Duke of Arrogance, page 4
“Rest assured that it’s only been a few men and only ones I was interested in.”
“How was it?”
She shrugged. “Boring for the most part. A few times it was pleasant. I know I am on the right path, though. I will know it when it occurs.”
“Love? Know love?”
“Yes,” she said dreamily.
Realizing it would be hard to convince her otherwise, he said, “You do understand that most of Polite Society never considers love when they enter a marriage. Marriage is for strengthening coffers and social ties among families.”
“I know.” Her mouth set in stubbornness, a true mark of a Sutton.
“I will admit that love does come sometimes to couples. Most likely, though, after they have been wed a while. I would ask that you not think you must have stars in your eyes to wed. Find a man who is suitable. One who is intelligent. Kind. One you can respect. If you are compatible, then love may grow.” He paused. “A love that can deepen with the passage of time.”
“When did you become so mature about love? You sound so wise.”
He chuckled. “Well, I am to be thirty soon. Hopefully, something sensible has invaded me.”
“All right,” she said. “I will look for a congenial man. One that I get along with remarkably well. One who would make for a good husband and father—and is also a good kisser. I understand your point about love growing. I will keep an open mind.”
“Good.”
His own thoughts regarding love were convoluted. He hadn’t believed in it at all. Then he had seen the changes in Andrew and George. And now Weston. The trio, whom he had nicknamed the Eton Three, had become fast friends with him at Cambridge, along with Sebastian, who still was fighting on the Continent. When Jon began at university, boys whom he’d known at Harrow all of a sudden fell over themselves, trying to be his friend since with his father’s death he’d become a duke. Some were the very ones who had spread ugly gossip about him, the ones who had thought him to be horrible—so he’d lived up to their expectations. He refused to have anything to do with anyone from his Harrow days.
That’s why the bonds of friendship had become so firm between him and his small group of friends. He trusted them more than any men of his acquaintance. Even during the last decade in society he hadn’t made any more friends. True, men still groveled at his feet, while women flung themselves at him. He was close to none of them. He was a duke and could ignore whomever he chose.
Jon understood what Elizabeth mentioned earlier because an insecure boy still lurked deep within him. That boy who’d been alternately ignored and berated by his father. When he had suddenly found himself wealthy and titled, he’d wanted to rub it into the faces of everyone who’d maligned him over the years. He also knew he had a lot of living to do, both for himself and Arch. So he’d taken the freedom being a duke gave him and acted fully entitled to everyone other than his small circle of friends. And Elizabeth, of course.
It almost seemed an act now and had grown stale. He was tired of bedding countless women, many he didn’t even recall their names minutes after the act.
Could he find love as the Eton Three had? Did it truly exist?
It must. While Andrew had always been the honorable one among them, George—and Weston, in particular—had grown quite cynical after both suffered broken engagements. They raced through years being two of the biggest scoundrels in Polite Society. Yet Andrew was now wed and Phoebe expected their first child any day now. George and Samantha, who’d been childhood friends, were also wed and downright giddy with happiness. Weston, the biggest cynic of all, had declared his intentions toward Lady Ruthersby and what Weston wanted, he always got. Jon wasn’t as sure as Elizabeth thinking Weston loved Elise but it wouldn’t surprise him if that turned out to be the case.
Suddenly, he felt very alone. Isolated. Would his friends now leave him behind, marrying and having children? A deep yearning grew within him, wanting what they had. Women who challenged them all the while loving them. Children to play with. Long ago, with Arch in his last minutes on earth, they had discussed the need for Jon to provide an heir for the dukedom.
He decided that time had finally come.
He may not find love, as his friends had, but he could take his own advice which he’d dispensed to his sister. He could look for a suitable woman. One of elegance and grace. Beauty and charm. One who would make for an excellent duchess and mother. She had to be among the ton somewhere. Someone he could care for, if not love. Someone he could enjoy spending time with. A woman he could admire.
Determination filled him. As the carriage slowed, Jon said, “While you look for your future mate this Season, I believe it is time for me to do the same.”
Elizabeth’s eyes widened and then she threw her arms about him.
“Oh, that would be lovely, Jon. Why, we could even have a double wedding!” she declared.
He laughed. “I wouldn’t go that far. All I am saying is that as I approach thirty, perhaps it is time to settle down. I have been the Duke of Blackmore almost half my life. It’s time I looked to the future.”
“You will have to do what I do and be discerning then,” she advised. “Women will want you merely because you are a duke and possess fabulous wealth and estates scattered across England.” Her intense gaze unsettled him. “You’ll need to find a woman who wants you for yourself, Jon.”
The carriage door opened and a footman said, “The driver is as close as he can get, Your Grace. You will have to walk a ways.”
“Get closer!” he snapped. “I’m a bloody duke.”
Elizabeth punched him again, harder than before. “Get out,” she ordered.
Jon did as she requested and helped her to alight.
She turned to the footman and said, “His Grace is not one to apologize, so I will do so for him. He was late this evening, which caused us to depart later than usual. I know you have gotten us as close as you can and it is appreciated. I am sorry he shouted at you. We will see you after the ball ends.”
With that, his sister took his arm and pulled him along.
“Never apologize to servants,” he admonished.
“It’s not a habit of mine but, then again, I rarely lose my temper with them,” she said sweetly, making him feel poorly for having done so. Then she brightened. “Tonight is the first night of a brand-new Season. One which we both may find our future spouses. To us, my sweet brother. May our searches prove fruitful.”
Jon only hoped that would be the case.
Chapter Five
Arabella had no desire to attend the opening ball of tonight’s Season. The idea of making her come-out at four and twenty seemed ridiculous. She watched as Annie, her new lady’s maid, arranged her hair. Annie had been a parlor maid who had insisted to Arabella that she had higher aspirations and could do hair, something that must seem important in society. She had granted the girl a promotion and had to admit that her golden curls looked better than they ever had.
She gazed into the mirror as Annie worked, still surprised to see the sapphire necklace around her neck and the earrings hanging from her lobes. They were family jewels and had been given to her by her father to wear tonight. The gesture was sweet but wouldn’t work. She would never feel at home amidst the ton. At least she had a new wardrobe, thanks to the local seamstress near their country estate in Wiltshire. Oh, that sounded so pretentious. A country estate.
At least the estate had saved Arabella’s sanity.
The news that her father had become the Earl of Barrington surprised all three of them. Papa seemed dazed. Mama walked about with a smile on her face and a spring in her step. For Arabella, it had sounded a death knell. Her father finished that week’s term at Oxford and resigned his position. They terminated the lease on their house early and had arrived at Barrington Hall, which was in terrible condition. It seemed the previous earl hadn’t cared for country life and hadn’t visited the estate in years. The steward was ancient and only had a foggy idea of what went on so Arabella had convinced her father to gift the man with a cottage and pension in order to allow her to see to running things.
Then her mother had fallen ill. She had fought for several weeks but she’d never been a strong woman. Poor Mama had always wanted to move among Polite Society. She died less than a month after their arrival, only being a countess for a few weeks. On her deathbed, Mama had made Arabella promise to make her come-out once the mourning period had passed. Reluctantly, she had given her word.
And now regretted it.
Papa had been beside himself with his wife’s death. He’d gone from being surprised at becoming an earl—and totally unprepared for it—to drifting through life as a sleepwalker. Having given up his lifelong profession to become a gentleman, he had no roots. Losing Mama only deepened his anxiety and he fell into a deep depression. Arabella had the local doctor visit but the man had done Papa no good, resorting to leeches and bloodletting, which seemed to only exacerbate the problems. She’d finally put a halt to that process but for months, her father never stepped outside his bedchamber, having all meals sent up and rarely wishing to see his only child.
With all that time on her hands and having also lost her own purpose in life, she fearlessly attacked all the mounting problems at Barrington Hall and their estate and spent months learning what the house needed to have done in order to bring it up to speed. She had walked the estate from end to end, visiting countless tenants and getting to know them and learn of their needs, as well.
Six months into her campaign to shore up everything, her father had seemed to awaken to his responsibilities and joined in her endeavors. Between the two of them, it took another six months until everything met their satisfaction and lived up to their expectations. Now, though, the house sparkled, all its repairs completed, while the land and cottages were in excellent shape. The year had taught Arabella much about managing both a household and estate and keeping busy had helped her time of mourning pass quickly. With the mourning period completed now, she unfortunately had to fulfill her promise to Mama and make her debut into society.
Gazing at her reflection as Annie put the finishing touches on her coiffure, she dreaded tonight. She would rather be sitting in her study at Barrington Hall, reading over crop reports or learning more about livestock issues. Instead, Mr. Barley, their new estate manager, had taken over the space she had occupied and was now in charge of the land and their tenants. While she liked him and found him to be experienced, Arabella couldn’t help but think she could do a better job.
“There, my lady. You look right nice. You’ll shine at the ball tonight,” Annie said.
“Thank you. My hair has never looked more lovely. I must compliment your skill.”
“Oh, I can do much more. You’ll need to give me time to play with it a bit. I have all sorts of ideas I’d like to try out for you. Is there anything else you need?”
“No, thank you. You may go.”
“I’ll wait up for you and help you from your gown.”
“That’s not necessary, Annie.”
The maid sniffed. “It most certainly is, my lady. I know we’re both new at this but I know enough to know that.”
After Annie left, Arabella rose. Nerves rushed through her. She would know no one at tonight’s ball. It was hard for her to understand how or why they had even been invited but her father explained that there would be certain social events the Earl of Barrington and his family would always have been invited to. It didn’t matter who the earl might be. He assured her she would be fine, knowing how she loved to dance and had done so at local assemblies in Oxford for several years. She did worry that she didn’t know how to waltz, a dance she’d heard talk of. It was said to be most scandalous and wasn’t danced outside of London.
Papa also said once she made friends, she would be invited to other events, which he would be happy to escort her to. He referred to afternoon tea parties and musicales and even invitations to the theatre. While her mother might have enjoyed the social whirl, Arabella couldn’t help but secretly wish that the former earl was still alive and she was back at Oxford, helping Papa with his lectures and having Mama still alive.
Rising, she knew she couldn’t put it off anymore. She supposed once tonight was over and she saw what a ball was like and had met people in Polite Society, it might not be as difficult as she thought. Holding on to that bit of hope, she descended the stairs, where her father awaited her in the foyer.
“Ah, but don’t you look lovely, my dear,” he said, his eyes shining with love. “I am glad you chose pale blue for tonight. It helps set off the sapphires.”
“They do look lovely with the gown, Papa. Thank you again for providing them for me to wear.”
“Remember, there are more jewels you can choose from. Rubies. Diamonds. A wonderful set of emeralds.” A shadow crossed his face. “I only wish your mother could have worn them.”
Arabella slid her arm through his. “She is with us tonight in spirit, Papa. Watching over us from heaven.”
He patted her hand. “I am sure she is, my dear. Come. The carriage had been brought around for us.”
Once inside the vehicle, her nerves didn’t diminish. They only increased until she had trouble breathing. Where was the confident woman she knew? The one who had foraged through libraries and debated with university students. The one who had learned how to command an entire staff of servants and settled tenants’ disputes. In her heart, she knew she was still that woman but going into a ballroom of hundreds of guests she had never met had Arabella ready to leap from the coach and run home.
The carriage slowed and came to a halt. A footman opened the door and aided her and her father. Once on the ground, Papa tucked her hand through his arm and they started toward Lord and Lady Kennedale’s townhouse. She tried to avoid puddles of water and the mud surrounding them and found it hopeless. Her new satin shoes would be dirty by the time they arrived. They were her only dress shoes and she hoped Annie would be able to somehow clean them.
Once inside, they joined the receiving line. As Arabella glanced around, heat rose in her cheeks. Her gown was woefully plain compared to the others she saw. She’d had three dressier gowns made up for evening events and five day gowns, thinking that to be plenty. Observing the women surrounding her, she knew using the local seamstress had been a mistake. She should have insisted they come to London early, in time for her to see a London modiste and have gowns created in town. Perhaps she could still do so and have one or two made up.
They met Lord and Lady Kennedale and the countess’ eyes raked over her judgmentally, causing Arabella’s cheeks to pinken even more. Escaping the line, her father guided her to the ballroom’s entrance and stopped.
“I am off to the card room,” he said. “You know I don’t dance. I never was good at it. I certainly didn’t need it all these years.”
“You’re . . . leaving me?” she sputtered.
He smiled benignly. “You look lovely, Arabella. Your dance card will fill quickly. I will see you at ball’s end.”
With that, he walked away.
She had never felt so inadequate or alone as she stepped inside. A crowd already gathered. A footman handed her something. Glancing at it, she saw it was a programme for her partners to fill. What if no one asked her to dance?
Fighting her growing fears, Arabella moved through the room. As she passed groups of people, she saw their eyes move over her and knew every one of them found her gown lacking.
Mustering her courage, she stepped to a group of four women who chatted. When she joined their circle, they fell silent.
“Good evening. I am . . . Lady Arabella Jennings. Daughter of the Earl of Barrington,” she remembered to add.
It still baffled her why she had to introduce herself as a lady. Nothing but ladies had been invited to this event. Still, she did her best to take this new title in stride.
She smiled and glanced about the group, waiting for them to introduce themselves to her. Only silence reigned.
Finally, one of them, a tall brunette, spoke. “We haven’t been properly introduced. I’m afraid you must leave.”
Suddenly, the circle tightened, squeezing her out.
“But . . . I did just introduce myself,” she insisted, trying to move back into their ranks.
No one spoke to her. It was as if she didn’t exist. They continued conversing as she stood there awkwardly, quickly learning from their conversation that the brunette had had sixty ballgowns and one hundred gowns suitable for day wear made up for this Season. Appalled at the outrageous number, Arabella moved away. That would mean the woman wore a different gown practically every night, plus she would have to change dresses numerous times during the day. And that was to wear her new wardrobe. What of her old one? Did no one in London repeat a gown?
A sick feeling grew within her as she continued through the room. Twice more, she tried to join a group and was told they hadn’t been introduced. Finally, she asked a rather sharp-tongued woman how she was supposed to be introduced when she didn’t know anyone in London.
The woman had looked Arabella up and down and finally said, “If you know no one among the ton, then you aren’t worth knowing.”
Humiliated, she moved to a far corner, hiding behind a tall, potted plant, her cheeks ablaze. She watched as various people came up and introduced others to a group, seeing that there always was a common connection. That’s how introductions were made in Polite Society. Had her father not known this? She realized that he had never attended social events and at six and forty, he wouldn’t have a clue his only child struggled, not knowing a soul.
But she did know some people here. They all just happened to be men. As she observed things, though, she saw it would be a terrible mistake for her to approach a man she had known at Oxford, men who were Papa’s students. Some particularly snobbish rule was in place that prevented that. Since she knew no women present, she was a social pariah.
The orchestra, who’d been tuning their instruments, now appeared ready to play. Suddenly, men approached women and couples paired off, filling the ballroom floor. Arabella remained behind her plant until the music began and couples commenced dancing. A lump formed in her throat, filling it until it became hard to breathe. She was a failure. A total failure. She would never be accepted by the ton. Hanging a title in front of her name didn’t change who she was. How she had been raised. She had no way to make friends—and no desire to be in the presence of any of these horrible people.
