tis just another ball.”

Arabella raised her head, and her lips lifted into a semblance of a smile. Once announced, they descended the stairs together. As expected, heads turned, whispers began behind decorated fans, and eyebrows rose. The muscles in Nash’s arm tightened, and he tugged her closer, covering the hand on his arm with his own.

The life they all led was ridiculous in so many ways. He and Arabella had been observed together in a dark library doing nothing more than conversing. Yet, she would have been a ruined woman who no gentleman would consider for his wife if he hadn’t agreed to marry her. So foolish, but nonetheless the life they had been born into. And yet, now that they were married, they were still the object of gossip and idle chatter.

…

Arabella continued to grip Nash’s arm as they made their way through the crowd, stopping to chat with various people. Most of them were Nash’s friends, since he was a much more social person than she. Although a few ladies she had a passing acquaintance with did offer felicitations on her marriage.

What bothered her more were the number of young ladies and young matrons who stepped into their path to speak with Nash. For the most part, they ignored her, but more than a few seemed especially friendly with her husband. Not that she cared or was jealous, of course. It just made maneuvering around the room more awkward.

“Lord Clarendon!” Lady Walthrop, the young widow of the very aged Earl of Walthrop, waved to them as they moved away from a cluster of young ladies who’d spent most of the Season dropping their handkerchiefs at Nash’s feet. Arabella tamped down her annoyance and put what she hoped looked like a smile on her face.

Lady Walthrop was beautiful. There was simply no other word. Golden-blond hair and the peaches-and-cream complexion so envied by the women of the ton. She’d been the Incomparable the year the Earl snatched her off the marriage mart, and he’d attempted for six months to get her with child before he dropped dead at his club. Rumor had it he’d found a footman in his wife’s bed the night before. “Why, my Lord Clarendon. I hear you are married.”

My Lord Clarendon?

Arabella gritted her teeth and smiled at the woman. At least she hoped it looked like a smile.

“Yes, allow me to present my countess.” He turned to Arabella. “Lady Walthrop is an old friend.”

Before Arabella could respond, the witch tapped Nash’s arm with her fan. “Oh, please don’t introduce me as an old friend.” She tittered loud enough to draw attention, and Arabella wanted to stamp on her pretty satin slippers.

“You are right, my lady. Please accept my apologies. No one would consider you old.” He smiled warmly at her, and Arabella wanted to gag. Instead she snorted, loud enough for Nash and the Incomparable to hear. But ignore.

The orchestra started a waltz, and Nash turned to her. “My dear, would you honor me with a dance?” He held out his hand.

Her stomach did a tap dance of glee as Lady Walthrop frowned. “Be sure to save a dance for me, my lord.” The forward woman lowered her lashes like the sweet little debutante she no longer was.

Nash took her into his arms, and she relaxed for the first time since they’d entered the aballroom. “So, Lady Walthrop is an old friend?”

He studied her, the light from the many candles casting shadows on his strong features. He pulled her closer than what was considered proper and murmured in her ear. “To be perfectly frank, the woman scares me.”

Arabella smiled. He didn’t need to say any more.

“Trollop!”

The word had been whispered, but loud enough that both Nash and Arabella heard it—as well as anyone within ten feet of Lady Grace, standing alongside the edge of the ballroom, fanning her face furiously. Her red cheeks and tightened lips marked her as the accuser.

Arabella stumbled, and Nash caught her. “Ignore her.” He pulled her even closer and stared into her eyes. “Ignore her, sweeting,” he repeated. “Hold your chin up. No one else here believes that.”