To her astonishment, she began receiving calls from many of her hitherto disdainful neighbors. The first to appear were Sir Alfred and Lady Perry, who came the very next afternoon to issue a personal invitation to their ball.
Her ladyship practically fell all over herself welcoming the new Earl of Danvers to the neighborhood before she turned to Arabella. “We would be delighted, Miss Loring, if you and your charming sisters could join us for our ball,” Lady Perry declared with an enthusiasm that was obviously feigned, since she had always cut the Loring sisters dead whenever they chanced to meet in public.
Arabella refrained from grinding her teeth at the hypocrisy and instead smiled serenely and returned a gracious thank-you.
But because Sir Alfred was the highly respected magistrate of the district and his wife the acknowledged leader of local society, they set the example for the rest of the neighborhood.
Of course, Arabella knew, none of the gentry dared defy a nobleman of Lord Danvers’s rank and consequence, yet it was Marcus’s irresistible charm that made them eager to ingratiate themselves. Arabella was frankly awed by his ability to manipulate people into doing his bidding. She watched as time after time he had their callers lapping up his every word. And after the first two days, she no longer had any doubts that his efforts to restore the Loring sisters’ social status would be successful.
Since he’d begun conducting his daily affairs from Danvers Hall, Marcus also had numerous visitors of his own, mainly business acquaintances-his solicitors, his estate steward from his family seat in Devonshire, and most frequently, his secretary.
Surprisingly, his secretary brought daily reports on matters concerning the House of Lords. Arabella discovered the fact when Marcus had to travel to London one morning to vote on the latest bill before the House.
When she expressed surprise that he followed the politics of the day, Marcus shrugged amiably. “My conversion to politics has been fairly recent. My good friend Drew-the Duke of Arden-wrenched my arm and convinced me I should take an interest. Drew’s theory is that with privilege comes the responsibility of governing.”
The revelation gave Arabella food for thought. She had little familiarity with governmental affairs. Her step-uncle had never taken his seat in Parliament, although she knew that both he and her father had been conservative Tories rather than liberal Whigs, as Marcus professed to be. But it made her realize there was indeed more substance to Marcus than she had ever imagined.
What surprised Arabella most, however, was that he made no more overt physical overtures toward her. Oh, he still required her to spend their allotted time together in intimate dinners, but his lessons in passion had subsided entirely. Oddly, Arabella’s relief at the respite was accompanied by an unmistakable disappointment; she had begun to eagerly anticipate the sensual duel of wits between them that usually ended with her flushed and feverish. Yet Marcus never attempted even so much as a kiss.
Instead, after dinner, he usually read aloud to her, or she played the pianoforte and sang. Sometimes they indulged in banter, but more often they simply talked.
He told her about his upbringing, which was typical for sons of the British aristocracy. He’d been relegated from birth into the care of nursemaids, then tutors, before being shipped off to boarding school, and from there, university. He’d seen little of his parents while growing up, since they preferred the delights of London over the country estate of the Barons Pierce in Devonshire, where Marcus had spent the first eight years of his life.
He’d had no close friends until Eton, when he met Andrew Moncrief, the future Duke of Arden, and Heath Griffin, who would eventually become the Marquess of Claybourne. From the tales Marcus told her, Arabella had the picture of a lonely young boy who’d suddenly experienced the joy of finding “brothers” as adventuresome and reckless and outrageous as he was.
“What of your younger sister?” Arabella asked. “Eleanor is her name, I believe you said?”
Marcus smiled at the mention of his sister. “Eleanor came along unexpectedly ten years after I was born, after I had already left home for Eton. But I saw her whenever I returned on holiday. From the very first, she managed to wrap us all around her finger-Drew and Heath as well.”
His expression softened visibly when he spoke of his sister, his stories an indication of their genuine fondness for each other.
He was so forthright in his accounts of his youth that when Marcus questioned her about her own childhood, Arabella answered as honestly, telling him things she had shared with few people other than her sisters and her close friends.
During her girlhood, her family had resided in London each Season and the Loring estate in Hampshire the rest of the year. But no matter the setting, their parents fought bitterly. While in the country, she and her sisters fled out of doors as much as possible, which had resulted in the three of them becoming enthusiastic walkers and excellent riders. And when they were in London, they eagerly escaped into their studies as a distraction from the vitriolic atmosphere Victoria and Charles Loring had fostered.
“Roslyn became downright bookish,” Arabella confessed with a fond smile. “She was fascinated by the newest methods of scientific investigation and actually taught herself Latin. But even Lily turned to books for solace. She would pour over historical and geological tomes while dreaming of exploring the world in search of adventure…which of course is impossible, given her sex and social station as a baronet’s daughter.”
“And what of you?” Marcus asked curiously. “Did you keep your lovely nose buried in books?”
“Yes, but not to the extent Roslyn did. And I found my greatest diversion in literature and poetry, not science.”
“If your parents disliked each other so violently,” Marcus was curious to know, “why did they not simply go their separate ways?”
Arabella had wondered the same thing countless times. “I am not certain. I think they simply took pleasure in hurting each other, perhaps out of revenge for their own misery. My mother once confessed that she had fallen in love with my father shortly after they wed, but the feeling wasn’t reciprocated, and his infidelities destroyed any chance her affection might have lasted.”
“Then I suppose it’s only logical,” Marcus said slowly, “that you developed an aversion to unions of convenience.”
“I am glad you finally understand,” Arabella replied, managing a light tone.
“That doesn’t mean you are a hopeless cause, however,” he mused. “I won’t give up trying to persuade you just yet.”
Arabella knew very well Marcus wouldn’t give up his pursuit of her until one of them won the wager. He was determined to wed her because he wanted a genteel wife to bear him heirs-although his courtship had definitely changed since the day of their picnic. It was as if he was giving their friendship a chance to catch up to their physical relationship.
She suspected it was a patiently calculated strategy to undermine her resistance. If so, she had to admit it was effective. In truth, she enjoyed the quiet evenings she spent with him. During the day, the house was overrun with modistes and workmen who needed her approval, and with illustrious callers who required her polite attention, so the peace was welcome after the hectic pace of the day. But it was Marcus himself who made the interludes so enjoyable.
He seemed to find them enjoyable as well, and he said as much the last evening before the ball. A comfortable silence had fallen between them as they took tea together in the drawing room while outside a late spring storm spent its fury.
“This is remarkably pleasant,” Marcus commented lazily, stretching his long, lithe legs out toward the cheerfully crackling hearth fire. “We might as well be an old wedded couple.” Then his amused smile flashed at Arabella. “Although if we were indeed wed, you would not be sleeping alone each night.”