When she hesitated, Marcus prodded, “Come now, confess it, Arabella. You would like to go, if only to prove that you and your sisters are as worthy as the haughty nobs who have scorned you all these years.”
She couldn’t deny that the thought had appeal. When she remained silent, however, Marcus continued. “I imagine your sisters would find it pleasant to be welcomed back by their peers…to take their rightful place in society. And so would you.”
She looked away, surprised that Marcus seemed to understand her conflicted feelings. Four years ago, when she’d been disowned by her peers and many of the acquaintances she’d called friends, Arabella had held her head high-defiantly, in fact-refusing to let her life be governed by the fickle denizens of the Beau Monde. Yet there were times when she found herself longing for the kind of acceptance she had enjoyed since birth, before she and her sisters had become social pariahs. Even though she had pretended not to care, she did care, probably more than was wise. And she very badly wanted Roslyn and Lily to have the opportunities denied them when their familiar world had come crashing down around them.
Marcus’s low tone was unexpectedly serious when he said, “I can see that you and your sisters are accepted in society again, Arabella.” Then he caught her hand and made her look at him.
Arabella drew an uneven breath. The warmth in his eyes made it too easy for her to forget that she was supposed to be resisting his overtures. She was oddly touched by his concern, though. His protectiveness brought a strange ache to her throat.
It took effort to withdraw her hand from his grasp. “I would indeed like to attend the ball for my sisters’ sake…”
Marcus smiled slowly. “Then it’s settled. I will escort the three of you. Have your sisters come to the Hall tomorrow morning to have their measurements taken by the modiste.”
Arabella felt her mouth twisting in reluctant amusement as she eyed Marcus. “Only a nobleman would have the confidence to think he needs only snap his fingers to make the world do his bidding.”
“Because it’s true,” he said amiably. “Never underestimate the power that comes with rank and wealth.”
“Oh, I do not underestimate it, believe me.”
His gaze leveled on her. “You could always accept my proposal of marriage. As Lady Danvers, you would be able to lord it over the entire neighborhood.”
Arabella couldn’t help but smile, as no doubt he’d meant her to. “That is a delightful notion…but even that treat won’t tempt me to marry you, Marcus.”
“Then I will have to think of some other means of convincing you. I can be quite resourceful when I put my mind to it, you know.”
She found herself laughing softly as she turned to gaze out the carriage window. Somehow Marcus had managed not only to banish the dismay she’d felt over Sybil’s spiteful comment, but to lighten her spirits as well. It would be extremely gratifying if he could reinstate her sisters in society as he anticipated.
Hearing her husky laughter, Marcus felt an unfamiliar softening inside him. It was rather humbling to witness Arabella’s fortitude. He’d never been subjected to the sort of blatant ostracism she had endured, not even for his most outrageous transgressions. For years Arabella had been unjustly humiliated and scorned for her parents’ sins.
But, Marcus vowed, he intended to change that, even before she became his countess. By the time he was through, every high-browed member of the Quality in the district would be making amends to her.
Chapter Nine
I never expected to be grateful to the earl, but I truly am.
– Arabella to Fanny
The next several days passed in a whirl for Arabella. Every available moment was filled with dress fittings and unexpected visitors in addition to ongoing house renovations and her usual classes at the academy.
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.