Anne Herries - A Wealthy Widow

‘Just a little mazed, understandably so after the blow to your head,’ Arabella told him. ‘Lie still and rest, Charles. I shall order your meal and then perhaps you will sleep again.’

Smiling at him, she went out, leaving Charles to rest against the pillows and remember the soft voice and hands that had soothed him in his fever…had done things for him, intimate things that he could not possibly have expected of her. Yet perhaps it had been her maid. He had thought she was Sarah…a swift slash of pain cut through him as he remembered that his sister was still lost.

As soon as he was able he must continue his search for her, but he would say nothing to Lady Arabella. She had been generous to him despite her own troubles. It would not do to lay his burdens on her when she could know nothing of the matter.

‘I think I shall get up this morning,’ Charles said, smiling as Arabella entered his room the following day. She had brought his breakfast tray and he felt a new hunger as he saw that he was at last being allowed cold beef, bread and butter as well as a tankard of ale. ‘Thank you. I shall enjoy this food, ma’am.’

‘You asked me to call you Charles,’ she reminded him. ‘It would please me if you were to call me by my name.’

‘You have been both generous and kind,’ Charles said, a strange wintry expression in his eyes. ‘I am grateful for all your attentions, Lady Arabella—but I believe you should cease to wait on me in this manner. I am much recovered now and it is not fitting that an unmarried lady should visit the bedchamber of a man she scarcely knows.’

‘I have been married, sir. I am not a stranger to such things.’

‘Married for a week, I understand?’ Charles saw her flinch and immediately cursed himself for his clumsiness. ‘Forgive me. I should not have said that, Arabella—but I am concerned for your reputation.’

‘You shall not be asked to rescue it,’ Arabella replied in a sharp tone—she was hurt that he should speak to her in that way. She had thought they were well on the way to becoming friends. She lifted her head proudly, becoming the lady of consequence she truly was as the mistress of a large manor. ‘But if you feel able to care for yourself now I shall not press my attentions on you, sir. My carriage has returned for me this morning and I shall continue my journey to London. I have already been delayed and I dare say my friends are anxious for me by now.’

‘I have offended you,’ Charles said, regretting that he had spoken harshly. ‘That was not my intention. I am truly grateful for all you have done. Indeed, I may owe my life to you.’

‘Think nothing of it,’ she replied, her manner becoming even more reserved, cool to the point of iciness. ‘I would do the same for any man—and you were a friend of Ben’s. I shall bid you good morning, sir. I trust you may complete your journey without further accident. I should take care if I were you. It was only good fortune that you were not killed. I do not know if you have an enemy, but that rope across the road was meant to bring you down.’

‘Me or any unwary traveller, I dare say,’ Charles said, frowning. ‘But I shall heed your warning, Lady Arabella. I should not have been so easily caught had I been less wrapped up in my own thoughts.’

Arabella nodded, but made no further reply. He seemed to be a man of moods for he was never the same twice, swinging from a smiling, good-natured gentleman to a harsh, reserved stranger. She left him to his breakfast and went downstairs, seeking out the landlady to pay the reckoning for their rooms and to tell her that they were leaving. Her grooms had informed her that Charles had been robbed and he obviously could not pay for anything himself. Arabella gave the landlady a few coins extra to pay for his keep should he need to stay on a little longer.

‘I have an appointment in London,’ she said to excuse the odd circumstance of her leaving alone. ‘Charles will follow at his convenience. I have to thank you for taking us in. I hope we have not been too much of a nuisance.’

‘Oh, no, my lady,’ the woman said and bobbed a curtsy. ‘It was a pleasure to have you.’

Within an hour Arabella was sitting in her carriage and ready to leave for her aunt’s house in town. Glancing from the window, she saw that Charles Hunter had come out from the inn as they were about to drive off. He stood for a moment in the sunshine and appeared to be looking for someone, but Arabella told her driver to move on. They could have nothing to say to one another. Should they meet in town, she would greet him as a stranger. She had already decided to put this interlude from her mind. She had helped a man who had been her husband’s friend and that was an end to it—and yet she had an odd feeling of having lost something as she was driven away.

Charles saw the carriage leaving. Had he come down a few minutes earlier he might have spoken to her again, apologised for his coolness that morning. He was aware that he had much to thank her for and she did not deserve to be treated so harshly. Yet he could not allow himself to like her too much. His life must be dedicated to finding Sarah. The guilt and fear nagged at him, mingling with the anger. Sarah was all that mattered now. Besides, he knew that he was incapable of loving a woman—especially one as beautiful and warm as Lady Arabella. She deserved passion and spirit, not the broken shell of the man he had become.

It was better that she had gone without time for another meeting between them. The memory of soft hands and sweet words soothing him would pass. He would not allow himself to remember how comforted she had made him feel—or the hurt look in her eyes when he had told her that he no longer needed her help.

‘Arabella dearest! I was beginning to worry about you,’ Lady Hester Tate said as her niece walked into the elegant parlour of her London house that afternoon. ‘Tilda has been fretting—she did not like to leave you alone with only your maid to protect you.’

Arabella’s laughter was warm and delightful. ‘I do hope she did not upset you, Aunt Hester? I assure you I was perfectly safe.’

‘She seemed to think you were in some mortal danger, though she would not tell me exactly what,’ Lady Tate said and frowned. ‘I do not know how you put up with her, my dear. She is such a fusspot.’

‘Yes, she is rather,’ Arabella said, smothering a sigh. ‘But she has so little to live on, Aunt. I should feel awful if I told her I did not need her any longer—though I must admit that she tries my patience at times. Where is she at this moment?’

‘Oh, I sent her on an errand,’ Lady Tate said, pulling a little face. ‘She is useful in many ways, Arabella. I had some packages that needed to be delivered to a friend—and my library book had to be returned. I could have sent a servant with the packages, of course, but Tilda likes to feel helpful.’

‘Yes, she does,’ Arabella said. She bent to kiss her aunt’s cheek. Lady Tate was a small, slightly plump lady who had once been considered a great beauty but was now showing signs of fragility, her skin papery soft. ‘How are you? When you wrote to me last, you had had a chill, I think?’

‘Oh, I am much recovered,’ her aunt said, her eyes avoiding looking directly at Arabella. ‘I am well enough in myself—but Ralph worries me. He has been behaving oddly recently and I think he may be in debt again. He is such a terrible gambler. Takes after his father, of course, and never listens to anything I say.’ Lady Tate’s expression was a mixture of anxiety and annoyance. ‘Goodness knows what he does with his own money!’

‘I am sorry to hear that he has made you anxious,’ Arabella said. ‘He really should learn to stay away from the card tables. He cannot expect you to rescue him from his folly again.’