Annoyed her machinations had been uprooted, Lilly offered the same false smile in return. “You will, of course, attend.”
Knowing Edmund was eager for her answer, the blue of his eyes as bright as the blue of his coat, Arabella sweetly turned to her host. “How could I refuse?”
Clapping her joy, Lizzy gathered her friend, moving the party nearer the fire. “It will be practically a ball now that you shall come. I was so disappointed when you never sent a reply. Of course, we understood with the sudden death of your friend, and your immediate travel to London, but... will this not lift your spirits?”
It was a lot to take from the lively girl, but Arabella tried to match her friend’s enthusiasm. “When is this grand event?”
Edmund laughed, taking the seat across. “Our more distant guests will be arriving this evening.”
So soon? Arabella looked askance at Lilly. The beauty was grinding her teeth and glaring, the baroness unsure exactly why her appearance at the festivities might agitate her so.
“You must be busy with preparations. How rude of me to intrude at this time.” Arabella stood with a smile and her customary bluntness. “I shall collect Mary from your care, and leave you to it.”
He did not want her to go, Edmund standing in mirror to her retreat. “You are welcome to stay the evening. At a word, Mrs. Magdala can send over your trunk.”
Shaking her head, Arabella had a pressing reason to retreat. There was no doubt in her heart that Mr. Harrow’s invitation had reached him and that he might be back in Harding. He could be close, he could be waiting for her, and it was not in the Jenkins’ parlor where she wanted to meet him for the first time in weeks. “I’m afraid my housekeeper is out of town. Mary shall help me prepare and we shall return in the morning.”
* * *
Gregory was not waiting at her hearth when Arabella returned to Crescent Barrows, Payne was.
He had come from town with a parcel of news. “Mr. Griggs sent a courier so you might have these.” In Payne’s large hands sat a letter written in Magdala’s familiar penmanship and a copy of yesterday’s The London Chronicle.
It would be days before circulation of that paper, and the tragic news within it, reached Harding, yet here it sat in her hands, Mr. Griggs having spent a great many pounds so she might read it immediately.
Branded across the front page was a tale of a ship up in flames off the coast of France. Coastal villagers had watched it burn, had heard the sailors screaming. The vessel had belonged to one Baron Witte, the lord having set course to Paris for business.
There were no known survivors.
Baron Witte who had smiled at her at the Marquise’s funeral, who had sneered and eyed her, was gone—floating in the ocean to be eaten by fish or washed up on some foreign shore.
Elation was impossible, stark shock leaving Arabella’s mouth agape. She knew who had set the flames. “Ion told me he was to set out for the continent. He was on that ship.”
The Romani man had drowned in the waters, dragging the crew down with him... on Gregory’s orders, so a single powerful man might die in an event where all questions would never be answered.
Payne took the paper from her grip. “Maybe he swam to shore.”
“You do not believe that any more than I do.” Slumping back into her chair, Arabella let out a troubled breath. “How am I to feel at this news? I cannot celebrate the death of sailors I did not know. Innocent men...”
“Sailors are seldom innocents, Arabella. Those Baron Witte surrounded himself with are only a set above pirates. Do you think he would hire noble men? That he would keep company with virtue? He would not.” Payne was hardened on his stance. “I do not mourn their deaths, nor should you.”
“And what of the man who is killing them?” Her voice caught, Arabella lonely for the man in question and growing more afraid of him by the day. “What of Gregory Harrow?”
“Mr. Harrow has ended two of your enemies in a manner that will never lead back to you.” Gently pulling her into his arms, Payne made her listen. “I rejoice that it has been done. Only William Dalton and Sir Statham remain now. You are almost free, Arabella.”
Arabella could not help but equate this feeling of freedom with the harsh grip of fetters closing around her. Seeing what Gregory could do was terrifying. “I will not be free as a married woman, Payne.”
Payne hugged her all the harder, his lips atop her hair. “I am an old man now. How many years might I have left? Mr. Harrow may—”
“Do not say speak that way!” Arabella could not make herself listen. “I would be lost without you.”
“There is more you need to know.” Stroking her hair, hushing her, Payne said, “I read Magdala’s letter. Her time with Countess Strand was well spent. William Dalton will not have her daughter for wife. When he learns of it, it will be a blow to him.”
And a massive embarrassment when the reasons for the daughter’s rejection are whispered all through town.
Dalton deserved worse than public censure, but Arabella was satisfied he would receive a taste of his own medicine. “When is Magdala to return to us?”
“She left the day after she sent the letter. It will be two days, maybe three depending on the roads before she reaches Harding.”