Courtship Wars: To Pleasure A Lady Part 17

Arabella was about to choose a partner for Marcus when he politely objected. "I would prefer my initial demonstration be with you, Miss Loring."

He had intended this all along, she realized with exasperation. But he allowed her no chance to demur as he took her hand to lead her onto the floor. Her pulse leapt deplorably at his mere touch, for it only reminded her of their tryst earlier this afternoon. And as they faced each other for a contra dance, waiting for the music to begin, Arabella realized she was discomfited for an additional reason: It felt strange to be dancing with any gentleman again.

This was the first time since her broken betrothal. In fact, she hadn't been to a real ball since then. Now, whenever she accompanied her pupils to the local public a.s.semblies, she always sat out the dances, since she only attended to act as chaperone and instruct the academy's students. It was more fitting that way and prevented any gossip about a mere teacher not knowing her proper place.

She needed to prevent any gossip now, Arabella reminded herself as she met Marcus's blue gaze, for two dozen young ladies were looking on. She had to forget that pa.s.sionate interlude with him this afternoon had ever occurred.

For the next few minutes, as he partnered her through the quick patterns of the dance, Arabella struggled to appear composed. His behavior was perfectly proper during the entire dance, but each time their hands met proved a severe distraction. She was usually quite a skilled dancer yet just now she seemed to have grown two left feet.

At the conclusion, Arabella felt absurdly flushed and breathless and so made a point of avoiding her sisters' gazes, knowing they were watching her dealings with Marcus with avid interest.

She was preparing to select another partner for him when her least favorite pupil, Sybil Newstead, boldly stepped forward. "I should like to be first, Lord Danvers. The other girls don't need the practice, since very few of them have actually received invitations to Sir Alfred Perry's ball. I have, and so has Miss Blanchard." Sybil shot a sly look at Arabella. "Miss Loring has not been invited, nor has Miss Roslyn or Miss Lilian. They are considered too scandalous to mingle with the local gentry."

At Sybil's savage remark, Arabella sucked in a sharp breath, but Marcus responded before she could recover.

Lifting a black eyebrow, he raked the girl with bored scrutiny. "Did no one ever teach you it is impolite to gossip about your betters, Miss Newstead? I would say you don't need practice dancing; rather you need to work on your execrable manners."

Sybil's mouth dropped open, while her cheeks turned red with embarra.s.sment. But Marcus was not done, it seemed. "Take care that you don't annoy the wrong people, for a ball invitation can always be withdrawn. I am acquainted with Sir Alfred, did you know?"

He spoke softly, lazily even, but there was no mistaking his implied threat to have Sybil expelled from local society, as the Loring sisters were.

Arabella stared at Marcus, both surprised and gratified that he had defended her against the girl, even if perhaps he'd been too harsh. It was undoubtedly a lesson Sybil would not soon forget.

Yet there was a more tactful way to teach her that such cruel behavior was unacceptable.

When the girl scowled, Arabella remarked gently, "A lady does not grimace when a gentleman displeases her, Sybil. Nor does she make remarks that can be hurtful to others."

"Yes, Miss Loring," Sybil muttered, her cheeks still scarlet.

"You know that in polite society you are judged by your every word and action. You do wish to be considered a lady, don't you?"

"Yes, of course, Miss Loring."

Arabella smiled encouragingly. "Then perhaps you will be kind enough to allow Miss Trebbs the opportunity to practice first with Lord Danvers."

"Oh, very well." Conspicuously struggling to bite her tongue, Sybil stepped back, but not before flinging Arabella a rebellious look.

Arabella calmly ignored the spoiled girl as the excited Miss Trebbs took the floor with Marcus. But when she herself moved to the sidelines, she caught sight of her sisters' expressions. Lily was simmering with suppressed anger and hurt at Sybil's nasty taunt, while Roslyn was pretending a cool dispa.s.sion that hid similar warring emotions.

Arabella shared their feelings. Since their parents' infamy had followed them all the way from Hampshire, they were not received in any of the better neighborhood households-in large part because their late step-uncle had publicly repudiated them for their mother's sins.

It was a bitter pill for Arabella to swallow, not so much for her own sake as for her sisters'. They had learned to accept the inevitable, but still it stung to be shunned by nearly all the local gentry for scandals their parents had created.

Arabella watched the practice sessions with only half her usual attention, and at the end she was distracted enough that she let Marcus usher her into his carriage to take her home when she had meant to avoid being alone with him so soon after their romantic rendezvous.

"So tell me," he said when the vehicle was moving, "why were you and your sisters not invited to Sir Alfred's ball?"

"I should think it obvious," Arabella replied, trying to keep her tone light. "The scandals still haunt us. In this district, no one who moves in higher circles will a.s.sociate with the Loring sisters-other than Lady Freemantle and Miss Blanchard, of course." She shrugged. "I don't care about myself, really, but my sisters deserve better."

A muscle worked in Marcus's jaw. "I will see to it that you all three are invited to the ball. And I mean to escort you there myself."

She looked at him curiously. She had little doubt he could persuade Sir Alfred and Lady Perry to issue them invitations, but she couldn't understand why he would wish to. "You needn't go to such trouble, Marcus."

"I do need to. I won't have my wards being shunned, especially since you're being condemned through no fault of your own." He was angry on her behalf, she realized.

Arabella forced a smile. "It doesn't matter, truly. We are accustomed to being excluded. In any case, we have nothing appropriate to wear. Our ball gowns are four years out of fashion."

"Then you will order new ball gowns made."

"By Monday?"

"It can be done. I will send for a London modiste to attend you tomorrow."

"Marcus, it would cost a fortune to have gowns made on such short notice!"

"I happen to have a fortune, sweeting. And I can think of no better way to spend it."

This time Arabella shook her head firmly. "We don't need your charity."

"It isn't charity. As your guardian, I am obliged to provide for you."

Hearing the echo of her late step-uncle's complaints at being saddled with their upkeep, Arabella felt herself stiffen. "It is indeed charity, and we won't accept."

Marcus pinned her with a stern look. "Don't be tiresome, love. It is only your pride suffering."

Arabella scowled at him in return. "That is easy for you to say. You have obviously never been utterly dependent on anyone. You can't understand the helpless feeling-how humiliating it is to be beholden for every morsel of food and st.i.tch of clothing on your back-"

"No, I cannot understand," he agreed sympathetically. "But your former guardian was a selfish, miserly b.a.s.t.a.r.d who deserved to have his teeth knocked down his throat for treating his own nieces like supplicants."

Then perhaps realizing how distressing the subject was for Arabella, Marcus softened his expression. "If you won't accept a new gown for your own sake, then do it for me. My pride is at stake. I won't have my wards dressed in rags. And surely you don't want to appear at a disadvantage in front of your pupils by appearing at the ball dressed in outmoded gowns."

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 n.o.bs 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 amus.e.m.e.nt as she eyed Marcus. "Only a n.o.bleman 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 antic.i.p.ated.

Hearing her husky laughter, Marcus felt an unfamiliar softening inside him. It was rather humbling to witness Arabella's fort.i.tude. 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 f.a.n.n.y The next several days pa.s.sed 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 cla.s.ses 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 n.o.bleman 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 pa.s.sion had subsided entirely. Oddly, Arabella's relief at the respite was accompanied by an unmistakable disappointment; she had begun to eagerly antic.i.p.ate 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.

"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 s.e.x 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."