The Rakehell Regency Romance Collection Volume 2(266)

"Thank you. And for the help with the fever paper."



"So you teach as well?"



"Yes."



"It is a wonder you have time to tend to a young ward, then," she said quietly.



"The truth is I don't generally," he admitted. "Once the holidays are over, I shall be back to my normal schedule, and you and I will probably rarely see each other."



That thought filled her with absolute dread. "But if I help you with the clinic-"



"You can't be expected to give up you pleasure and amusements for my work. You are so young."



"But not Miss Fluff."



"No," he conceded.



"In that case, let me help," she said firmly.



"I shall consider the matter. But for the moment you might contemplate helping the servants take inventory. Discover all you can about this household. I must admit it's not something I pay much attention to. It runs smoothly, so I leave it alone. You may have different ideas as to what constitutes smoothly, so I ask you as a favour to see what can be done. If you can run a whole estate in the country by yourself, you can most certainly take me in hand."



"I shall. Thank you for your confidence in me."



They smiled at each other shyly, and turned back to their dinner.



The rest of the evening was spent going over the papers Mr. Brown had sent, so she could understand the terms of his guardianship. It would be three years until she attained her majority and freedom. Three long years, unless Arabella could either get over her schoolgirl crush, or convince Blake Sanderson to fall in love with her.



No. Impossible. She was dreaming if she thought a worldly and successful man like him could ever consider her in that way.



At the inn it had been different. He had no doubt thought her the daughter of some genteel impoverished family. Ripe for plucking, with few consequences to fear. Now she was his ward, and his dear friend's protected sister.



No, Blake Sanderson was not the man for her, no matter how much she longed for him.



The memory sprang to mind once more of his bare chest, his trousers slipping down over his huge…



Arabella shook her head and shuddered. Stop that.



She took a deep breath to calm herself, and suggested some music. They finished the night with some Bach airs, and each could not wait to get away to the privacy of their rooms to dream about the other.



The first fortnight of her sojourn in London was spent as per Blake's request, with Arabella overhauling Sanderson House from top to bottom. She took him at his word and obtained the housekeeper's keys. There wasn't any room she left untouched.



Mrs. Evans, her chaperone who lived in one of the side streets nearby, was given a room near Arabella's in case she ever needed to stay the night. She was a stout woman of perhaps fifty, kind, but a bit silly for her tastes. She scolded Arabella more than once for being too much of a homebody.



It was true she had taken London by storm after her appearance at Lady Pemberton's ball, but she was not accustomed to spending all day and night in the idle pursuit of pleasure. Apart from a couple of rides in Rotten Row with the Stones and the Duke of Ellesmere, and once with Philip Marshall, she had not troubled to go out to pay calls, and she and the house had been in no fit state to receive callers.



With a pinafore over her oldest gown, forest green wool, and her hair tied up in a kerchief, and smudges of dust all over her, she was as lovely as ever, but not the belle of the ball that most of the Town expected her to be.



Mrs. Evans complained, "There's no sense in having me come every day and night if you turn the visitors from the door and never go anywhere. Why, we haven't even been to the shops once. The only time you've been out of this house with me was when you went to see Mr. Brown the solicitor. Really, it is not natural. You need a better wardrobe, evening gowns. Moreover, no man wants a bluestocking for a wife."



Arabella put the finishing touches to an ornamental tassle. "Why not, pray?"



"Well, no man would want a wife who was more intelligent than himself."



"I see. So I'm to pretend that I'm stupid in order to catch myself one, am I?" she asked impatiently. "Fill my wardrobe with immodest gowns to catch a man?"



Blake, who had paused outside the little cream and gold parlor to knock and look in, smiled to himself.



"Not at all. Well, not quite. But flatter men, defer to their opinions. Let them feel like Lord and Master in their own house."



"Even if they're not worthy, or fools?"



"A man's amour propre is a very delicate thing. Easily overset. When it is, well, there is the Devil to pay."



"Dr. Sanderson isn't like that. He doesn't mind if I quiz him."