Ladies did not ride alone, and they certainly did not ride a horse that the family’s stable boy had been reasonably frightened to tend. Still, Arabella had had her way. Two of the Jenkins siblings had joined her, and now the pleasant outing had come to an end. Trio dismounting, they entered the manor. A maid unpinned the fashionable top hat from Arabella’s curls and buttoned up the side of her skirt, preparing her for the more mundane exercise of British ladies—pointless lounging.
Moving toward the sitting room and out of view of the servants, Edmund gently admonished the wayward baroness. “Your ladyship, you are flushed from the wildness of the ride. It is not healthy for your delicate constitution to race about.”
Lizzy teased, following him into the parlor. “Come now, Edmund. Don’t be cross because she keeps a better seat than you do.”
Oblivious to the new member of the party, all three spoke freely until a deep timbre rang out, dreadfully indifferent. “I have it on good authority that the Lady Iliffe keeps a better seat than even I do.”
Mr. Harrow was there. In the sundrenched room with its carved white paneling, silk settees, and fine plush chairs, he lounged like a panther on the divan nearest the highly polished pianoforte.
Something about her landlord’s tone brought a biting smirk to her lips. “True. A far better seat.”
They did not properly greet one another, only stared—Arabella weighing why he would be there after having claimed to dislike the family, Mr. Harrow allowing his disgust at finding her amongst the Jenkins household to show in the sneer of his lip.
The lovely Lilly, sitting with the air of a queen at her instrument, broke the silence. The notes of a particularly demanding piece halting any chance conversation might progress between the two scowling guests.
Tugging the baroness over to the damask striped window seat, Lizzy whispered in her ear, “Come. Let us leave Lilly to her music before her glares turn us to stone.” When they were almost to the sunny alcove, Lizzy gossiped in a hushed whisper, “After all, Mr. Harrow has come to call again and she is determined to have him for a husband.”
As if it was the funniest jest, the youngest Jenkins fell back upon the seat, wracked with laughter that spoiled her sister’s performance.
Arabella did not find it so funny, cutting her gaze toward the potential couple.
Lilly was the local beauty and Mr. Harrow, who by all accounts possessed a great deal of land, was rich and handsome, despite his acerbic character and less savory background. Taking a measure of her brooding landlord, Arabella saw how fine his clothes were today, knew the tall collar of his russet cutaway and the high shine of the boots encasing tan pantaloons had been chosen for a purpose.
Mr. Harrow had dressed himself looking to impress.
But there was something in his eyes as he watched the songstress, a cold indifference Arabella recognized. Mr. Harrow had no esteem for the beautiful woman doing her best to flaunt her skills and earn his regard. Instead, he wanted something, and it was no doubt something unscrupulous.
Concern weighing her brow, Arabella found familiar black eyes had glanced her way. He even presumed to smirk.
She wanted to shout at him, to approach and demand he leave the girl alone—to force him to reveal whatever despicable plot he was up to. Instead she took a seat, and turned her nose away.
Lizzy came to sit at her side, reading aloud from a book of fairy stories she adored. All the while, Arabella felt the weight of Gregory’s unwelcome glower boring into her back, daring her to turn toward him, to speak up.
Caught up in her needlepoint, Mrs. Jenkins was oblivious to anything but her youngest’s competent attempts to engage the noblewoman and her eldest daughter’s success in drawing Mr. Harrow to their parlor twice. Proud, she smiled to herself, unaware of just how ill-suited the pair of interlopers was for her children.
Lilly’s song ended with a beautiful flourish of skill, but when she looked up in triumph from a practically flawless performance, she pouted to see Mr. Harrow’s attention was no longer on her.
When he should have been content and half in love with her, he was sneering—glaring at the baroness, almost venomous in his appraisal. That would not do.
Lilly called to Lizzy, asking the youngest to lend her voice to the next piece. Edmund helped his sister rise, watching carefully as she managed her gown away from the hearth, and led her toward the pianoforte.
While the Jenkins siblings began their song, Mr. Harrow did the opposite of what Lilly desired. He crossed over the carpet, taking the seat at Arabella’s side. “It is almost preposterous to see you lounging like one of these vapid females... Are you not bored? Or is this game of pretend amusing?”
It was several more breaths before her eyes left the fire to land heavy and mean on the unwelcome presence beside her.
Arrogant, Mr. Harrow continued. “Why did you come here?”
Arabella let her actions answer for her. She said nothing.
“Come now, Imp. No need to glare.” He controlled his features to fit into the propriety of the room, but his eyes were nothing but evil. “Are we not friends?”
Her lips thinned. Arabella mouthed the words, go to hell.
Chuckling meanly, Mr. Harrow rose, smiling beautifully at the eldest Jenkins sister as he drew closer to her performance.
The recital drew to a close, Arabella applauding as expected.
Before she might offer an excuse and leave, Lilly called across the room. “Now you must play. Come entertain us, Lady Iliffe.”