Page 7 of Marrying the Wrong Earl (Lords and Ladies in Love 2)

She’d only gone a few steps when she heard a dreaded voice behind her. “Lady Arabella.” She turned to see Lord Pembroke pushing people aside, hurrying in her direction. Groaning inwardly, she glanced around for an escape. Unfortunately, with the amount of people crowding the area, there was virtually nowhere to go.

He caught up to her and reached for her hand. She allowed him to kiss it, thankful for her glove. “I would be honored to accompany you to the garden for a stroll. There is an important matter I wish to discuss with you.”

The last thing she wanted to do was take a stroll in the garden with Lord Sausage Fingers. And she knew precisely what important matter to which he referred. Before she had a chance to refuse, the orchestra started up again. “Oh dear me, my lord, it appears my next partner is searching for me.”

He turned to where she looked over his shoulder, and the only person facing them was the elderly Lord Graymore, who hadn’t danced in decades. In fact, the poor man looked around as if he wasn’t altogether sure where he was. Pembroke turned back. “I believe Graymore overestimated his abilities, if he requested this dance.” He looked over his shoulder again at the elderly man who wandered in a different direction. “In fact, it appears he has even forgotten.”

Arabella groaned. So much for subterfuge.

Pembroke held out his hand. “But not to disappoint a lady, I will be happy to partner you.”

Good manners prohibited her from stamping her foot and shouting, No, leave me alone. Instead, she took his hand, grateful the number starting up was not a waltz. “I would be delighted, my lord.”

The dance seemed to never end, and by the time it was finished she was heated and desperately needed refreshment. “My lord, may I trouble you for a glass of lemonade? I find myself quite parched.”

“Of course, my lady. It will be no trouble at all. I shall be right back.” Pembroke turned from her with a slight bow and made his way through the crowd, his bright-red hair visible as he wended his way to the refreshment table.

Arabella sighed as she watched him go. She should probably permit the man to propose so she could turn him down and allow his dignity to be restored. What she disliked more than anything was the constant pressure she felt from Mother to choose a husband. She knew it was her duty, and really did want to make sure she and her mother were not out on the street, but the new Earl of Melrose did not seem to be in a hurry to remove them from the premises.

She looked around the crowded room. As most balls went, the Ashbourne event could be considered a crush. Too many bodies forced into a space not large enough for them all, with feathers dangling from women’s hair, poking gentlemen in the eye. Strong perfumes and hair pomades mingled with the scent of overheated bodies.

Suddenly feeling anxious and unable to breathe, Arabella forgot about her drink and stumbled her way through the crowd, heading to the ladies retiring room. Crowds always bothered her, especially Polite Society crowds. If she had her way, she would avoid the Season at all costs and retire to the country to take care of animals and live her life the way she chose.

Unfortunately, for a young woman with a mother to think of, and no resources of her own, marriage was inevitable, and the Season was where one secured one’s future.

The bedchamber set aside for the benefit of the female guests was a haven of peace and quiet. Two ladies conversed as they sat at the dressing tables while a maid tended to them. Arabella drew in a deep breath and immediately felt better. She would relax even more if she could free herself of her stays, but that would not happen for hours yet.

Women came and went, but few acknowledged her presence. She was certainly not one of the ton’s favorite young ladies. Her propensity to find and treat injured and sick animals had given rise to whispered gossip that she delved into unladylike behavior. That, perhaps, might be the reason she’d only received the attentions of men of a great age. Desperate for an heir, any young chit would do.

Nevertheless, a peaceful ten minutes went by as she applied a cold cloth to her head and rested on the settee, watching the ladies fuss and run the maid ragged with demands. Feeling refreshed, she stood and shook out her skirts. What she would prefer was to find Mother and return home. Without a doubt, Lord Pembroke would still be on the prowl for her, and she did not want to deal with him tonight.

As she descended the steps to the ballroom, Miss Hayward, a long-time friend, waved at her.

“Lady Arabella!” She clutched a piece of paper in her hand. The girl managed to squeeze past two matrons whispering behind their fans, their eyes cast at a young girl flirting with two men. No doubt the girl would be classified as “fast” by morning.

“Good evening, Cynthia, I haven’t seen you in a while.”

The young lady joined her, a smile on her rounded face. “I know. I think we have managed to attend different affairs so far this Season.” She gave Arabella a hug, and they kissed the air near each other’s cheeks.

“Before I forget why I sought you out, your mother asked me to deliver this note to you.”

Arabella frowned and took the paper from the girl’s hand. How unusual for her mother to send a note. “Is she well? Did she appear distressed when she gave you this?”

“No.” Cynthia shook her head, her blond curls dancing alongside her face. “She appeared a bit flushed, but I think it was more from the heat of the room than anything untoward.”

Arabella opened the paper, a frown pulling her brows together.

A situation has arisen that requires your presence in the Ashbourne’s library. A footman will direct you.

…

Nash accepted a glass of champagne from a footman and once again scanned the crowd, searching for Lady Grace and her mother. He had been considering making her an offer for a while now and saw no reason to continue the delay. If the opportunity presented itself, he would speak with her this evening and visit with her guardian in the morning to work out the marriage settlements.

He and Lady Grace had gone on carriage rides, attended the theater, and danced no more than one dance at each ton affair over the last Season and the course of this Season thus far. Twice, he had arrived at her house during calling hours, and after observing her with her guests, he was certain she would make an acceptable wife.

Although quite young—barely eighteen years—she was a charming young lady who had been raised to be a nobleman’s wife. Truth be known, the girl was a bit on the silly side, as most young girls tended to be, but with his guidance, she would mature nicely into the perfect countess. She had seemed amenable to his attentions, and no doubt expected an offer to be forthcoming. At least her mother certainly did, and while she was too refined to come right out and ask, he knew her marriage-minded mama was waiting with bated breath.

Every time he had come close to actually asking for her hand, however, something had held him back. But this nonsense had to end. He needed a wife, and the time seemed right. He’d done all the things a young gentleman of the ton did after University: drinking, gaming, visiting opera dancers, and now he was