Page 11 of Her Heart's Rightful Earl
Chapter 5
Alexander watched Arabella as she flung herself across the room away from him. She was a whirl of colour in her olive green dress with a yellow scarf that flowed out dramatically as she pushed away from him.
Her long auburn hair, which had been delicately pinned up, had come loose as she’d fainted, and now a few loose tendrils hung romantically over her shoulders.
Alexander could not speak as he witnessed her torrent of fury. She was a force of raw emotion and—though he knew it was inappropriate—he found her energy, as wild as a hurt animal, invigorating. He had never seen her this way.
She was not innately an angry woman, and she naturally appeased people with smiles and her kind, thoughtful nature. Yet tonight she was impassioned, and Alexander knew it was borne of love for him, which made him want to experience it and feel every unwelcome emotion it provoked.
“Youleftme!” Arabella’s voice accused him, and he had to justify his actions—he could not have her believing it was a choice he made easily.
“Arabella, you need to know what happened that night!”
She stopped, and it seemed as though she had been winded; she clutched her ribs and appeared stunned at hearing his voice. But of course, he realized, to Arabella, he was a ghost rising from the dead.
He continued in gentler tones, in the hope of placating her.
“I found my father’s body.” Alexander shot his mother an apologetic look, acknowledging how hard this would be for her to hear. “The killer used my own dagger, one that Father himself had gifted me on my tenth birthday. Whoever killed him knew exactly how to frame me, with precision that spoke of intimate knowledge. Remaining at Wellwood was simply not an option for me, Arabella. It was imperative I leave if I wanted to avoid a life of incarceration … or worse …”
“That, I understand. But Alexander, why not contact me? Why not include me in your plan? We were due to marry …” Arabella’s words landed heavily through tortured sobs.
“I know.” Alexander hung his head, realizing with painful clarity what his disappearance had cost her.
“You could have sent word. You should have trusted me!” Arabella cried. “As Edmund spoke his wedding vows to me, I could imagine you standing in the shadows of the altar, shaking your head in disapproval, urging me not to marry another man. I felt guilty for betraying you, and I cannot forgivemyself for compromising poor Edmund! You destroyed my soul, Alexander!”
Alexander’s mouth fell open as he witnessed her honest display of fury play out. He understood now—Arabella had not stopped loving him. Through his disappearance, his supposed death, her marriage to Edmund, and mourning her husband. All that time, Arabella remained in love with him.
His heart hurt. He had believed she had moved on. On the surface, he had taken the moral high ground, assuring himself this was a good development; that she could live a fulfilling life and move on in positivity.
Internally, though, he seethed with envy that his cousin had married the woman he loved, and hearing now that she had, indeed, loved him throughout, he was overcome by a torrent of passion, empathy, and devastation at the tragedy of their reality.
“Arabella … I cannot begin to express the depth of my regret at having left without you. Without providing some explanation for my abandonment …” Alexander attempted to articulate how profusely he felt this remorse.
Arabella turned away from him, the tendrils of long red hair, which had fallen loose, flipping out in a circle as she flounced away in her anguish.
“It cannot be undone, Alexander. And had I not happened upon you just this moment, would you have revealed the truth to me?”
Arabella turned back to fix him with her glinting green eyes. “Wouldyou?”
Alexander opened his mouth to speak, set to defend his actions, but was struck by the reality that he had entered the house covertly, under the cover of darkness, with the sole intention of revealing himself only to his mother and disappearing once again.
Alexander’s silence confirmed to Arabella that he had not planned on reaching out to her. Her reaction was a sharp intake of breath.
Alexander floundered; he did not know how to repair this and felt as though he was only hurting her more as he attempted to justify himself.
Margaret, who had slowly re-entered the centre of the room from the door where she had successfully dismissed the household staff, stepped between the two of them with her hands palm down.
“Alexander, Arabella …” Her voice was slightly breathless yet firm. “You are both experiencing shock at seeing one anotheranew. There is no possibility to calm your emotions at this moment and no opportunity for logic.”
Arabella turned to Margaret as if to protest, and Margaret lifted a soothing hand to hold her upper arm, grounding her. “Let there not be conversation tonight.”
Margaret looked markedly from Arabella’s distressed expression to her son, and she reached to him, cupping his face in her hand tenderly.
“Allow yourselves time and space to process this reunion.” She looked between them diplomatically. “The truth finds a way of exposing all …”
Alexander’s eyebrow flexed at this rather cryptic statement, and he wondered at his mother, who was now standing upright, her voice unyielding now, in the face of such sombre business.
His eyes flicked to Arabella, whose chest was heaving beneath her empire waist bodice, with the stressful exertion of her predicament. Her eyes were wild with bewilderment, and they were fixed upon his face, disbelieving in his very presence.
