The Heir - Catherine Coulter [41]
11
“Then we are all in agreement. We will be married Wednesday next. Do you agree, ma’am?” He was holding her hand, lightly squeezing her cool fingers.
“I agree, sir. But that is only six days away.” She stopped then, looking away from him, toward nothing in particular as far as he could tell.
“What is it, ma’am?”
“I cannot very well wear a black wedding gown. What will I wear?”
He saw that her eyes were luminous with tears, and said quickly to Lady Ann, “She is right. What will she wear, Lady Ann?”
“You will wear a soft light gray silk, Bella, with pearls, I think. Yes, that will be fine.”
“All right,” Arabella said. She swallowed, then quickly rose.
“I am so very happy for you, Arabella,” Elsbeth said. She lowered her voice and leaned toward Arabella’s ear. She whispered, “Lady Ann assures me that the earl is kind, not that I don’t know that for myself, but people are strange, don’t you think? Who can ever really know another person? What is in their hearts? In their thoughts? But don’t worry Arabella, he is certain to be kind. If he is not, why then, you can simply shoot him.”
Arabella burst into laughter. How could she not? Her father surely would have enjoyed his first daughter. Why had he kept her away? She said to the earl, “I wonder, sir. Will you be kind to me? Or maybe even you’re not yet certain? Do you think I should be prepared? Do you think I should clean my gun before the wedding? Have it handy just in case you suffer a lapse?”
“Give me a chance first, please, ma’am.”
“I will consider it. Now, I would like to go riding. The sun is out and I wish to take full advantage of it.”
The library doors opened, and Crupper, his back stiff with age and dignity, stepped into the room, cleared his throat, and announced, “My lord, Lady Ann, there is a young gentleman just arrived. A very foreign young gentleman. But he is a gentleman and not a merchant or a shop owner.”
“Thank God for that,” the earl said, the irony floating gently over Crupper’s ancient head. “Just how foreign is he, Crupper?”
“It is awfully early in the morning for visitors,” Lady Ann said, frowning toward the door.
“Who is this young gentleman, Crupper?” the earl asked again, standing now and walking behind the settee, lightly placing his hand on Arabella’s shoulder.
“He informed me his name is Gervaise de Trécassis, my lord, cousin to Miss Elsbeth. He is French, my lord. He is very foreign indeed. He calls himself the Comte de Trécassis.”
“Good heavens,” Lady Ann said, jumping up. “I had believed all of Magdalaine’s family dead in the revolution. Elsbeth, this gentleman must be your mama’s nephew.”
“A nephew, huh?” the earl said. “Then by all means, Crupper, show the comte in.”
A few moments later a strikingly handsome young man preceded Crupper into the library. He wasn’t a large man, barely of medium height and with a slender build, elegantly dressed in buff pantaloons and gleaming black hessians. His hair was black as night, his eyes nearly as dark. The earl found himself looking from the young man to Arabella, to judge her reaction to him.
She was smiling at the comte, but actually, she believed he was a fop—surely that jewel-encrusted watch fob was too pretentious and the several heavy rings he wore made his hands appear nearly feminine. As for his shirt points, they nearly touched his smooth-shaven chin. Then she met his eyes—black eyes filled with intelligence and humor and surely a hint of mystery, a pinch of wickedness—set beneath delicately arched black brows and stylishly disarrayed black locks. He looked both dashing and romantic. She wondered if Lord Byron looked something like Elsbeth’s cousin. Lucky man if he did.
“The Comte de Trécassis,” Crupper announced somewhat unnecessarily. The young gentleman, certainly not much older than Elsbeth, looked at everyone, his smile half apologetic, and yet, Arabella thought, he wasn’t at all apologetic, not really, he was as confident of himself and his acceptance as was the earl, the man she hadn’t known a week ago, the man who would be her husband within another week.