It was not to be believed. Payne doubted the man entirely. “To what aim?”
“Gregory Harrow wants me for his wife, assumes to secure me by removing my immediate complications. He knows about Dalton. Every facet of my life, he has his hands in. Every moment of delight, he is there.” Growing red faced, Arabella whispered. “He has shared my bed, Payne... more than once. I enjoyed it.”
“You deserve every happiness the world might offer, Arabella. But I do not believe Gregory Harrow can deliver such a thing.”
At his words, she looked heartbroken. “He says he loves me.”
“And if he lies?”
“Then my ultimate ruin awaits.” Pleading as if trying to convince them both, Arabella whispered. “But, Payne, I want to believe him.”
* * *
Another week passed before Arabella would leave her house, and it was not without a great deal of goading by Magdala before an invitation for the Jenkins upcoming foxhunt was accepted. Clothed in red velvet atop her great beast she chased after the men, who chased the dogs, who chased the fox. As a woman could only participate to a point, she settled for the thrill of cheering, doing her best to keep Mamioro out of the thick of it.
The stallion was unappreciative of her formality, prancing in place, stomping the dirt, and generally acting beastly.
It was still great fun, and she was glad she had joined the party.
Edmund's male friends were pleasant, unassuming, and unlike London men, they did not eye her to measure her potential worth. The ladies were just as friendly, and as the day wore on, when sport ended, clothing was changed, and the party had moved to the drawing room, it was easy to be amongst them. Even easy to dance when Edmund took her hand, lifting Arabella's lace covered arm to twist their bodies in a lively reel's first form.
Arabella knew a sort of accomplishment. The feeling, the cohesiveness—in that moment she belonged. She was sheltered and safe.
A whole beautiful day and she had only thought of Gregory a dozen or so times...
She’d hardly thought of how there had been no word for weeks. She’d almost forgiven him for frightening her.
Edmund Jenkins had exercised her demon.
Arabella felt free.
...and a little lonely.
“Lady Iliffe,” Edmund teased. “There is supposed to be some conversation when dancing.”
Her brow lifted, Arabella impertinent. “Are you sure? I was taught no such thing.”
He turned her, pleased to see her confident in where she placed her feet. “Did you enjoy the hunt?”
Arabella had to admit, “Very much. But Mamioro longed for a different rider. He bit your stable boy.”
“Ahh, a confession... I was wondering if you would own up to it.”
“Your complaints are distracting me.” All mischief, she feigned indignation. “I don’t want to trip and ruin your party.”
Edmund, taking the bait, whispered the next step of the dance under his breath. Making her smile when the reel ended and she’d performed perfectly.
Breathless, Arabella took the seat beside Lizzy, finding the girl continuing to do what she’d done most of the evening—steal glances across the room. Lizzy had even worn a new blue gown, had styled her hair beyond her customary, simplistic knot. The youngest Jenkins was done for, done up, and the goal of all that effort was hard to miss. One of the officers in attendance, a Mr. Ennis Bosworth, was most certainly the center of all that attention.
Leaning close to the oblivious girl, Arabella whispered, “Is he a nice man, or do you only fancy his looks?”
Jumping, Lizzy blushed ten shades of red at having been caught. “Mr. Bosworth is a friend of my brother. I have known him my whole life.”
That was recommendation enough. “And, of course, that is why Mr. Jenkins invited him. But I must say, Lizzy, I am disappointed you never confessed to having an admirer.”
Meeting Arabella eyes, Lizzy moped. “I have hardly ever spoken to him.”
“Well, here is your chance... Go over there and act as hostess.”