The Officer's Temptation | A Regency Romance

Chapter Nine: A Door Once Closed

"I asked for a cup of tea, not for it to be splashed all over my dress." Arabella's face scrunched up in discontentment and she patted a napkin against her sleeve. "Now I look a mess." The servant that had been pouring her tea dipped her head quickly, retreating back against a wall.

"I don't see anything wrong with the way you look," Nicholas said, glancing over the edge of the paper.

"That's because you are across the table."

"I can't see the spill at all."

"It's on the lace of my sleeve, of course you can't see it."

"Whatever you say, darling." Nicholas made a grunting sound. The paper crinkled as he turned the page.

Marlowe placidly scaped some jam over the buttered roll on his plate. Arabella's sleeve did not look splattered to him, but she rose abruptly from her seat, delicately placing her napkin on the table. "I'll have to change before going to the gardens."

Marlowe's stomach sank at that. All of the women had planned to visit a famous rose garden that afternoon, though the others had already left, intending to first call upon a friend of Mrs. Jennings who had just come to town. Arabella was to join them directly afterwards, and though Marlowe had his suspicions about why Arabella had wanted to accompany him and Nicholas to the local market instead of going on the visit, he had hoped that she would not find a way to force him into more time alone with her.

"You had best hurry if you want me to accompany you to the market first," Nicholas said. "You know I am supposed to call upon Mr. Whitmore before noon today." He folded the paper on the table and took out his watch. "Indeed, it is high time that we left. You've been dawdling all morning."

"I'll be quick about it. For heaven's sake, it does not take so long to change a dress!"

Marlowe slumped against his chair. The sinking pit inside him seemed to weigh him down. It was odd how dread seemed to have its own gravity. He felt all the worse for it, as he had originally been looking forward to the trip to the market. He had been thinking that he should find something for Kate, some small token with which to repay her kindness in giving him drawing lessons--a new set of pencils or pastels, something practical that she would enjoy using, and something that would make her smile and think of him when she left to study in Paris. He should have never mentioned that he was venturing out to go shopping to Nicholas, who had then in turn mentioned it to Arabella.

His hand clenched around his teacup. It was growing cold. He wished that he had thought to splash something a little more heartening into it, but truth be told, he was barely recovered from his last hangover, and he didn't think it would do his reputation any good to be seen drunk quite so often as he had been lately.

"What do you think about the invitation?" Nicholas's voice broke through his thoughts.

Marlowe realized that he had been staring at his cup for minutes, letting the dregs go bitter. It was fitting. "The Invitation?"

"It came in the post this morning. Mrs. Hughes must have read it when you were still dressing. Lord and Lady Foley leased a villa for the season just on the outskirts of town. There are quite a few English on tour, apparently, so they are hosting a small ball, and inviting a few locals of import."

"I've never liked balls."

"That's a blatant lie. You always liked to dance at the country balls. And I know you stepped out quite frequently in London. I know I do not go to town often, but we do hear all the society news in the country."

Marlowe grimaced. "Some of my experiences in London are all a bit hazy now, if you mark me."

Nicholas snorted. "Further proof that you do indeed enjoy a ball."