Edmund set down his knife, intrigued. “A convent girl, how singular.”
“Saint Augustine is an orphan asylum,” Mr. Harrow clarified, his tone implying trouble, “off a boroughs side street in a less savory part of town.”
Looking at the black-haired troublemaker Arabella nodded. “How did you know that?”
A slow spreading smile showed the devil's teeth. “I know everything.”
“Somehow I do not doubt you think you do.” Saint Augustine was located in a neighborhood very few well-meaning English men would frequent. Gambling houses, brawling arenas, and brothels propped up shack housing… When Arabella had been a girl, it had once been an excellent place to swindle men out of coin. “It does not matter where she came from. Mary is an exceptionally talented cook.”
“Mary?” Mr. Harrow said, an incredulous expression deepening the scowl.
“Yes, Mary.” Arabella answered.
Shifting forward, Mr. Harrow pressed, “The mute, underfed girl you keep as a pet?”
Unable to control the anger that flamed in her eyes, Arabella set down her fork, ready to tear into the fool.
“Well, I think she is exceptional,” Edmund chimed in, disarming the situation and soothing the obvious affront of their hostess with a change of subject. “You previously resided in London did you not? Do you miss town?”
Swallowing back curses that should never be shouted in front of a real gentleman, Arabella turned towards the charming Mr. Jenkins. “I am quite comfortable here.”
Obviously happy with the news, Edmund asked, “So you will not be returning to town for the winter?”
“Why would I do that?”
“For the season, and to escape the solitude, of course.”
“I came here for the solitude.”
“And you shall feel it come winter. There is one thing we Yorkshire folk readily know. With the snows there is hardly movement in the county.” Edmund offered, smiling as if his suggestion was just the thing. “Of course, you are welcome to shelter with your friends at Stonewall Grove when the dreary days become too much for you.”
“That is very kind.” Unsure why she felt the urge to glance at Mr. Harrow, Arabella resisted. There would be something there, something in those pitiless eyes offering a clue to his behavior. But she could not bring herself to look.
The chipper voice of the other man made her wonder if Edmund was oblivious to the dark one’s temper when he stated, “And now that you have so kindly treated me to this lavish breakfast, allow me to convey you to my mother and sisters, for they must be worried that I did not return in the night.”
Arabella’s excuse was hastily offered. “I do not wish to impose on your mother.”
“Nonsense.” Edmund smiled. “Mama will be expecting you, as will my sisters, everyone overjoyed to have you returned to them unscathed.”
Mr. Harrow produced a shark’s grin. “A morning ride will be splendid, will it not?” Black eyes went to the large servant, Mr. Harrow commanding with that sickening smile. “Do have her horse saddled, Payne.”
Payne did nothing until Arabella met his eyes and offered a little nod.
* * *
Gregory, it seemed, intended to join them instead of returning to his home. Arabella pretended not to notice the way he smirked, and knew down to her bones he was going to be trouble. But over the journey tension waned, she grew contented, and at the sight of the denser trees that marked the land of the Jenkins’s estate, Arabella called for a race. Leaning over her horse’s neck, she surged forward, laughing at full gallop.
On the pebbled drive she slowed her mount and pressed the back of her hand to wind burned cheeks, grinning at the men in her victory.
The first she saw of Mr. Jenkins’s anxious frown brought her to complain. “I will not ride with you, Edmund, if you are always going to be so disapproving.”
Where he should have been insulted, he was suddenly grinning, and at once Arabella realized her slip. She had casually used his given name, her informal behavior misleading.
Knitting her brow, Arabella allowed the sweet fool to take her by the waist and lower her from the horse.
Prettily dressed, the ladies came through the door, Lizzy grinning to see Arabella, and Lilly blushing with wide-eyed delirium that Mr. Harrow was back amongst them.
Mrs. Jenkins, pleased to see the Lady Iliffe whole and sound, approached at once to admire the fine cut and elegant fabric of the baroness’s embroidered redingote. Threading her plump arm through Arabella’s, the matron all but dragged her to the drawing room for tea.