Chapter Three

 

Arabelle paced her bedroom floor as Edith pushed two gowns at her. She paused, realizing Edith was speaking. “I’m sorry, what was that?”

“Miss, you must dress for dinner. Mr. Forbes will be here at any moment.”

“Is Mr. Linfield down yet?”

“I do not know, as I’m up here with you.” Edith lifted a brow.

Arabelle took one of the gowns. “No need to get cheeky.”

“Beg your pardon, Miss. The red is right pretty on you.” She helped pull it over Arabelle’s head. “I dare say both gentlemen will have a hard time focusing on their meal tonight.”

“Both gentlemen?”

“Yes. Mr. Linfield may not be here courting, nor may he have all his limbs, but he’s both his eyes—and he’s an old acquaintance who knew you before you bloomed, not that you were ever plain, mind you. Only a bit wild. And here you are, no more a child, a lovely woman born from the fires of trial, for sure.”

“Edith, I didn’t know you were a poet,” she teased, attempting to cover her blush.

“To be sure. Now sit while I make something of those tresses.”

Arabelle sighed and sat. “He’s changed so much. Do you remember how full of life he was?”

Edith nodded, beginning a crown braid. “Yes, Miss. I’ll venture to say he still is. Just as you and the missus still are. Life fills us, whether it’s the kind we want or the kind we don’t.”

Arabelle had no response to that except to stare unfocused at the glass before her, thinking on Edith’s words, and on Isaac, and on losing a leg. And a brother.

* * *

Downstairs, Arabelle approached the drawing room doors with a twisting stomach and hands clasped. Her state of nerves weren’t on Mr. Linfield’s behalf, as he seemed confident despite his injuries. It wasn’t on Mr. Forbes’s behalf, as she hadn’t felt this way over his previous visits. And yet her insides felt as though she were about to step up to a pianoforte and play for a hundred people, and Arabelle knew not one note of that instrument.

“Good evening, Miss,” Clark said as he opened the doors for her.

She nodded absently. Just as she crossed the threshold into the room, her slipper caught and she stumbled, only slightly. All sound ceased, and she lifted her gaze to find Mr. Forbes and Isaac having just risen to their feet, their expressions startled.

“Forgive me,” she managed to say. “I can’t imagine what I did to the carpet to offend it so.”

Mr. Forbes broke out into a genial laugh, but Isaac only stared.

She blushed under his gaze.

“No person or thing could be offended by your presence, Miss Hyatt,” Mr. Forbes said with a grin and bow.

She curtsied. “Then you don’t know me very well, Mr. Forbes.”

He laughed harder, and Isaac seemed to remember himself and bowed as well.

She curtsied and lifted her gaze to him with difficulty. “Mr. Linfield.”

“Miss Hyatt. You look lovely.”

The pull in her stomach mysteriously tightened. She’d only left him an hour ago in the library, where he’d been going over business with George’s steward. She’d pretended to read. “You sound surprised.”

He gazed at her steadily. “I suppose I shouldn’t be.”

She had nothing clever to say to that but observed the room growing warmer. She took a deep breath and looked about her. “Where is Mama?”

Mr. Forbes offered her his arm, leading her to the settee nearest the fire. Arabelle wished for a fan.

“Addressing a question from your cook, I believe.” He took the chair next to her, leaving Isaac leaning against the fireplace.

“I’ll assume you two have been properly introduced,” she said. “What were you discussing before I entered so gracefully?”

“I was getting to know the war hero, here,” said Mr. Forbes, gesturing to Isaac.

“The war hero?” She looked at Isaac expectantly, but he frowned at the fire.

“Yes,” said Mr. Forbes. “Of course, when I read about the battles at Badajos in the papers, I had no idea I would one day be standing with Major Isaac Linfield in your drawing room. Another unexpectedly pleasant event arising from very difficult circumstances—making your acquaintance being the first, Miss Hyatt. It’s rather exciting.”

“Major?” she asked, with still no response from Isaac except a clenching of his good hand resting on the mantel.

“Indeed. Saved his commanding officer’s life, and his company as well. Can’t imagine. I’ve often asked myself how it would’ve been, to not have had to stay home to manage the family assets, but to have instead gone off to war in name of crown and country.” His expression drew uncharacteristically grave. “At such a cost. Such a cost.” He glanced toward Isaac’s leg and shook his head. Then blinked away. “Good man,” he said. “I’m honored to be in the same room with you. And the fact that you were George Hyatt’s good friend raises him in my eyes.”

Arabelle frowned. “Did George need raising in your eyes, Mr. Forbes?” Movement from Isaac drew her attention. Indeed, he watched her, amusement in his expression. But she returned her attention to Mr. Forbes.

“I didn’t know your brother,” he said. “Therefore, the more I learn of him, the more my opinion of him may rise, or sink. One learns a great deal about a man by the friends he keeps, and their loyalty. The fact that he has your loyalty, my dear Miss Hyatt, is another testament of his good character. A man could be content having such loyalty and the capacity with which to keep it.”

My dear Miss Hyatt.

Arabelle had stiffened at the term of endearment, the easy way it had rolled off his tongue. She knew it was coming. With every visit, Mr. Forbes had become more forward, more familiar. No one had ever called her my dear Miss Hyatt before. She thought it would feel less . . . confining.

“And in what way would you keep it, Mr. Forbes?” she asked.

“I beg your pardon?” he asked.

“Such loyalty. You mentioned desiring the capacity to keep it.” She smiled.

“Ah. Well.” He tilted his head in thought. “To earn it, of course. In acquiring property and the means to provide comfort, hospitality, amusements. I do have friends.” He chuckled. “I hope I’ve earned their loyalty to some extent.” Then his brow rose. “Perhaps not to the same extent as that of a war hero’s friends.” He beamed at Isaac.

“You would be surprised, Mr. Forbes,” Isaac said, “at how few loyalties remain when a soldier, hero or no, returns home with fewer parts of himself than he left with.”

The expression on Mr. Forbes’s face fell with the gravity of Isaac’s words. To his credit, he did not try to save the moment with some glib remark. Arabelle’s heart sank for both men. Mr. Forbes was ignorant in his remarks and had been set down. But Isaac . . . he had opened up about his injuries to the point of joking about them with her. But how far did the consequences of war go for him?

The rush of air caused by her mother’s swift entrance into the stifling drawing room startled Arabelle.

“Gentlemen, forgive me,” Mama said. “Nothing to worry about. I’ve been neglectful of this holiday season and have determined to do something about it. Don’t you look lovely, Arabelle?” Arabelle stood to greet her and took her outstretched hands. “I’m sure you’ve been a splendid hostess in my absence. Ah, here is Clark. I trust you gentlemen have been getting to know each other. What wonderful company. Shall we go to the dining room?”

* * *

Isaac sipped his port, observing Mr. Forbes, who perused the art on the dining room walls. After his own brilliant display in the drawing room, Isaac attempted to make amends to both Arabelle and Forbes by being the most sparkling dinner guest he was capable of being.

Which meant he smiled, took part in conversation when appropriate, and complimented Mrs. Hyatt on the meal, all while maneuvering around his plate with one hand. He’d become fairly deft at cutting meat as long as his knife was sharp and the weight of all eyes weren’t upon him.

Gratefully, the subject of his service hadn’t come up again.

He’d also struggled to keep his gaze off Abby. Arabelle. Miss Hyatt. Her form in that vivid red gown left no mistaking that she was indeed a woman. And her eyes, how pale blue they’d become when he’d cut Forbes down. He’d wanted to go to her and tell her something silly so they’d warm in his direction again.

He rolled his eyes and glanced toward the windows, thoughtful of the assignment George had given him. He leaned back in his chair and absently rubbed his knee. “Tell me, Forbes . . .”

“Yes, Major?” Forbes turned from the still life he’d been examining closely and dusted off his fingers.

“What are your intentions toward Miss Hyatt?”

“Ah.” He wagged a finger at Isaac, picking up his port. “The older brother’s best friend feels obligated to take his place in these matters. I thought I saw this coming.”

“Did you?”

“What else could your arrival mean?”

“Hm. What else, indeed?”

Forbes took to pacing. More of a strut in front of the fireplace. “I assure you my intentions are genuine. I’ll ask for Miss Hyatt’s hand on Christmas Eve Day. It will be the best gift I could offer both her and Mrs. Hyatt, you see. A rescue from their sad predicament.”

“And Eleanor, of course.”

Forbes paused. “What was that?”

“Eleanor. George’s child? She is part of this rescue as well?” Eleanor had been brought in during the dessert course dressed in finery and been allowed to take a sweet back up to the nursery with her. Forbes had barely acknowledged the girl over his pudding.

“Ah, yes, of course. Poor child. She’ll have the best nanny Forbes money can buy. Miss Hyatt is far too attached to her. What can one expect, though, under such circumstances? However, to be not only an orphan, but an overly coddled orphan . . . I fear that in Miss Hyatt’s inexpert care, the child would continue to go wild.”

So, he thought, Eleanor was to be “the orphan.”

Beneath Isaac’s calm, an inexplicable rage grew. “Would not your own children be in Miss Hyatt’s inexpert care?”

The man chuckled. “Certainly not. She is practically a child herself.” He faced Isaac, his hands clasped behind his back. “I see what you’re doing. A test of sorts, eh? How shall I convince you next? Though I speak of Miss Hyatt’s lack of experience, I assure you she has captured my heart. I had no idea what I might find in her when I came to examine Hybrigge and consider my options—”

“And their options. It is still within your power to bestow Hybrigge House into their care without connecting yourself to Miss Hyatt. You would own the property; they would live here and manage it. The income would be yours.”

“Oh, I don’t intend for anyone under my guardianship to live here or manage it.”

Isaac frowned. “I don’t understand you, sir.”

“The estate isn’t profitable enough to keep. I intend to sell it.”

“What was that about buying property to attain one’s loyalties?”

“Well,” Forbes huffed, “it depends on the property.”

“This estate means the world to Miss Hyatt. If she knew you were selling it, she would see you in a very different light.”

The man leaned forward. “Then I know I can trust you to keep that to yourself until after the banns are read. When Miss Hyatt realizes what luxury I am offering her in exchange for this estate, she’ll come to see me in a very different light, indeed.” He rolled back on his heels and grinned.

“The hero,” Isaac murmured.

Forbes pointed conspiratorially, then finished his port.

* * *

The men entered the drawing room to rejoin the women, and Isaac halted.

“Well, this is splendid,” Forbes exclaimed, striding into the room aglow with candles.

“I know it’s not Christmas Eve yet, but I could not help myself,” Mrs. Hyatt said in return. “We missed Christmas last year, and I felt like putting things up a few days early. It’s only the drawing room.”

“It’s wonderful, Mama,” Arabelle said. “George would be pleased.”

Garlands of ivy and rosemary draped the mantel and hung above the windows. At least two dozen cut-glass candlesticks graced every flat surface available, holding tall pillars lit for the evening. The pungent scent of rosemary and candle wax filled the room. And in its center stood Arabelle, with Forbes bowing over her hand.

Isaac frowned and limped into the room, taking a seat near the fire. His knee ached and the heat would do it—and perhaps his agitated state of mind—some good.

“Do you like it, Mr. Linfield?” Arabelle asked, walking to him on Forbes’s arm.

He nodded at the fire. “I do. It reminds me of those Christmases I spent here as a boy. Not the parties and the dances, but the quiet evenings in between. We’d play chess or commerce.”

“Or sometimes spillikins.”

He glanced up at her and smiled. “Yes.” His conversation with Forbes had exhausted him, and he hoped it didn’t show. He struggled to imagine Arabelle and Mrs. Hyatt anywhere but Hybrigge House for Christmas. But perhaps it would be good to be somewhere less saturated with memories.

Arabelle took the seat across from him, the candle and firelight illuminating her skin and hair. “Shall we play something now? For old time’s sake?”

He shook off his melancholy as best he could. “What would you have us play?” He pursed his lips. “We can hardly climb trees and pretend at pirates.”

Mrs. Hyatt gasped, but Arabelle’s grin encouraged him, and he leaned toward her. “Or shall we play Bow Street Runners and track the cat across the vale?”

Arabelle laughed, a fresh, genuine sound, and he paid Mr. Forbes’s huff no mind, watching her eyes dance.

“Shall you give away all our secrets, Mr. Linfield?” she asked.

“Indeed not. I’ve no wish to betray your brother and my friend. He’s resting well knowing his mother never knew who let the chickens into the ballroom for races.”

Arabelle’s eyes grew wide. “The chickens,” she exclaimed.

“Oh my,” Mrs. Hyatt said, “the chickens.” And then a giggle burst from her as well. “We thought a door was left open.”

“Oh, a door was left open, ma’am. During our speedy escape when we heard Mr. Hyatt coming.” He smiled at the memory. “I’m certain no three children moved faster.”

“I suppose,” Forbes said, “that small children, left to their own devices, can get into all sorts of mischief.”

“Small children, yes. But George and I were sixteen, and Arabelle had just turned eleven.”

“No doubt she was led by your poor examples.”

Isaac turned his gaze to Arabelle, who had drawn her mouth closed in a pretty bow. He lifted a brow.

“Actually, Mr. Forbes,” she said, a blush in her cheeks. “The chicken races were my idea. I’d believed they were as bored as we were on that rainy day. We each chose the chicken we thought the fastest, and, well . . .”

“And, uh, whose chicken won?” Forbes asked.

Arabelle sighed. “We never found out.”

“We did, however, learn who the fastest of the three of us was.” Isaac grinned at Arabelle, who fought to cover her pride with propriety.

He’d had his game.

He turned back to Forbes. “Do you have a favorite entertainment, sir?”

“Love the hunt. But I think you mean the indoor variety. Occasional games of cards or dice, I suppose. I am known to be an asset to my whist partner.”

“Is that so?”

Arabelle stepped in then, utterly composed. “Shall we play whist, then, Mr. Forbes? I find a clever partner most stimulating. Mama, shall you partner with Mr. Linfield?”

Mrs. Hyatt nodded as Forbes bowed curtly.

Isaac took Mrs. Hyatt’s arm and led her to the whist table.

“Thank you,” she said quietly, “for bringing laughter to my son’s memory.”

“And thank you, ma’am, for leaving us to our own devices enough that such laughter is part of his memory.”

A look of worry passed over her expression. She pulled him back a moment.

“Have I upset you, ma’am?” he asked.

She shook her head, and her gaze went to Arabelle on Forbes’s arm. “Do you think,” she asked, her voice barely a whisper, “that I gave Arabelle too much freedom as a child? After her father passed away, I—”

“Ma’am.”

She turned round eyes on him.

“Arabelle has grown into an exceptional woman, and any man worth his salt will see that.”

She squeezed his arm and nodded. “Thank you.”

“Happy Christmas, Mrs. Hyatt.”

“I think it might be.”

He led her to the table, and they took their seats.

“I warn you, Linfield,” Forbes said, “I give no exception to my opponents, even war heroes.”

Isaac steadied his breath and nodded. “I expect no less from my challengers.” Then he took it upon himself to beat Forbes soundly at whist for the remainder of the evening.