Arabella,’ her mother warned.
The smile that slipped across Arabella’s face was bitter. ‘Oh, Mama, I know that I am not precious to him at all. Do not think that I would ever make that mistake.’ The word again went unspoken. ‘But he will take the house and the servants for me. And were I to leave, he would let them go again just as easily.’
‘Then we best pray that you are right, Archie and I.’ Mrs Tatton turned her face away but not before Arabella saw the shimmer of wetness upon her cheeks.
Mrs Tatton did not look round again, nor did she return to bed. She just stood there by the empty black fireplace, staring down on to the bare hearth. And when Arabella would have placed an arm of comfort around her mother’s shoulders, Mrs Tatton pulled away as if she could not bear the touch of so fallen a woman.
Arabella’s hand dropped back down to her side; inside of her the shame ate away a little more of her soul. She wondered what her mother’s reaction would be if she knew what the alternative had been. And she wondered how much worse her mother’s reaction would be if she ever learned that the man in question was Dominic Furneaux.
Dominic was supposed to be paying attention as his secretary continued working his way through the great pile of correspondence balanced on the desk between them.
‘The Philanthropic Society has invited you to a dinner in June.’ Barclay glanced up from checking Dominic’s appointments diary. ‘You are free on the evening in question.’
‘Then I will attend.’ Dominic gave a nod and heard Barclay’s pen nib scratch upon the paper. But Dominic’s attention was barely fixed on the task in hand. He was thinking of Arabella and the discomposure he had felt since seeing her last.
‘The Royal Humane Society has written of its need for more boats. As one of the society’s patron you are in receipt of a full report of …’
Barclay’s words faded into the background as Dominic’s mind drifted back to Arabella. While making her his mistress had seemed the perfect solution at the time, in the cold light of day and after a night of fitful sleep, Dominic was not so sure. He had revisited their meeting during the long hours of the night, seeing it again in his mind, hearing every word of their exchange, and he could not remain unaware of a growing uneasiness.
Surviving. The word seemed to niggle in his brain. Her explanation of what she was doing there did not sit well with the later claim that she was in Mrs Silver’s House out of choice. Surviving. The word pricked at him.
Barclay gave a cough in the silence and cleared his throat loudly.
‘Most interesting,’ Dominic said, having heard not a word of what the report had been about. ‘Organise that they receive a hundred pounds.’
‘Very good, your Grace.’
‘Is that all for today?’ He could barely conceal his impatience. He wanted to be alone. He wanted to think.
‘Indeed, your Grace.’ Barclay replied, checking the diary again. ‘Except to remind you that you are due at Somerset House for a Royal Society lecture this afternoon at two o’clock and that you are sitting in the House of Lords tomorrow to debate Sir John Craddock’s replacement in Portugal by Sir Arthur Wellesley.’
Dominic gave a nod. ‘Thank you, Barclay. That will be all.’
And when his secretary left, taking with him the great pile of paper, Dominic leaned back in his chair and focused his thoughts fully on Arabella.
***
Arabella had to endure two days of pleadings. Mrs Tatton begged that Arabella would not cheapen herself and warned her that once it was done there would be no going back. She cried and shouted, persuaded and coerced, but once the shock had lessened and her mother saw that Arabella would not be moved, then Mrs Tatton’s protestations fell by the wayside and, to Arabella’s relief, no more was said about it. She seemed to have accepted the inevitability and necessity of what would happen and steeled herself to the task every bit as much as Arabella.
Which was well, for on the Friday morning of that week a fine carriage and four arrived outside their lodgings in Flower and Dean Street. Every face in the street stared at the carriage, for nothing so grand had ever been seen there before. Archie stared in excitement at the team of bays and kept asking if he might run down the stairs to see them more closely. It pained Arabella to deny him and to force him away from the window for fear that Dominic himself might be within the carriage.
‘Soon,’ she whispered, ‘but not today.’
‘Ohh, Mama!’ Archie groaned.
‘He must be wealthy indeed,’ observed Mrs Tatton drily with a glance at her daughter that made Arabella curl up inside. And she was all the more glad that the carriage was a plain glossy black with no sign of the Arlesford coat of arms. She worried that her mother would recognise the smart green livery of the footman, groom and coach man, but Mrs Tatton showed no sign of realising the uniform’s significance.
‘I think he might be awaiting me in the house and I need time to speak to the servants. Either the carriage will come back for you, or I will return alone.’
Her mother nodded stoically and Arabella pushed away the little spasm of fear.
‘Either way we should not be parted for too long.’
She hugged Archie. ‘I have to go out for a little while, Archie.’
‘In the big black carriage?’ he asked.
‘Yes.’
‘Can I come with you?’
Arabella ignored the pain and the guilt and forced herself to smile. ‘Not just now, my darling. Be a good boy for your grandmama and I will see you soon.’
‘Yes, Mama.’
She kissed his head and took the time to blink away the tears before she rose to embrace her mother. ‘Look after him, Mama.’
Mrs Tatton nodded, and her eyes glistened with tears that she was fighting to hold back. ‘Have a care, Arabella, please. And …’ She took Arabella’s face between her worn hands and looked into her eyes. ‘For all that I dislike this I know why you are doing it and I thank you. I pray that your plan is successful and that it is the carriage that returns for Archie and for me.’
Those few words from her mother’s lips meant so much to Arabella. They strengthened her resolve that was fast crumbling at the prospect of facing Dominic once more.
‘Thank you, Mama,’ Arabella whispered and she kissed her mother’s cheek and, before she could weaken to the tears, she pulled the hood of her cloak over her hair and walked away, closing the door behind her.
The carriage was empty. Of that Arabella could only be glad, for she had no wish for Dominic to see her cry at the sight of her son and her mother peeping from the edge of the dirt-encrusted windows.
Nor was Dominic waiting in the town house that he had rented for her.
It was a fine property in respectable Curzon Street, as different from the hovel in Flower and Dean Street as was possible. The servants were lined up in the hallway for her arrival just as if she were Dominic’s duchess rather than his mistress. In some ways their respectful attitude made the whole thing easier, and in other ways, so much harder, for it reminded her of the hopes and expectations she had held for the future all those years ago when she had been a foolish naïve girl in love with a boy who would be duke.
The elderly butler bowed. ‘I am Gemmell. Welcome to Curzon Street, Miss Tatton. We are very glad that you are here.’
It was so long since anyone had called her that name. She was Arabella Marlbrook now, even though Henry was dead these two years past. It angered