Page 31 of Her Heart's Rightful Earl
“I know I am not the only person to witness the demise of the estate; Marcus’s lack of care and maintenance is quite apparent to anybody who was accustomed to the attention my dear late husband would apply to our beautiful home.”
Margaret looked suddenly extremely sad. Arabella realized that this lady had suffered more than any of them; Arabella had lost her true love and lived an alternative life to the one she anticipated, but Margaret had lost her beloved husband, lost her eldest son through exile, and now sat poised to lose her youngest son through madness.
Arabella reached out her hand to comfort Margaret, and Margaret clutched it in her own hand, with the fervour of a more youthful woman.
In a low voice, Margaret whispered, fixing Arabella with an intense stare, “Have you heard the noises at night?”
Arabella frowned. She was generally a deep sleeper and not inclined to wake during the night, though as she urged her mind back, she had been disturbed by some sound a few nights back. “Perhaps,” she acquiesced.
“Marcus does not sleep well. He often roams the house at night. I have no issue with this in theory; he is the Earl of Wellwood, and he may pace the floorboards as often as he chooses at any hour he prefers. However, there are visitors …”
“Visitors? At night?”
“Indeed. I know not who. I hear him greet them in hushed tones.”
“You should be sleeping, Lady Wellwood! You need your rest at night to heal!”
“More pertinently, I need to protect my son. He is unapproachable; I cannot ask him directly with whom he is meeting and why he cannot simply sleep at night. I am so worried that he has inherited this tendency towards madness and that it will be the death of him …”
Margaret’s face crumbled in a moment of grief, and Arabella squeezed the hand that she was still holding.
Both ladies became suddenly aware of footsteps in the corridor outside. They snatched their hands away from each other. Arabella sat straight, and Margaret slumped down, assuming her frail, tired state once again. In the moment before the doorknob turned, Arabella wondered at how unwell Lady Wellwood really was …
Marcus entered.
“Mother?” His voice was calmer than it had been recently, and it was filled with genuine concern.
“Oh, Miss Arabella! You are here also?”
“Good evening, Lord Wellwood!” Arabella forced a grin and stood to greet him.
“My son,” Margaret croaked, once again seeming like an invalid.
Marcus’s eyes looked wildly between the two of them. “But what are you two doing in the library so late?”
Arabella laughed. “Oh, we always enjoy reading together in the evenings!” After all, she considered, this was not a lie.
Marcus narrowed his eyes suspiciously and held his palms upward.
“Then where is your book?”
Arabella stood silent for a moment, breathing heavily. “We were yet to choose one, isn’t that so, Lady Wellwood? Sometimes we become so distracted by our idle chatter, we quite forget what we came here to do!” She laughed it off awkwardly, but Marcus did not join in the laughter, and Margaret closed her eyes, leaning her head back in her façade.
Arabella turned her head towards Margaret. “I can see I have tired you, though, Lady Wellwood. Let us leave the reading for this evening.” She feigned a yawn. “I, too, am quite exhausted. I shall bid you both a good night.” Arabella bobbed a small curtsey and whisked through the library to leave.
As she reached the doorway, Marcus did not immediately move. He seemed intrigued to watch her and then smiled kindly. Arabella noticed that his eyes were soft and kind at that moment, further reinforcing Margaret’s suggestion that his moods were unpredictable.
He stood to one side, and Arabella smiled back cordially before leaving for her room as fast as her feet would carry her.
Chapter 10
Alexander began his journey from Whitechapel to Thomas’s townhouse, heading towards the river—the way he had gone before. Once he reached Tower Bridge, he doubled back but took a few different back streets. He remained alert and ensured he observed the faces of people he encountered whilst keeping his own face obscured.
As it was dawn, there were few people on the streets, and those who were, would be cleaners, fishermen, and market sellers. No gentry or members of the Ton would be venturing out at such an early hour. Still, he could not take any risks.
Once he was satisfied nobody had followed him, Alexander dipped his head low and made a rapid bolt towards Thomas’s townhouse.
“You are quite sure you were not followed?” Thomas asked anxiously, his voice low, as he closed the drawing room door behind them.
