Giles’s lips twitched. ‘All of it?’
‘All of it. I have given Yvette her congé in the form of a flashy ruby bracelet—’
‘Which no doubt helped to ease the pain of parting.’
David laughed. ‘No doubt. And I sent a note round to Belle, advising her of my intentions to marry.’
‘Ah, yes, the fair Arabella.’ Sir Giles hesitated, wishing to phrase his question diplomatically. ‘Do you think she will be disturbed by the news?’
‘I see no reason why she should be. Belle was kind enough to act as my hostess when I required one, and I was grateful for her efforts, but I hardly think she will feel put out when she learns that she is to be displaced by the woman I rightfully intend to marry!’
‘So, Blackwood is finally planning to wed, eh?’ the rotund Lady Fayne commented as she accepted a cup of tea from her hostess. ‘About time too, if you ask me.’
Lady Mortimer sniffed disparagingly. ‘Should have married years ago. Doesn’t do to keep so many young ladies holding out hopes. Know anything about the gel?’
Arabella Braithwaite stirred a small spoonful of sugar into her tea and then sat back against the richly upholstered cushions of the gold damask settee, her lovely features arranged in a mask of amiability. ‘Not really, other than that she spends a good deal of time in the country.’
‘Lovely girl, though,’ Mrs Harper-Burton put in kindly. ‘I recall seeing her at Almack’s years ago. They made almost as much fuss over her come-out as they did yours, Belle.’
‘Still, the announcement must have come as something of a shock,’ the Duchess of Basilworth said loftily. She smiled at the beautifully gowned woman across from her with a modicum of pity. ‘I suppose you will have to resign yourself to playing a much smaller part in Lord Blackwood’s life from now on. He will hardly need you acting as his hostess when he has a wife of his own.’
‘Perhaps, but just because Lord Blackwood has a wife does not mean I shall no longer have occasion to see him, Your Grace,’ Arabella said sweetly. ‘We are cousins after all, and no doubt his wife will appreciate my being there to help smooth her transition back into London Society. I understand that she has been keeping a very low profile since putting off her blacks.’
‘Oh, Belle, how generous of you,’ Mrs Harper-Burton said. ‘I thought you might have been…well, resentful of another woman taking your place.’
‘Taking her place. Really, Clara!’ the Duchess of Basilworth snapped. ‘How can Arabella be resentful of someone taking a place which was never hers to begin with?’
‘Indeed,’ Arabella said lightly. ‘I merely came to Lord Blackwood’s aid at a dinner party, and, much to my surprise, he asked for my help at his next one. I really just…slipped into the role.’
‘Well, you are just going to have to slip right back out of it again,’ the Duchess said smugly. ‘I am sure the future Lady Blackwood will not be looking for assistance in domestic matters. I understand she is a sensible young woman. No doubt she will be able to hire a competent staff to attend to such matters.’
Arabella’s smile never faltered. ‘Yes, I am sure she will. More tea, anyone?’
The conversation moved off into other areas and the topic of Lord Blackwood’s upcoming nuptials was forgotten. But as soon as the ladies took their leave and Arabella was left alone the scowl which had appeared on her face upon receiving her cousin’s note abruptly reappeared, wiping out all traces of her earlier complacency.
How could David spring the news on her like that! He had never even made mention of the fact that he was thinking of getting married, and here he was, engaged to some country chit, without so much as a private word to her beforehand. Did he care nothing for her feelings?
Arabella stood up and began to pace the room with the fury of a caged tigress. It was simply too galling! True, there had never been anything of a romantic nature between them, but Arabella had always hoped that, given time, their relationship might develop into something…warmer. But that wasn’t likely to happen now. Because David was replacing her with a wife. His politely worded letter, thanking her for everything she had done, and assuring her that they would continue to see each other on a social basis, did nothing to lessen her humiliation. She had not just imagined the pity in the Duchess of Basilworth’s beady eyes this afternoon. It had been there, as plain as day. The old biddy had been laughing at her; enjoying her fall from grace, as it were.
Well, David wasn’t married yet, Arabella reminded herself, and, until he was, she intended to make very sure that she did not slip quietly into the background. Her cousin was a stickler for propriety, and he would expect his wife, as the future marchioness, to behave in a no less honourable fashion—the way Arabella herself had taken pains to behave every time she had been in his company. Duty meant everything to David and, given that Arabella had heard some very interesting stories about the late Countess of Wyndham, and about the daughter who was rumoured to have inherited some of the mother’s more eccentric qualities, Arabella decided that she would be well advised to stay close to the proceedings. If Nicola Wyndham put a foot wrong, Arabella wanted to be there to point it out.
She wasn’t going to lose David without a fight. And she intended to make very sure that the ladies all laughed on the other side of their faces before this was over!
Chapter Three
At long last, the day of Nicola’s betrothal ball arrived and, with it, the agreement that Lady Dorchester had outdone herself. The servants had been kept busy from morning till night, polishing and dusting, fetching and carrying, and helping to transform the ballroom at Wyndham Hall into a glittering fairy-tale forest, complete with bubbling fountains, miniature trees, and endless pots of white and pink roses which lent their colour and delicate perfume to the exquisitely decorated room.
Lady Dorchester herself had supervised the creation of Nicola’s new wardrobe, and had taken her to her own modiste for the selection of the magnificent gown Nicola would wear on the night of the ball.
‘You simply cannot be seen wearing anything that is not strictly au courant, my dear,’ Lady Dorchester had informed her as the modiste had brought forth yet another bolt of exquisite material. ‘This is the beginning of your new life. You must start as you mean to carry on.’
But as she studied her reflection in the cheval-glass on the night of the ball Nicola was not sure that she was making quite the right statement. ‘Is it the fashion to be so revealing, Aunt?’ she asked in dismay, eyeing the outrageously low décolleté of the gown and feeling that there was considerably more flesh above the neckline than below it.
‘My dear girl, as the Marchioness of Blackwood, you will set the fashion, not follow it,’ Lady Dorchester told her confidently. ‘I only wish your dear mother could have been here to see you. She would have been so very, very proud. But we mustn’t stand here dithering. I am sure Lord Blackwood is anxiously waiting for you to appear.’
As it happened, David was in the hall when Nicola and her aunt made their descent down the grand staircase. He had purposely arrived early in the hopes of spending a little time alone with his fiancée before the arrival of their guests, since there was one more thing he wanted to do before making their betrothal official. But as he stood and watched Nicola walk down the staircase towards him, looking a vision in a magnificent gown that flattered every sensuous curve of her body, he almost forgot what he had come
