Chapter Five

 

“Our luminary walk is a Christmas Eve tradition, Mr. Forbes. We missed it last year. You must come.” Arabelle smiled and tilted her head in a way she knew won her many arguments.

“How can I refuse, Miss Hyatt? Only it’s so cold for the infant. It’s for her sake I worry.”

Arabelle allowed herself to be touched by his concern for Eleanor, since it was the first he had shown. Perhaps he was warming to her niece. “I assure you, she is not bothered by the chill and will be bundled well. Her hand will be in mine the entire time.”

He smiled and leaned closer. “Oh, that I were that hand.”

Arabelle flushed at the nearness of him and the reference from Shakespeare’s tragic love story.

“A hand, a hand, my kingdom for a hand.”

Arabelle turned, her eyes wide.

Isaac joined them in the drawing room. “What? I thought we were playing a game. Famous Shakespearean hand quotes. An odd game, I must own.”

Arabelle shook her head at the man who had avoided her the last two days. “The quote is, ‘A horse, a horse, my kingdom for a horse.’”

“Ah,” Isaac said. “That’s it. What shall we play next? Famous Shakespearean leg quotes? Let’s see.” He pretended to think hard. “I know. ‘God hath given you one leg’”—he gave his good leg a pat—“‘and you make yourself another.’” He pushed his wooden leg forward.

Arabelle scoffed. “Sir, the correct word is face. God hath given you a face.”

“And a good job he did of the thing, so as to distract from the leg, don’t you think?”

She giggled, unable to help herself.

“This is quite silly,” she heard Mr. Forbes say.

“Oh!” she said. “I have one. ‘A good leg will fall, a straight back will stoop. A black beard will turn white, a curled pate will grow bald—’”

“Ghastly,” Mr. Forbes murmured.

She continued, having captured Isaac’s full attention. “‘—a fair face will wither, a full eye will wax hollow. But a good heart is the sun and moon . . . for it shines bright and never changes, but keeps its course truly.’”

Isaac remained silent, his gaze fixed on her.

“I’ve made you speechless, Mr. Linfield.”

He blinked out of his stupor. “Indeed, Miss Hyatt. You didn’t misquote Shakespeare once.”

“I have it now,” Mr. Forbes said. He cleared his throat. “‘The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our legs, but in ourselves, that we are underlings.’” He looked between them both. “Is that how it works? That was Julius Caesar. I said legs instead of stars. Why are you both staring at me? Did I win?”

Arabelle glanced at Isaac, who turned to a servant just delivering a letter. He paid the post and slid the note into his waistcoat pocket.

“Here,” Mr. Forbes said. “It’s a bit rude to get a person caught up in a game, then leave him at the crux of the thing.”

Arabelle smiled. “Indeed. Forgive us, Mr. Forbes. Your use of Julius Caesar was quite clever.” She glanced again at Isaac. “Don’t you think, Mr. Linfield?”

“Brilliant,” he said. “I take it upon myself to declare him the winner. Ah, here is the loveliest lady now.”

Arabelle followed his gaze to find Edith ushering in Eleanor in a pink wool overcoat and bonnet with cream worsted mittens hanging by their tethers.

“My darling,” Arabelle said, walking to Eleanor. “Look how charming you are. Are you ready for our Christmas walk?” She crouched down and kissed the child’s fingers as Mama walked in.

“The luminaries are lit,” Mama exclaimed. “We walk just as dusk settles. Shall we? Mr. Linfield, will you lead us out? George always did after Mr. Hyatt passed.”

“I would be honored, ma’am.” He used a cane with his good hand, then Mama took the elbow of his opposite arm.

“You’ll let me know if you are uncomfortable,” Mama said quietly.

“Of course not, ma’am.”

“Oh.” Mama shook her head. “You were always such a tease.”

“Thank you, ma’am.”

Arabelle puzzled at herself as she pushed Eleanor’s mittens on and stood with their hands linked. Though she’d liked Isaac’s playful mood just now, she could not completely enjoy it. He’d not broached any conversation with her since their morning ride when she’d all but thrown herself at him like a heroine in a novel. He’d remained calm and detached. Yet she wouldn’t have entertained certain ideas if she hadn’t felt something on his part. Something.

“My arm, my dear Miss Hyatt?” Mr. Forbes said, his smile genuine and steady.

Indeed, Mr. Forbes was here, and all intentions were to be aimed at that gentleman. Isaac was her brother’s best friend, looking out for her family’s settled future. Nothing more.

She took his arm. “Thank you, Mr. Forbes.” She looked down at Eleanor. “Are you ready, little one?”

Eleanor nodded. “Eddy, little one.”

Arabelle grinned and looked up at Mr. Forbes.

He smiled. “Charming.” Then he nodded in the direction Mama and Isaac had gone, and they followed.

They soon caught up to their leads, and Eleanor ran ahead to take her grandmother’s hand. She happily pointed out the luminaries along the garden path, under trees, and leading out toward the river walk. Isaac walked tall even with his limp, his silhouette momentarily reminding Arabelle of following behind the two boys even when they’d made it clear she wasn’t to follow them.

Her brow furrowed at the idea.

Pulling Arabelle from her thoughts, Mr. Forbes tugged her to a standstill in front of the Grecian birdbath—a heavy marble bowl supported by a chubby cherub Eleanor called “Beebee Tuck,” which Arabelle suspected translated as “baby stuck.”

“Did you need something, Mr. Forbes?”

“I believe I do.” He knelt down, or nearly did, then thought better of it as he eyed the damp dirt of the garden path. He stood tall again, but lifted Eleanor’s hand and kissed her glove quite firmly. “My dear Arabelle—that’s an unusual name, is it not?”

Arabelle blinked, caught with a sense of foreboding. “Is it? My family has called me Abby on occasion.”

He cleared his throat. “My dear Arabelle, I do find myself in need. In need of you.”

“Oh.”

“I admit I had no notion of what might come of this visit, but I find myself twice blessed. One, with this quaint cottage—”

“Cottage?”

“—and a country cousin I am delighted to find far more refined and enlivening than I’d expected.”

She swallowed. “What was it you expected?”

“It doesn’t matter. My dear Arabelle”—he kissed her glove once more and then gripped her hand to his chest—“would you allow me to rescue you and your family by taking you as my wife?”

Arabelle blinked at him, her heartbeat thumping in her ears. Her mother’s words returned to her full strength. This is essential. The only way. Eleanor’s future.

She envisioned Isaac’s boyish grin, then his stormy gray eyes, and his words came. There is nothing for it.

“Yes,” she heard herself say. “Yes, Mr. Forbes, I will be your wife.”

She heard a small gasp. Mama had stopped ahead with Eleanor, who tugged on Mama’s hand to keep moving. Mama beamed and nodded before allowing Eleanor to pull her toward the river walk.

Then Arabelle saw Isaac beyond Mama, leaning on his cane, looking worn. He gave her a smile, then turned away.

“Arabelle.”

“Hm?” She returned her focus to their rescuer.

“You’ve made me happy indeed. I hope I have made you the same.”

Arabelle looked beyond him to the house, to the stone bridge, the woods, the sound of the river underlining it all. “Yes. Thank you, sir.”

He pulled her a fraction closer. “Hewitt,” he said. The scent of his cologne—smelling strongly of bay leaves—tickled her nose.

“Hewitt.” She tried to recall what Isaac smelled like. Cool and warm at the same time. Like saddle and river and linen. Like dance lessons and hearth, tea and—

She turned her head away just as Mr. Forbes—Hewitt—attempted a kiss on her mouth. He pressed cold lips to her cheek instead, then pulled away with a grin.

“You are demure. As you should be.” He pulled her hand through the crook of his arm. “I am both pleased and left wanting.”

Gratefully, he began to walk again, because Arabelle was too dazed to move of her own accord.

She had just agreed to marry a man she barely knew, whose temperament she could scarcely determine, who seemed barely more pleased with her accompanying assets than herself, and whose cologne made her want to sneeze.

And yet the look of relief on Mama’s face, the sight of Eleanor toddling along a path she knew well . . . Arabelle tightened her grip on Mr. Fo—Hewitt’s arm and threw a rather shaky prayer of gratitude heavenward.

Mrs. Hewitt Forbes.

It would take some getting used to.

* * *

The luminaries dotted the river walk to the sand bar where Arabelle always took Eleanor to “fro.” As Hewitt led her down the path to the crushed rock, she found that Isaac had stayed on the grassy bank above, watching Mama and Eleanor. Mama turned at her approach, joy in her countenance.

“Congratulations, my daughter. And to you, Mr. Forbes. Oh, what an auspicious beginning to our Christmas season. We shall add extra festivities and make sure to invite plenty of guests for a dinner, and perhaps a ball! We shall need more ivy for the hall and ballroom, and a kissing bough! Oh, what shall I serve? Goose or boar’s head? And Arabelle shall have a new gown, of course, Mr. Forbes.”

Hewitt smiled. “Of course. I’ll leave the two of you to planning.” He left them, strolling farther down the small shore.

“Fro rock,” Eleanor said with one mittened hand clinging to Mama’s skirt and the other rooting around fruitlessly on the ground for a rock. “Kip rock.”

“Oh, Arabelle, he is so handsome. We are saved!”

“Shh, Mama,” Arabelle whispered. “Yes. I am happy for that. But do you think it right to make our Christmas so elaborate? We have not the savings, and I refuse to touch our allowances just in case—”

“In case what? Did you not hear him, my darling? He is marrying you and rescuing your family. What else could quiet your worries?”

“I . . . I’m not sure.” At that moment, Arabelle glanced around. “Where is Eleanor?”

“Eleanor!” Isaac cried from above. He pointed, and Arabelle followed his direction.

“Fro tick,” Eleanor was calling, toddling to the far end of the sand bar. “Atch. Atch tick.”

“Oh heavens,” Arabelle muttered. “The drop.” She rushed forward. “Eleanor, stop!”

The little girl giggled and darted ahead.

So did Arabelle. “Mr. Forbes!” He stood not far from the end of the bank and turned toward her. Alarmed, he took a step forward.

“Miss Hyatt. You’re running.”

“Yes,” she called, pointing. “Eleanor—stop her!” Eleanor was already splashing in water past her ankles, the cold not yet registering as a warning to the little girl.

“Atch tick foat.” She pushed her little legs through the water where calm met the rush of the drop.

“Oh please,” Arabelle murmured. “Stop her!” she cried. Eleanor stumbled forward, her clothes heavy now with wet.

Then Mr. Forbes, in all his handsome haberdashery, pointed to his tall leather boots with a shrug. “They’re Hessians,” he said and stood still.

In the shock caused by his statement, Arabelle halted, then heard the cry of a babe who finally realized what danger she was in. Arabelle launched herself forward to the water just as Eleanor’s eyes grew huge with fright and the rushing current pushed her stumbling toward the drop. One more step, and the babe would go under.

But not if Arabelle could help it. She splashed through the icy water, her skirts sticking to her legs and tangling her boots. She threw herself forward, wrapping her arms around Eleanor. She savored the feel of that little girl’s body next to hers for but a moment before a whirling thrust of current pushed her from behind, knocking her forward as her feet tangled in debris. They would go under.

Hard splashing sounded from behind, and a strong arm wrapped around Arabelle’s middle, pulling hard against the current.

“Have you got her?”

Arabelle turned, finding Isaac at her ear.

“Get your feet underneath you, or we’re all going in.”

She nodded, stunned, and scrambled to get her feet on firmer ground.

“Hang on, we’re going to fall backward into the shallows,” he said.

Her grip on Eleanor tightened, and as he heaved backward, so did she. As promised, they landed on their backs in the frigid but calm water, Arabelle wrapped in Isaac’s arms and Eleanor crying on top of them.

“Are you all right?” Isaac asked, his hand stroking her face, her hair. “Is she all right?”

At the second question, Arabelle tore her gaze from Isaac and sat up, checking Eleanor over. “She’s just frightened. And cold.”

“We must get you both back to the house. You’re shivering all over. Come on.” He gave her enough nudge so she could stumble upward and out of the water with Eleanor, where her mother was stripping off her own cloak.

“That was brave of you, my darling,” she said as she took Eleanor from her, wrapping up the babe. “And Mr. Linfield—Isaac—thank you.”

“Here you are, my good man,” Mr. Forbes was saying to Isaac, handing him the end of his cane to pull him out of the water. Isaac took it and pulled himself up, hobbling on one leg. A buckle had come loose, and the boot hung crooked.

“Mama,” Arabelle said through chattering teeth. “Get Eleanor to the house.”

“What about you?” she asked.

“Go,” Isaac said, coming up behind. “I’ll get Miss Hyatt back. Hurry.”

Mama nodded and rushed on with poor Eleanor wailing away.

“Ahem. Don’t you think I should be escorting Arabelle back to the house?”

Arabelle turned to Mr. Forbes, a different kind of chill firing in her veins. “You will not be escorting me back to the house, or down the aisle, or anywhere, Mr. Forbes. You call yourself a rescuer? That little girl did not survive the deaths of her parents only to drown because somebody couldn’t stand to get their feet wet. Any man who puts his boots before a child’s life is not worth any house, any land, any space to call home. My father and my brother are dead. We are at your mercy, sir. But I will not marry you.”

Breathing came with difficulty, both from fear and cold. But Arabelle stood firm.

Mr. Forbes straightened, his gaze darting between her and Isaac like a trapped fox. Finally, he spoke.

“Here.” He gave Isaac his dry cloak. “Too late, I know, but it’s something.”

Isaac took the cloak and wrapped it around Arabelle’s shoulders. She shuddered again but felt steadier. Without another word, she and Isaac began the ascent back up to the river walk, her arm looped tightly through his as he leaned heavily on his cane and focused on keeping his false foot under him.

“C-can you fix it?” she asked.

“My valet has the tools needed, and spare buckles,” he answered through clenched teeth.

“Are you in pain?” she asked.

He hesitated replying. “Yes-s.”

A minute of quiet passed as they made their way back along the luminary path.

She took a steadying breath, but her teeth still chattered. “You c-came for us.”

“Of course I did. As soon as I saw the danger. That idiot just stood there. I only wish I could have been . . .”

“Faster? Stronger? More gracef-ful?” She laughed. “Doesn’t matter. You acted. That’s what counts. That’s what saved her.”

“Your actions saved her as well. You were always fast on your feet.”

“Running is un-n-ladylike.”

“You were every bit a lady back there.” After a few more steps he paused to catch his breath, wincing.

“What can I do?” she asked.

He shook his head and leaned against a low garden wall. “Just give me a moment.” She shivered and pulled Mr. Forbes’s coat tighter, ignoring the smell of bay leaves.

“What will I do, Mr. Linfield?” she asked, catching a glimpse of Mr. Forbes walking to the stables, his head low. “I’ve ruined Christmas. And more.”

“Abby,” he said. “Look at me.”

She met his gaze, the only sure thing about his stature at the moment.

“You did what George would have had you do.”

There it was again, in his gaze. As if the mention of George tied them more closely to each other. “What of you?” she asked. “What would you have had me do?”

“The same.” He averted his eyes and stood once more. “I’ll not rest until this is figured out.” As he wobbled on the first step, she once again took his arm under the guise of being cold. He seemed to straighten because of it.

“Promise me you’ll take some rest, sir.”

He smiled.

They said nothing more as they drew near the house. Several servants, including Edith and Isaac’s valet, met them outside and made a fuss.

“Has a bath been drawn for Eleanor?” Arabelle asked.

“Yes, Miss.” Edith said. “And another is being drawn for you, and then Mr. Linfield. The fires in your rooms are blazing. Are you in need of being carried, Miss?”

“No, thank you,” she said as someone threw a blanket around her. “I can get inside on my own two feet.”

“Easy for you to say,” Isaac quipped. “I seem to require a sedan chair.”

A laugh bubbled up from somewhere inside her. “Someone get a farrier for Mr. Linfield. He’s thrown a shoe.”

His unfettered laughter warmed her more than any blanket would.