Regency Marriages - Elizabeth Rolls Mills & Boon M&B

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snapped Aberfield.

      Thea’s smile was a naked blade. ‘I am afraid, dear sir, that Lady Arnsworth would be sadly inconvenienced were I to steal her carriage and return home now. But I am perfectly happy to hold myself at your disposal tomorrow. Call at whatever time suits you. I promise you shall find me home.’

      For a moment it looked as though Aberfield might explode, but he nodded and stalked away.

      To say that Lady Arnsworth was unimpressed the following morning to hear that her protégée had undertaken to remain at home all day awaiting her father’s convenience, would have been an understatement.

      ‘You were to drive with Lady Chasewater, you remember?’ said Lady Arnsworth.

      ‘I sent her a note explaining,’ said Thea. A very convenient added benefit she had not thought of at the time. ‘I felt my father’s request must take precedence.’

      There was no answer to that, and Lady Arnsworth didn’t attempt one, only saying, ‘But he gave no indication of when he might call?’

      Thea contrived to look repentant. ‘No, ma’am. He wished to speak to me privately, and at a ball—’ She spread her hands. No need to tell Lady Arnsworth that it had been her strategy to avoid leaving the safety of a crowd with Aberfield. She didn’t trust him an inch.

      Lady Arnsworth pursed her lips. ‘Very well, my dear. There is nothing to be done. I must pay some calls this afternoon, and I shall drive in the park afterwards. Naturally I shall give instructions to Myles that he must admit only your father, and any female visitors you might have. No gentlemen, of course, unless your brother were to call.’ A very faint smile played about her lips.

      ‘Oh, of course,’ agreed Thea.

      Lady Arnsworth nodded. ‘Yes. And, dear, if you play chess with Richard again, it might be for the best if you were to leave the door open.’

      Thea’s jaw dropped, as her ladyship continued, ‘You may trust Richard, of course, as you would your own brother, but it doesn’t do to give the gossips the least bit of encouragement, you know. If anyone were to call and find you together—well!’ She patted Thea’s hand. ‘Your father wouldn’t like it at all.’

       Chapter Six

      ‘Lord Aberfield is here to see you, miss,’ said Myles. ‘Shall I show him in here?’

      Thea laid down her pen and considered the alternatives. She was in the back parlour, writing a note to accept an invitation to attend a picnic with Diana Fox-Heaton the following week. While being received in there would sting his pride, she hesitated. Somehow the back parlour of Arnsworth House was associated with happy times, with her childhood visiting the house, with Richard teaching her to play chess, with his slightly crooked smile. She did not want Aberfield anywhere within spitting distance of those memories.

      ‘No. Show his lordship into the drawing room, please, Myles. And, Myles—?’ An inner demon suggested another way she might infuriate Aberfield. ‘Tell his lordship that I will be with him very shortly.’

      She heard Aberfield being ushered into the next room, heard Myles offer refreshment, and heard it refused. Deliberately she completed her letter to Diana. And read it over. Then she sealed it, addressed it, rang the bell and waited for Myles.

      When he came, she smiled and handed him the note with instructions to have it delivered at once. ‘And bring tea to the drawing room in fifteen minutes, please, Myles.’

      Then, feeling that she had made her point, Thea settled her elegant morning gown, tucked a stray curl back into place under her lace cap, assumed an indifferent expression, and strolled through the door connecting the back parlour and drawing room.

      ‘Good afternoon, my lord. I’ve kept you waiting.’ It could be construed as an apology. Just.

      Aberfield turned and glared at her. ‘Where the devil have you been, miss?’ His colour was high, and the faded blue eyes glittered at her.

      She granted him her most gracious smile. ‘Finishing a letter, my lord. Do be seated and tell me what I may do for you.’ She sat in a small chair set slightly apart, and waited.

      Aberfield didn’t waste time on niceties. ‘You can tell me what the devil you’re playing at with Blakehurst,’ he snarled. ‘Waltzing with him when Dunhaven had honoured you with an invitation to dance!’

      So that had got back to him. Lord, he was a fool! Had he learned nothing from the past?

      ‘Playing at, my lord?’ she queried. ‘Unlike some, I play no games. Mr Blakehurst asked me to dance with him—’

      ‘Asked you after Dunhaven asked you!’ snapped Aberfield.

      ‘Not at all,’ she said sweetly. ‘He had asked me earlier.’

      Aberfield looked her over. ‘Think you can get him up to scratch, do you?’ He snorted. ‘I doubt it! Too high in the instep the Blakehursts, even if his brother has made a fool of himself.’

      Thea froze and Aberfield continued, his voice contemptuous. ‘Knew Almeria Arnsworth would try her damnedest to marry you to him, but he’s dodged every other heiress she’s found. Some of ‘em a damn sight wealthier than you!’ His lip curled. ‘And they weren’t some other man’s leavings.’

       Words, meaningless words. They can’t hurt unless I permit it …

      Something Richard had said about Dunhaven slid through her mind, displacing her father’s barb: He’s so desperate … it’s a wonder he hasn’t found a young enough widow with a couple of brats to her credit … What had Aberfield told Dunhaven? She didn’t really believe it, not quite. But if she trailed the lure …

      ‘One wonders,’ she mused, ‘what can possibly have induced Lord Dunhaven to relax his standards.’

      The fish rose. ‘Dunhaven needs an heir,’ he told her. ‘For a wealthy bride he knows can breed a brat, he’s willing to overlook things.’

       ‘I have no “brat”, as you put it.’

      Just aching grief and guilt over the death of a nameless child she had neither seen nor held, and the opium-hazed memory of a newborn wail.

      Aberfield opened his mouth and shut it again. His gaze shifted and then he shrugged. ‘Even if the whelp died, you still went full term,’ he said.

      Bile rose, choking and sour.

      ‘More than his first wife ever did,’ he continued. ‘For that assurance and your fortune, it’s worth it to him.’

      She swallowed the bile, reaching for control. ‘I’m sure it is,’ she said. ‘But tell me, my lord—was it not rather a risk for you, confiding so much in Dunhaven?’

      ‘Why should he talk about his bride?’ Cold triumph gleamed. ‘No reason for him to talk if you’re married. And he’s willing to marry you.’

      ‘But if I don’t marry him—?’

      Aberfield’s fists clenched. ‘You’ll marry him, or I’ll … I’ll—!’

      ‘You’ll what, my lord?’ The time for dissembling was past. She stood up, casting aside caution. ‘You really have no power left, sir. Do you?’ She smiled. ‘You may cast me off, but in two and a half months I turn twenty-five and will have two hundred pounds a year. A pittance to you, I am sure, but I will manage very well. And just think of the gossip if you cut off my allowance now.’

      Aberfield had risen as well, his face mottled. ‘And this is the gratitude I receive for protecting you from your folly eight years ago!’

      Thea rang the bell. ‘I think there is nothing more to be said, my lord.’

      ‘I’ll

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