Page 4 of The Earl's Heiress
When her father told her she would marry a nobleman, she insisted she wanted to choose a man she loved. His dismissive tone still stung.
“I am sorry, my dear Bella, but we no longer have the luxury of marrying for love. We need to gain our rightful place in Boston and New York society, and the best way to do that is for you to marry an English nobleman. I will not give my blessing and support to a marriage that would not elevate our standing. You may not love your husband, but you will respect and care for him as he respects and cares for you.Given time, it may flourish more.”
His words were haunting her. Mama had agreed with him, explaining that daughters of self-made men like Papa didn’t have the social standing of longtime members of high society and had trouble gaining acceptance among well-heeled socialites who shunned what they saw as “new money.”
Arabella thought the entire thing was preposterous, but while she didn’t agree, she accepted it was the way of the world. Papa viewed a title as a shortcut to social acceptance, and plenty of British aristocrats were eager to trade their titlesfor cash. In his eyes, the exchange was worth every penny. But Arabella wanted a husband who loved her, not one who saw her as a means to enrich himself. Once married, her wealth would become his, leaving her entirely reliant on a gentleman who felt no affection for her.
The thought was utterly daunting and heartbreaking.
I need a plan.
Her mind spun as she considered her options. Arabella could challenge her father directly—a prospect as appealing as scaling a cliff—or find a gentleman she genuinely liked and marry him on her terms. But to do so, she needed time to assess her choices and avoid being rushed into a disastrous match.
She resolved to tell Papa she was willing to entertain suitors with titles, but only if the final decision remained hers. Still, the thought made her groan. The real challenge wasn’t finding a husband—it was climbing the mountain of her father’s stubborn, infuriating belief that the choice was his!
“Is it much farther, John?” Arabella asked the closest groom.
“Not much farther, Miss Arabella,” he replied.
She was certain John’s answer was the same as the last time she had asked, yet they had traveled much farther since then. Casting her gaze upward, she watched dark clouds rolling swiftly across the sky. The sunshine had vanished, and she could hardly believe how quickly the weather had turned. She mentally added “unpredictable weather” to her growing grievances with England.
No sooner had the thought crossed her mind than a bolt of lightning split the sky, followed by a deep rumble of thunder. Her horse shook its head, and she felt the tension ripple through its frame. Arabella patted his flank, hoping to soothe his growing anxiety.
The groom turned back to her. “We should pick up the pace, Miss Arabella.”
It was sound advice. Horses hated lightning, and the approaching storm would make them even more skittish. Large, cold raindrops began to fall with surprising force, matching the thunder’s roar. The wind howled like a tormented soul, sending shivers down Arabella’s spine. Soon, the rain turned into a relentless torrent, blurring her vision. If she had known that this perfectly sunny day would devolve into a tempest, she would have stayed at the manor.
Another lightning strike lit up the sky, followed by a deafening crack of thunder that made her heart leap in fright. Her horse bucked and reared, panic overtaking the animal.
“Goodness!” Arabella cried as she clung to the reins.
The horse, now in a blind frenzy, bolted through the trees, crashing into a thicket of brambles that didn’t seem to slow it down. The downpour was so heavy that she could barely see ahead of her. Branches lashed against her face and arms as they tore through the undergrowth, and she instinctively hunched low, hanging on for dear life. The pounding rain drowned out all other sounds, and she couldn’t tell if the grooms were still following her. Fear rooted her gaze forward; she didn’t dare look back. Her horse’s gallop had not eased; if anything, the animal seemed even more determined to flee.
Arabella yanked hard on the reins, pulling with all her strength, but it made no difference. The horse continued its headlong flight, unstoppable. They had covered a great distance, and she realized with dread that they were truly lost. Her mind raced, recalling her riding lessons. She had been taught to stop a runaway horse by bridging the reins across its neck and pulling hard or “sawing” the reins to force control. Yet she hesitated. The methods would cause the horse pain, and she didn’t want to hurt him. Worse, the pain might provoke him further.
Instead, she tried turning him into a wide circle to unbalance him and slow his momentum, but the trees crowded too closelyfor the maneuver to work. She rose slightly in the saddle to attempt it again, but as she looked up, her eyes widened in horror.
“Bloody hell!” she shouted.
Too late.
A low-hanging branch struck her squarely, knocking the wind out of her. The world tilted, and she felt herself tumbling forward. Her heart pounded so hard it drowned out every other sound. Time seemed to stretch, each second painfully slow as she fell, the ground rushing to meet her. Rain blurred her vision, and chaos surrounded her. She flailed her arms, grasping at empty air, but gravity showed no mercy.
The impact came with brutal force. She hit the ground, pain exploding in her limbs as the breath was knocked from her lungs. A sharp jolt reverberated through her body, followed by a dull, throbbing ache. Dazed and disoriented, Arabella lay still, the world spinning around her in a haze of rain and agony.
Then the darkness came, swallowing her whole.
CHAPTER 3
Temple only realized how far he had ridden when the return journey stretched endlessly before him. The bloody thunderstorm had come out of nowhere, catching him entirely off guard. When he’d left the house earlier, the sky had been clear and blue, but now the heavens raged, soaking him through to the skin. The thick wool of his coat clung to him like a second, sodden skin, offering no warmth.
Above him, the clouds pulsed with flashes of light, and a piercing gust of wind shook the trees, showering him with a fresh deluge of icy rain. He wiped water from his eyes with a wet sleeve, tucking a damp lock of hair behind his ear as he cursed under his breath.
Suddenly, the sound of a horse crashing through the trees snapped him to attention. Hooves thundered against the forest floor, trampling the underbrush. He reined in his stallion, tightening his grip as the wild horse came into view, its rider clinging desperately. His heart leaped when, with a jarring motion, the rider was thrown from the saddle, landing in an unceremonious heap on the muddy ground. The panicked horse bolted into the distance, wild and free.
Temple stared at the motionless figure, his breath catching. Was the rider dead? He quickly nudged his stallion closer, leaped from the saddle, and secured the reins to a nearby branch. There was no sense in letting his horse bolt, too, leaving him stranded.
He rushed to the fallen rider, his boots slipping on the rain-slick earth, and dropped to his knees. The figure lay face down, unmoving, their soaked clothing plastered to their body. Temple wasted no time, carefully turning the rider over. The hat fell away, revealing coiffed hair that was neatly pinned. He froze.
