Free Arabella by Georgette Heyer Page B

ma’am!”
    But it was Lord Fleetwood who handed Arabella to the chair he had placed, saying solicitously: “I am sure you are hungry, and will be glad of something to eat!”
    “Well, yes, sir,” confessed Arabella, who was very hungry indeed. “I own, I have been thinking of my dinner for several miles! And no wonder, for I see it is already past five o’clock!”
    This naive speech made his lordship, who never sat down to his dinner before half-past seven at the very earliest, swallow convulsively, but he recovered himself, in an instant, and replied without a blink: “So it is, by Jupiter! You are famished, then! But never mind! Mr. Beaumaris here was just saying that dinner would be served in a trice. Weren’t you, Robert?”
    “Was I?” said Mr. Beaumaris. “I have the wretchedest of memories, but I am sure you are right. I beg you will do me the honour of dining with me, ma’am.”
    Arabella hesitated. She could see from her anguished expression that Miss Blackburn thought she should rather accept Mr. Beaumaris’s first offer; and not the most inveterate of optimists could have read into that languid gentleman’s voice anything more than a reluctant civility. But this warm, comfortably furnished room was a most welcome change from the travelling carriage, and the aroma of cooking which had assailed her nostrils as she had crossed the hall had considerably whetted her appetite. She looked a little doubtfully at her host. Again it was Lord Fleetwood who, with his friendly smile and easy manners, clinched the matter. “Of course they will dine with us! Now, won’t you, ma’am?”
    “It would be giving too much trouble, sir!” said Miss Blackburn, in a sort of gasp.
    “No trouble in the world, ma’am, I assure you! In fact, we are very much obliged to you, for we had been wishing that we were to have company, eh, Robert?”
    “Certainly,” agreed Mr. Beaumaris. “Was I not just saying so?”
    Miss Blackburn, having undergone a life-time of slights and snubs, was quick to catch the satirical inflexion. She cast him a scared, deprecating look, and coloured. His eyes met hers; he stood looking down at her for a moment, and then said in a much kinder tone: “I am afraid you are not quite comfortable there, ma’am. Will you not draw nearer to the fire?”
    She was thrown into a flutter, and assured him rather disjointedly that she was perfectly comfortable, and himself too good, too obliging! Brough had come into the room with a tray of glasses and decanters, which he set down on a table, and Mr. Beaumaris moved towards it, saying: “You will like to go upstairs with my housekeeper, I daresay, to take off your wet coat, but first you must let me give you a glass of wine.” He began to pour out some Madeira. “Two extra covers for dinner, Brough—which you will serve immediately,”
    Brough thought of the Davenport fowls roasting on the spits in the kitchen, and of the artist in charge of them, and was visibly shaken. “Immediately, sir?” he said, in a failing voice,
    “Let us say, within half-an-hour,” amended Mr. Beaumaris, carrying a glass of wine over to Miss Blackburn.
    “Yes, sir,” said Brough, and tottered from the room, a broken man.
    Miss Blackburn accepted the wine gratefully, but when it was offered to Arabella she declined it. Papa did not like his daughters to taste anything stronger than porter, or the very mild claret-cup served at the Harrowgate Assembly Rooms, and she was a little doubtful of its possible effect on her. Mr. Beaumaris did not press her in any way, but set the glass down again, poured out some sherry for himself and his friend, and returned to sit beside Miss Blackburn on the sofa.
    Lord Fleetwood, meanwhile, had ensconced himself beside Arabella, and was chatting to her in his inconsequent, cheerful way, which set her quite at ease. He was delighted to hear that she was on her way to London, hoped to have the pleasure of meeting her there—in the Park,