“What of your younger sister?” Arabella asked. “Eleanor is her name, I believe you said?”
Marcus smiled at the mention of his sister. “Eleanor came along unexpectedly ten years after I was born, after I had already left home for Eton. But I saw her whenever I returned on holiday. From the very first, she managed to wrap us all around her finger-Drew and Heath as well.”
His expression softened visibly when he spoke of his sister, his stories an indication of their genuine fondness for each other.
He was so forthright in his accounts of his youth that when Marcus questioned her about her own childhood, Arabella answered as honestly, telling him things she had shared with few people other than her sisters and her close friends.
During her girlhood, her family had resided in London each Season and the Loring estate in Hampshire the rest of the year. But no matter the setting, their parents fought bitterly. While in the country, she and her sisters fled out of doors as much as possible, which had resulted in the three of them becoming enthusiastic walkers and excellent riders. And when they were in London, they eagerly escaped into their studies as a distraction from the vitriolic atmosphere Victoria and Charles Loring had fostered.
“Roslyn became downright bookish,” Arabella confessed with a fond smile. “She was fascinated by the newest methods of scientific investigation and actually taught herself Latin. But even Lily turned to books for solace. She would pour over historical and geological tomes while dreaming of exploring the world in search of adventure…which of course is impossible, given her sex and social station as a baronet’s daughter.”
“And what of you?” Marcus asked curiously. “Did you keep your lovely nose buried in books?”
“Yes, but not to the extent Roslyn did. And I found my greatest diversion in literature and poetry, not science.”
“If your parents disliked each other so violently,” Marcus was curious to know, “why did they not simply go their separate ways?”
Arabella had wondered the same thing countless times. “I am not certain. I think they simply took pleasure in hurting each other, perhaps out of revenge for their own misery. My mother once confessed that she had fallen in love with my father shortly after they wed, but the feeling wasn’t reciprocated, and his infidelities destroyed any chance her affection might have lasted.”
“Then I suppose it’s only logical,” Marcus said slowly, “that you developed an aversion to unions of convenience.”
“I am glad you finally understand,” Arabella replied, managing a light tone.
“That doesn’t mean you are a hopeless cause, however,” he mused. “I won’t give up trying to persuade you just yet.”
Arabella knew very well Marcus wouldn’t give up his pursuit of her until one of them won the wager. He was determined to wed her because he wanted a genteel wife to bear him heirs-although his courtship had definitely changed since the day of their picnic. It was as if he was giving their friendship a chance to catch up to their physical relationship.
She suspected it was a patiently calculated strategy to undermine her resistance. If so, she had to admit it was effective. In truth, she enjoyed the quiet evenings she spent with him. During the day, the house was overrun with modistes and workmen who needed her approval, and with illustrious callers who required her polite attention, so the peace was welcome after the hectic pace of the day. But it was Marcus himself who made the interludes so enjoyable.
He seemed to find them enjoyable as well, and he said as much the last evening before the ball. A comfortable silence had fallen between them as they took tea together in the drawing room while outside a late spring storm spent its fury.
“This is remarkably pleasant,” Marcus commented lazily, stretching his long, lithe legs out toward the cheerfully crackling hearth fire. “We might as well be an old wedded couple.” Then his amused smile flashed at Arabella. “Although if we were indeed wed, you would not be sleeping alone each night.”
Arabella felt her cheeks flush at his suggestive remark. This was more like the Marcus she had first come to know. For the past three nights when she retired for bed, he had given her nothing more than a chaste kiss on her fingertips. But even that mild caress had her skin tingling, and she lay awake each night thinking of him, remembering the startling pleasure he had given her the afternoon of their picnic and wondering when he would attempt any repetition.
It would not be tonight, Arabella realized a half hour later, for all he did was wish her sweet dreams, without so much as touching her hand.
His tame dismissal left her strangely dissatisfied-until she scolded herself and resolved to focus her energies on tomorrow’s ball rather than on the provoking Earl of Danvers.
The next afternoon Arabella ended her labors on the house early in order to dress for the important event. She and Marcus were to take his carriage to Tess’s house to collect Roslyn and Lily and Tess and escort them all to the ball.
Since he had hired an abigail to look after Arabella’s wardrobe and to help her dress, it took her less time than usual to bathe and arrange her hair and don her ball gown. When she studied herself in the cheval glass, she was quite satisfied with her appearance.
Her new abigail, Nan, was more effusive. “Oh, Miss, yer a breathtaking sight!”
Her gown was indeed an exquisite confection-silver net over emerald sarcenet that set off her gray eyes and red-gold hair, while the moderately low decolletage and puffed sleeves exposed a fashionable amount of skin.
She was about to go downstairs when Marcus surprised her by sending up a footman bearing a velvet jeweler’s box, which contained a delicate emerald necklace and matching earbobs. Arabella hesitated at first to accept such an expensive gift, even though it wasn’t improper between guardian and ward. But when Nan cooed over the jewels, she relented enough to try them on and discovered they embellished her gown perfectly.
Marcus seemed to agree, for when she joined him in the drawing room, he stared at her for a long moment before offering her a devastating smile. “That lovely gown and necklace almost does you justice.”
“You should not have gone to such expense,” Arabella remarked, hiding her flush at his flattery.
“Of course I should have. It was entirely my pleasure.”
Marcus himself looked irresistibly handsome in black-and-white evening clothes, and Arabella was keenly aware of him as he helped her on with her satin wrap and then escorted her to his carriage. As they drove the short distance to Tess’s house, however, she distracted herself by reviewing for him the names and ranks and relationships of the guests he was likely to encounter at the ball, some of whom had already called at Danvers Hall to make his acquaintance and scrutinize her.
Her sisters and her friend were awaiting them with varying degrees of eagerness, Arabella discovered when they were admitted to the house.
Tess was definitely the most sanguine about attending this evening’s ball. She was always welcomed at assemblies and balls, for despite her lack of significant fortune, her birth and breeding were exceptional. And since her mother’s family hailed from nearby Richmond, Tess was a great favorite with the older matrons and dowagers in the district.
Roslyn, who looked stunningly beautiful in her new evening finery, maintained an appearance of cool detachment, but Arabella suspected she was keenly hoping the evening turned out well. Roslyn stood the most to gain from their reinstatement, since she was not quite ready to abandon the prospect of having a husband and children someday. And after the mortification of being offered several shameful propositions by various rakes and reprobates, she was more willing than her sisters to accept their new guardian’s protection and support.
Lily, Arabella knew, had no desire to associate with any of the disdainful arbiters of the haute ton. Yet even Lily understood how momentous this evening could be to their futures. Thankfully, she had agreed not only to attend, but to make an effort to be charming and ladylike.