The Heir - Catherine Coulter [16]
“We have nothing to say to each other, Captain Deverill. Oh yes, my father wrote what a great military man you were. I imagine he provided you with a rank and position that suited your ambitions? I imagine that he protected you, saw to it that you advanced?”
He wanted to smack her. Instead he said easily, “No, he didn’t, actually.”
“Naturally I don’t believe you. Now, I suppose I have no choice but to see you at the dinner table.” She turned and walked away from him, out of the crypt, into the early evening. It was very nearly dark.
“Arabella—”
She didn’t even turn to face him, just said over her shoulder, with complete indifference, “I am not Arabella to you. I don’t wish you to address me, thus you have no need of a name for me.”
“I assure you that I am right this moment considering many names for you. However, in the name of conciliation, I will call you cousin if you like. We can work that out later. For now, you will act like a lady. You will walk beside me. You will converse with me. Don’t push me on this.”
He waited a moment, but she remained quiet. She wasn’t looking at him, but rather down at her slipper, whose ribbon had become untied. She went down on her knees and retied the ribbon. Her hands weren’t steady. It took her too long to do it. When she rose, she still didn’t look at him. She turned to walk away.
As he had done in the library, he grabbed her arm to stop her. “I don’t wish to tear your other sleeve. Listen to me now. I am willing to make allowances for your behavior because of your bereavement, but stupid childishness, this churlish conduct, I will not tolerate.”
Unconsciously she moved her hand to the rent sleeve and rubbed her arm. She had acted the fool, but no more, because, quite simply, it gained her nothing. He released her.
“Yes,” she said finally, “it is chilly here. I will walk with you, Captain Deverill. It seems I have no choice. Say what you will say. Speak of the weather. Speak of the atrocities on the Peninsula. Speak of whatever pleases you to speak of. I really don’t care. None of it makes any difference.”
“I will say only that everything I do will eventually make a very big difference to you, cousin.”
6
Her hands were fists at her sides.
He said only, “Don’t.”
Her breathing was fast and jerky, but her hands smoothed out at her sides. Then he simply kept pace with her, out of the vault, pulling the doors closed behind them. They walked in silence through the cemetery until they gained the yew-lined path. Arabella looked at his strong profile, still distinct in the fading light. She didn’t mean to speak to him but she couldn’t seem to hold the words back. “You knew of this arrangement, did you not? Even this morning, you knew.”
“Yes, of course I knew. The earl approached me some years ago. I must say that he was very thorough in his examination of my character and prospects. I believe he even interviewed my mistresses, my friends, and my enemies as well. He left no stone unturned to strip me down to the bone.”
“And if my father had not died, he would have presented you to me as my future husband?”
“Yes.” He stopped a moment and looked down at her. “Your father always spoke of you in such glowing terms, I expected a veritable sweet-voiced angel to greet me. I expected to feel exalted in your presence, to be overwhelmed in the warmth of your spirit. I expected my soul to glow in your brightness. He told me you were smarter than most men, that you could figure and calculate more quickly than he could, that he had taught you chess and you had bested him within two years. He told me you were as brave as he had found out that I was. In short, he told me that we would suit each other perfectly.
“However, after meeting you, cousin, I now understand what I didn’t understand before. He only wanted me to meet you at the very last minute, so to speak, when we were of marriageable age. He had an excellent point. He knew you very well.”
“Marriageable age,” she said, looking straight ahead, saying the words