A few insults aren’t going to ruffle me. I’m made of stronger stuff than that and I have learnt to cope with much worse.’
Alexander looked into her deep blue eyes, curious to know why a woman who had lived the pampered and protected life of an heiress would need to be strong. ‘And why is that? Why do you need to be strong, Arabella?’
Once again he saw that sadness come into her eyes, before she shrugged her shoulders and smiled at him. ‘Perhaps it just comes naturally to someone whose grandfather was a mule driver,’ she said, in her now familiar flippant tone.
It seemed he was not going to get a serious answer to his question. He was not going to find out why that small shadow of sadness seemed to cloud her otherwise sunny disposition.
‘Perhaps you are right. Although I suspect there is more to you than you like to reveal to the world.’
Her cheeks burned a brighter shade of red, and she blinked repeatedly before giving a dismissive laugh. ‘No, there’s nothing more to reveal. I’m just your average young lady with no hidden depths.’
Her words contradicted her look of discomfort. It was obvious to Alexander that Arabella was anything but average. It was also obvious that she was not going to reveal anything to him. And he ought to leave her with her secrets. After all, what business was it of his?
‘Well, no doubt that inner strength is going to be called upon soon, when we have to face the guests again. I’m afraid that after Lady Beaufort’s outburst you will undoubtedly be the main topic of conversation for quite some time. You will need to prepare yourself for some curious looks at the very least, and no doubt some very impertinent questioning.’
‘Oh, that doesn’t worry me.’ She looked over her shoulder, back at the house. ‘It won’t be long before someone else makes an inexcusable faux pas—such as using the wrong knife for the fish course—and then they’ll be so scandalised that they’ll move on from discussing me to some other unfortunate victim.’
It seemed Arabella had the same low opinion of the ridiculous foibles of the gentry as he did himself.
Growing up, he had spent as much time as he could away from this house. His father’s riotous gambling parties had often gone on for weeks at a time, and he and Charlotte had taken refuge in the welcoming cottage of Annie, the wife of a tenant farmer, who worked in dairy. It was during his time with Annie and her husband that he had learnt how hard the tenants worked, tilling the soil and making the money which his father and his friends squandered. In contrast to Annie’s warm and welcoming ways, the excesses, rituals and snobbery of his own class had seemed absurd, but it was unusual to meet someone who thought the same way as him.
‘You must cause quite a stir amongst New York society with that attitude,’ he said.
She shrugged her shoulders and shook her head slightly. ‘Well, perhaps—but it’s an attitude I tend to keep to myself and only share with my closest friends.’
‘Your closest friends? Does that include this man you are in love with? Does he share your irreverent attitude to society?’
Damn. He had vowed to ask her nothing about the man, but the questions had come out before Alexander had realised he was asking. Questions that seemed now to hang in the air between them.
Hadn’t he told himself he did not want or need to know anything about the man? And yet at the same time he wanted to know everything there was to know about this man Arabella loved. He wanted to know what she felt for him and how he made her feel. And did this man know the reason for the sadness that cast a shroud over her bright blue eyes?
But why should it matter? She was a woman who was in love with another man, and he was unlikely to see her again after this weekend.
And yet it did matter.
His body tensed as he waited for the answers he both did and did not want to hear.
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