“That is no excuse for recognizing her now.”
Eleanor’s curious gaze went directly to Fanny. With a light laugh, she made an obvious effort to smooth troubled waters. “Pah, Auntie, I think you are being too fastidious. Miss Loring should be commended for her loyalty in not cutting her friend.”
Her aunt’s lips pressed together in a tight line. “I trust I taught you how to conduct yourself in such situations, my girl.”
Eleanor surveyed the Cyprian thoughtfully. “Yes, you did, dearest aunt, but that doesn’t mean I must like it. I expect I would enjoy meeting Miss Irwin. She doubtless leads an intriguing life, with few of the restrictions we unmarried young ladies must suffer.”
Marcus returned to the box at that moment, in time to catch his sister’s statement. He frowned slightly as
he offered his aunt and then Arabella each a glass of wine.
Still vexed at the viscountess, Arabella avoided looking at him as she accepted the glass. “Oh, I agree, Lady Eleanor,” she murmured. “I quite envy Miss Irwin her freedom. She is her own woman, in charge of her life. She needn’t fret about a guardian controlling her every action.”
Casting an arch glance at Marcus, Arabella expected him to respond to her gibe, but Lady Beldon evidently was not finished with her chastisement. She spoke again just as Marcus’s two friends resumed their seats behind them. “It is unseemly for a prospective countess to fraternize with lightskirts, Miss Loring. If you mean to have any future with my nephew, you will have to sever the connection with your friend, no matter how close you were.”
Although enraged by now, Arabella managed a false smile. “Forgive me, my lady, but I have no intention of severing my connection with Miss Irwin. Instead, I will be severing all connection with your nephew. After next week, he will no longer be my guardian, and I certainly won’t continue our relationship by becoming his countess.”
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Marcus’s brows snap together. The other occupants of the box had gone silent.
Glancing over her shoulder, Arabella offered the Duke of Arden a brilliant smile. “Does that not relieve you, your grace? You don’t wish me to marry Lord Danvers, I imagine.”
The duke responded with a repressive arch of one eyebrow. “In truth, I don’t,” he responded coolly.
The Marquess of Claybourne, on the other hand, looked amused. “I am not yet certain how I feel about Marcus leg-shackling himself to you, Miss Loring. I think I should withhold judgment until I come to know you better.”
“Arabella,” Marcus interjected brusquely, “we will discuss this later in private.”
Her chin rose at his commanding tone, but she could feel his vexation. He had crossed his arms over his chest and was eyeing her piercingly.
“Of course, my lord,” she said with feigned sweetness. Leaning toward Marcus, however, she lowered her voice to a harsh murmur. “I don’t know what you told your aunt about us, or why she thinks I am eager to wed you-”
His terse reply cut into her reproval. “I told her I had proposed because I didn’t want her hearing the rumors from anyone else. I didn’t say you had accepted.”
“Then you should disabuse her of the notion at once,” Arabella hissed before directing her attention forward again, ignoring how his sister Eleanor was looking between the two of them, clearly aware of the sudden tension in the air.
To Arabella’s relief, the play resumed a moment later. She sat through the last three acts, determinedly ignoring the ache in her heart while longing for the evening to be over. All she wanted to do was to go home and indulge in a long bout of waterworks. Except that she suddenly recalled a memory from her youth, of her mother sobbing disconsolately into her pillow after another of her father’s infamous indiscretions.
The painful remembrance renewed Arabella’s resolve. She would not be marrying Marcus when their wager ended. And she most certainly would not be offering her heart to him to be trampled upon.
Her head was throbbing as painfully as her heart by the time the play ended. A disdainful Lady Beldon took her leave with bare civility before sweeping from the box. Eleanor, though, offered Arabella a fond smile and expressed the hope that they might meet again soon.
Marcus’s friends differed in their leavetaking as well; the duke treated Arabella with formal reserve, the marquess with good-natured charm.
When half an hour later, Marcus handed Arabella into his carriage, she sank back against the squabs and closed her eyes, wishing she didn’t have to speak to him for the rest of the evening.
Winifred apparently sensed the tension between them. Ordinarily she would have nodded off during the journey home, but tonight she kept up a brisk chatter for the entire drive, an evident attempt to defuse the strain. When eventually the carriage drew up before her mansion, Winifred hesitated to get out. “Will you be all right, my dear?”
“Certainly, it is only a short drive home,” Arabella answered, even though reluctant to be alone with Marcus, knowing he meant to grill her about her altercation with his aunt.
As soon as the door had been closed by a footman and the coach began moving again, Marcus spoke. “I trust you mean to explain that little outburst of yours?”
Arabella lifted her chin stubbornly. “It was hardly an outburst. And I had sufficient cause to be angry at your aunt’s disparagement of my friend Fanny.”
Marcus appraised her with a measuring gaze. “She is right, you know. It would be better for you and your sisters to have no further association with Fanny Irwin.”
Arabella bristled at that. “Perhaps so, but I will tell you the same thing I told Lady Beldon: I have no intention of cutting the connection. And you cannot forbid me to see her.”
“I wouldn’t try,” Marcus replied curtly.