Page 78 of A Duke's Lustful Portrait
She looked pleadingly at Priscilla, and her grandmother laughed. “Of course not, dear girl. I’ve already told Mr Wilson, and he has sent word to Mr Price. I don’t plan on letting you out of my sight now—at least not until we find you a husband!”
Arabella murmured a noise of assent, then wrapped her hands more tightly around her cup, her gaze off into the distance. She could not imagine being married to anyone but Sebastian. Indeed, she had often pictured their wedding and even their children to come. She had known it was silly, a girlish pastime, but she didn’t care.
“Do you think I’ll be able to see him?” she asked, this time an entirely different question.
“I have no doubt you will,” Priscilla replied, understanding completely.
As if answering her question, the butler entered the room.
“Ladies, there is a man here to see you both.”
“Oh, is it the constable?” Arabella asked, twisting around on the couch to get a better look at him. “He said he would call today to discuss what would happen next.”
“No, it’s one … er …” Gibbs faltered but quickly regained his composure. “He said to tell you his name is Mr Sebastian Smith.”
Smith?
Despite all that had happened—the lies, the cheating, the anger, and hurt—Arabella could not stop herself from smiling. He’d come for her, just as he had promised.
“Show him in, please, Gibbs,” Priscilla said.
The butler bowed and exited the room. Priscilla spoke again, but Arabella didn’t hear the words. She could only hear the blood rushing in her ears, the heavy beat of her heart.
“I look a mess,” she cried suddenly, jumping from the couch and dumping her teacup on the table. She flattened her hair with her hands, then looked down at the crumpled nightgown she still hadn’t changed out of. “Oh no! He can’t see me like this.”
Priscilla giggled and stood up with her granddaughter. “After all you two have been through, I’m sure he will not be put off by a little out of place hair and a nightgown. But promise me one thing, Arabella.”
“What?” Her eyes roved over her grandmother’s face, her mind jittery with nervous excitement.
“See to it that he explains himself well, and if you choose to forgive him for all he has done, then you must be sure it was what you truly want. Then forgive wholly and truly, with every bit of your heart. I have seen love, Arabella, and I see it in you and him, but a marriage needs more than love alone. Be strong, and do not be taken for a fool.”
Arabella wrapped her arms around her grandmother and pulled her tightly into her. She felt nothing more than skin and bones and love. “I don’t know what I would do without you. You are a good woman.”
“Sebastian Smith, Your Grace, My Lady.”
Arabella pulled away from her grandmother to see Sebastian in the doorway, his gentleman’s clothes gone, his cap in his hand, his shoulders high. He looked tired, exhausted even, but so incredibly handsome.
“Good morning,” she said and his expression turned from sheepish to overjoyed in a second.
“Good morning,” he replied. “I hope you don’t mind the intrusion. I understand how early it is—far before normal calling hours, but given the circumstances, I …” He trailed off, shook his head, and started again. “I couldn’t wait. I couldn’t stop myself. I’m certain you are both very tired, but I really wanted the opportunity to—”
“It’s all right, Sebastian,” she said, taking a step towards him. “I’m glad you’ve come.”
“You are?” He looked at her with such hope in his eyes that she couldn’t help giggling.
“Of course. Come and join us. A fresh pot will be arriving shortly.” She looked down at herself. “I’m sorry I’m not better attired. I … I wasn’t expecting anyone to visit today. Not after … well, you know.”
He smiled sweetly at her. “You look more beautiful today than I have ever seen you.”
“Your words always were sugared.” She threw him a lopsided smile, and he grinned like a schoolboy, cap still in hand, eyes to the floor in embarrassment.
“I’ll leave you two alone,” Priscilla said, interrupting the moment. “I think I’ll lie down for a bit. All this excitement is a bit much for an old lady like me.”
As she hobbled from the room, neither Arabella nor Sebastian could take their eyes off one another. Finally, he walked over to join her, and the maid poured them both a cup of tea.
“You look different today,” she said, eyeing his clothes. “You look like you did last night.”
When he met her gaze, she could see his pained expression. His eyes held onto something she didn’t like—shame, perhaps, or guilt.
