In other words, Miss Arabella Delafield.
Chapter 8
Arabella
Ido not know what I expected upon announcing my engagement. Tears of joy? A small dose of shock? A line of embraces? I certainly did not expect to see the one man I thought I would never see again.
Nor the red hue of sheer anger on Papa’s face.
Papa. The one person I knew would be persuaded to accept Mr. Clodwick once I explained how happy we would be together.
Papa shoved Mr. Prologue toward me. “You are confused. This is your betrothed.”
“W-what?” Had Mr. Prologue followed me to Writcombe? Had my absurd secret fantasy of love at first sight come true? Had he longed to see me again as I had him?
And then, with the leeching of blood from my face, did I realize the obvious. There was only one man I was promised to—one man who could be my intended in my father’s eyes. Mr. Prologue had not followed me to Writcombe. He had come because he was none other thanMr. Rowan Ashworth. My nemesis.
And I had not recognized him.
My vision whirled, and I reached for something to hold on to.
Mr. Ashworth’s arms jerked forward and caught mine. I blinked rapidly, my vision clearing to reveal his perfectly handsome face—a face I had once hated but now made my heart race. His features, once full, were thinner now, more defined. He had a jawline sharper than a ruler’s edge.And his dark eyes—far more deep-set than his youthful pair—sparked with energy that seemed to ensnare me.
I gulped. Life had a funny way of abusing a person. I had just announced my engagement to Mr. Clodwick but was clearly attracted to another man—a man I loathed. A man who had yet to release me.
It was only then I noticed the entire room had grown eerily silent.
“I am well enough now,” I whispered, blinking rapidly to clear this strange grip he had on my attention. “Just a dizzy spell.”
That seemed to jolt sense into Mr. Ashworth. He stepped away from me, his arms dropping to the side.
“Who is this man who has the audacity to announce an engagement without speaking to me first?” Papa commanded, pointing to Mr. Clodwick.
I swallowed. “Papa, of course nothing is quite official. This is Mr. Clodwick, and he has every intention of asking you for my hand. Mr. Clodwick, this is my father, and this is . . . ahem . . . Mr. Ashworth.” My tongue barely managed Mr. Ashworth’s name, like a child learning to pronounce it.
While the men performed stilted bows, I awkwardly turned away from them. “Mr. Clodwick, may I present my mother, Mrs. Delafield, and my sister, Miss Elizabeth Delafield. And you know my sister and her husband, the Masons.”
Mr. Clodwick bowed to the room at large, stoic and unmoved by the circus around him. “I am Mr. Mason’s cousin.” He motioned to my brother-in-law, as if the relationship would dissipate the unbreakable tension in the room.
“Please, Mr. Clodwick,” Mama urged. “Sit down and take some tea while we adjust to the news youhave shared with us.”
“I prefer my tea black, no sugar or milk. And if you have any fresh biscuits, I will take two.” He flipped back the tail of his coat and sat rigidly as if waiting for someone to hop to his command.
Mother gave me one of her rare quelling looks, and I moved quickly to take a seat as far away from her as possible. Papa intercepted me. “Not you, Arabella. You will see me in my study.”
“But Papa,” I stammered. “We have guests.”
“If he cares for you enough to propose marriage, he’ll still be here when you return.”
I gave a reluctant nod and stole a glance at Mr. Ashworth. That name had become stuffy and vile to me, and I could not reconcile it with the man I had met in Quillsbury. But he could not be Mr. Prologue either because that man did not really exist. I suppose he would have to be simply Rowan again, as he had been twelve years ago. Rowan, as in, untrustworthy and still full of surprises.
Not that it mattered what I called him in my head. He would not even meet my eye. In fact, his entire being had gone as rigid as stone. I had thought to laugh at him when he learned how I had thwarted his plans, but there was nothing at all humorous about the situation I now found myself in. Would it be too much to ask that he be gone by the time we returned from Papa’s study?
With somber steps, I followed Papa down the corridor, taking a seat across from his all-too-familiar oak desk. His light eyes, narrowed and hard, were absent of their usual warmth. I had underestimated his hopes for my marriage to Rowan. He was not just disappointed, but livid.
Father crossed his arms over his chest in a way that turned his slender figure into an impenetrable wall. “You cannot be engaged to two people.”
I swallowed, tugging at the hems of my sleeves. “It’s a rather complicated story.”