Page 12 of The Earl's Heiress
“I intend to invite the Anderson family to dine soon. I will inform you once the invitation is sent.”
“Splendid. Then I shall leave you to your work.”
Thehaut tonwould never be satisfied. A hasty wedding would rouse every whispering tongue, and speculation would only increase once society learned of the Anderson fortune. They would say he had taken advantage of a compromising incident, but he no longer cared.
Damned if you do, damned if you don’t.
No doubt Miss Anderson’s mother had already impressed upon her daughter that she had little choice. Temple could have consented to a swift marriage, but to his own surprise, he found himself caring what Miss Arabella thought of it. He could not explain why—only that he disliked the notion of binding a woman to him without at least some measure of mutual respect and understanding.
The onus must lie with her. If Miss Anderson refused, he would not press her. He would walk away—and she could meet the consequences as she deemed best.
CHAPTER 6
One week later
Arabella was at last fully recovered, no longer aching when she walked. Yet her steps felt oddly unsteady as she watched Saville Manor stir to life, infused with the bustle of Lord Stanford’s impending arrival. One might have thought the earl was coming to stay a fortnight rather than merely to take afternoon tea.
Papa had told her she need not fear a hasty marriage, for the earl had expressed no desire to rush her. The assurance had surprised her. With such a dowry at stake, she had imagined he would hasten to secure the match, but instead, he seemed content to wait. A fortnight, perhaps longer—time enough for Mama to plan a small wedding, likely at the earl’s estate chapel under a special license.
It ought to have comforted her. Their union was not a love match, but rather a transaction of fortune for social status. She reminded herself of this firmly. Yet the knowledge did little to still the flutter in her chest at the thought of seeing him again.She could not fathom why her palms grew damp, why her breath caught at the memory of his steady green eyes.
Determined to compose herself, she had taken greater care with her appearance than she wished to admit. Her dark yellow gown was chosen with precision, for it set off the warmth of her complexion and fell gracefully to flatter her figure. She had smoothed every line, adjusted every ribbon, until she could find no fault. Still, when she glanced at her reflection, a faint flush rose in her cheeks. She realized, with no small mortification, that she wanted to appear beautiful… tohim.
Banishing the thought, Arabella drew in a steadying breath and lifted her chin. Whatever else transpired between them, she would keep Lord Stanford at a distance. Handsome though he might be, he would not be permitted to touch her heart—not until she had truly discerned his character and understood why he was willing to wed her. He possessed both power and consequence enough to refuse her family, who held scarcely any connections in England. Then why had he agreed? Was it only for her wealth?
Pushing those thoughts aside, she entered the drawing room.
The staff were busy checking that everything was in its rightful place, and Mama was already sitting in the corner of the room reading a novel. The staff left, and the butler entered to announce Lord Stanford had arrived. There he was in all his magnificence, the man who would be her husband, control her fortune and her life. He seemed to fill the doorway as he stepped into the room, tall and impressive. He was dressed in a black suit with tails, a white shirt, and a waistcoat.
Arabella gazed at his strong, arresting face, and her heart began to flutter in her chest despite her resolve not to be affected by him. Becoming entangled with a gentleman too hastily, without understanding his character or his views on love, wouldsurely invite heartache. He was younger than she had first thought, and she was grateful that he was closer to her own age.
“Welcome to Saville Manor, Lord Stanford. I trust you had a pleasant journey,” her mother said with a graceful curtsy.
He inclined his head in acknowledgment. “Thank you, Mrs. Anderson. The weather was fair, and I found the ride most agreeable.”
Arabella hastily dipped into her own curtsy before daring to meet his gaze. His eyes, cool and assessing, lingered on her, and she felt the betraying heat rise in her cheeks when she caught the fleeting flare of appreciation within them.
“Please, have a seat, my lord,” her mother said smoothly. “I shall arrange for refreshments and leave the door ajar while you speak with Bella.”
With that, she hastened from the room. Arabella and Lord Stanford took their places in armchairs opposite one another.
Arabella’s gaze lingered on him longer than was seemly, yet she could not bring herself to care. She wanted to study him at leisure. Lord Stanford possessed a striking, self-assured bearing, his composure edged with an aloofness that set him apart. His dark brown hair, thick and untamed, only added to the impression of raw strength. He was taller than she had imagined, broader too.
His gaze swept over her in a slow, measured perusal that sent warmth rushing to her cheeks. A reckless thought seized her—was he recalling the press of his mouth against hers? Mortified, she dropped her eyes.
“How fare you, Miss Arabella? Fully recovered, I trust?”
She folded her hands primly in her lap, striving for composure. How hypocritical she must appear—her mother had so often despaired of her unladylike ways. “Thanks to you, Lord Stanford. I did not have the chance to thank you properly before.Had you not come upon me, I shudder to think what might have happened.”
“I was happy to be of service, despite…”
Her head lifted, her eyes flashing. “Despite being forced to marry me as a consequence? The American heiress who cannot hope to compare with a genteel, polished English rose?”
His brows shot up. “You’re quite direct.”
His gaze captured and held hers, unwavering. Arabella wanted to look away. She knew she should break eye contact with him, but she found it difficult. She gave up.
“Don’t you find it refreshing? One never has to be misunderstood or misinterpreted. Being direct prevents unnecessary conflicts or misunderstandings, and it promotes honesty and authenticity.”
