Page 52 of A Duke's Lustful Portrait
“Arabella?”
Priscilla pressed her gently, and Arabella knew she would give in. With a sigh, she turned to her grandmother.
“It’s true,” she cried. “I do love him. I love him dearly, and he loves me. I don’t know how yet—we haven’t even spoken about it—but I know we’ll find a way to be together eventually.”
If only he survives.
Arabella knew that full membership to the Lord’s Society meant Sebastian would have a task set for him. She had no idea what it would be, but she suspected it would be nothing good, and she feared for Sebastian. Deep down, he was a good man, and she wondered how much immorality he could take before losing that part of himself. If only she could find a way to convince him not to become a full member.
Priscilla looked torn in two, happiness fighting with fear. “Your father has spies everywhere, my dear,” she said quickly, softly. “I should know—I have lost many privileges thanks to other people reporting to him. He is a harsh man, Arabella, and he will stop at nothing to keep you in his lair. So please, please be careful.”
“We will, Grandmother. I promise. If anything, I am more determined than ever to be free of my father’s clutches. Do you think it’s possible?”
Priscilla shook her head sadly. “You need money to escape, Arabella. And though I’ve managed to put a little aside, it won’t last you more than a few weeks. Even if we did get enough together for you to escape, your father may well find you—his reach is wide. Just talking about it is extremely dangerous. I’m sorry, Arabella, I really am. But I worry desperately for your safety.”
Arabella pursed her lips. “All the more reason to put my trust in Sebastian then,” she said. “Just as you advised.”
“Here we are,” the modiste said with a false brightness. The scarlet of the cloth matched the colour of her flustered face, and a thin sheen of sweat covered her brow. “Red, just as you asked for.”
“Do you know,” Priscilla said with a charming smile, “I think we prefer the blue after all.”
Chapter 25
Arabella stepped into the ballroom in her beautiful cerulean blue silk gown and sequined slippers. She wore pristine white gloves that reached to her elbows—quite a novelty for her, for painting at her father’s events required bare fingers for dexterity. She luxuriated in the feeling of the fabric between her fingers and running up her arm.
“Lady Arabella, what a delight it is to see you. I do hope your health is much improved?”
Arabella turned to find Lady Charlotte smiling broadly at her, her fan clasped in front of her stomach. They were around the same age, though Lady Charlotte was due to marry the very wealthy and handsome Earl Cobalt and as such, she had an air of superiority about her. She was tall and far too slim, and she wore a constant sneer as if she had just sucked on a lemon.
“She is much improved, thank you, Lady Charlotte,” Priscilla said, coming out from behind Arabella.
The pair had concocted a tale of ill health to excuse her from the majority of balls. It was not the ideal solution. Prospective husbands would not look kindly on a sickly woman who could potential pass that onto a child or worse—an heir! But they had not been able to think of anything else that would explain her consistent absence, and they could only hope that some understanding gentlemen would attend the season.
“Oh, you poor thing,” Lady Charlotte said mockingly, her hand over her heart. “Have you lost your voice as well?”
Arabella wouldn’t let the woman ruin her good mood. She was at a society ball and intended to dance the entire evening with as many different gentlemen as she could.
And maybe Sebastian, too.
“No, I haven’t lost it,” Arabella said sweetly. “I’m merely keeping it to myself until I find someone worthy of using it on.”
She swept past Lady Charlotte, her head held high, and Priscilla trotted after her.
“Oh, you’re a terror,” she said with a giggle of delight.
“I shan’t let a single person ruin this evening,” she declared. “It has been far too long since I attended such a ball, and I feel freer than I have in an age.”
“And you look radiant, my darling girl,” Priscilla said. She looked at Arabella with such pride and happiness that Arabella thought her heart might burst.
She scanned the room, looking for Sebastian. She had no idea whether he was attending, but her heart fluttered with hope. The room was large, the mahogany floor marked from years of dancers and the walls adorned with portraits of earls and barons from times past. At the far end was a grand piano, the pianist’s fingers running swiftly up and down the keys, the air filling with the sweetest music.
There were people everywhere, most of whom Arabella knew. She spotted a few from the Lord’s Society, including Earl Pembry, whom she conscientiously avoided. There was Lord Percival, known for his proclivities with young men, and Lady Jessica, the spinster who interfered in everyone’s burgeoning relationship after having failed in all her own.
There was also the kindly Mr Gregory, who believed in always being complimentary, and the sweet Lady Anne who would give advice to anyone who asked.
But no Seb …
As she was thinking the words, she spotted him, hiding in a corner of shadows as was his habit. He was calm and quiet, watching proceedings with a careful eye. Whenever she saw him brooding in such a way, she found herself wondering what he was looking for. A wife? Her heart twinged at the thought. She didn’t want him to take a wife unless it was her, yet she understood how patently unfair that was when they had her father to contend with.
