Lord Deverill's Heir by Catherine Coulter (books to read for 13 year olds .txt) 📕

She staggered against him and would have fallen had he not slipped his arm around her waist. She had dignity, she simply had to dredge it up.

She raised her chin, placed her hand calmly upon his arm, and walked stiffly beside him into the house.

* * *

Dr. Paul Branyon straightened over a now clean Arabella and said with his charming smile, “Well, my little Bella, though you were a rare mess to be sure, I can find nothing in particular wrong with you that your bath did not cure. You will be a trifle sore here and there for a couple of days, but nothing of consequence. I do, though, insist that you have a good night’s sleep.”

This evening the lurking twinkle always present in Dr. Branyon’s brown eyes didn’t draw a smile from her. She adored him, always had, for he had been a part of her life since she was born. Still, he had seen her fail, even though he didn’t realize it. She hated herself. She also felt sore from the top of her still-damp head to her bruised feet. She eyed him as he carefully measured out several drops from a small vial into a glass of water. Like her father, Arabella hated sickness, the earl having convinced her over the years that weak persons used various illnesses to gain attention. Succumbing to common complaints showed lack of character.

“I will not take that laudanum, for that is what it is, isn’t it, sir?”

“Yes, just a bit, my dear.”

“No. Give it to Mrs. Tucker. I know she uses it in her tea. She says it makes her feet relaxed.”

“Always giving orders,” Dr. Branyon said, smiling at her. “You do it well, but it doesn’t matter this time. I do not wish to have your mother shred me into pieces, and that is what would happen if I don’t take thorough care of you. Isn’t it, Ann?”

Lady Ann stepped forward. She said with a firmness that Arabella found unnerving, “Be quiet, Arabella. It has been an extraordinarily trying day. There is much change and much for you to think about. I will not have you bleary-eyed and in a snit all for want of a good night’s sleep.

Drink the water.”

Arabella could not believe it had been her own dear mother speaking to her all hard and calm like that.

“Mother? Is that truly you speaking? It isn’t right, Mother. You never raise your voice, you always fade away. You never fight or argue. It isn’t what I’m used to. I don’t understand any of this.”

“Perhaps you will, in time,” Lady Ann said, her voice just a bit sharp, but there was amusement there as well. “Come, Arabella. You have far more need of this than do Mrs. Tucker’s feet. Drink your medicine. Do it now or you will have to deal with both Paul and me.” Arabella, still stunned by her mother’s unlikely behavior, downed the entire glass without pause. Lady Ann could scarce restrain a chuckle. Had she been so weak then? Had she but to be firm and Arabella would obey her? “I will send Gracie to you now, my love. Just ring if there is anything you need.” Lady Ann bent swiftly over her daughter and kissed her lightly on the cheek. She said softly, “Forgive me for not telling you of Justin’s existence. I have grown more and more concerned about your not knowing, yet it was a promise I made to your father. I did try to get him to change his mind, but he never changed his mind about anything, once he’d made it up, you know that.”

“Didn’t he? About anything, Mama? Surely Papa wasn’t that certain of himself all the time, was he?” Then she sighed in the face of her mother’s silence. Perhaps he had been. She had always prayed that she would have her father’s strength of will. But look at where his strength of will had brought her. She had two months to marry a man who looked like her, who looked like her brother and her father as well, was more arrogant and cold than her father at his most displeased, and she hated him.

What to do?

“Good night, little Bella.” Dr. Branyon smiled and patted her cheek. His hand was firm and strong. She remembered his hands from her earliest years.

She was asleep before they were out of her bedchamber, their heads close together, their talk too quiet for her to hear.

Dr. Branyon couldn’t prevent his chuckle. “I now believe I have seen everything,” he said, grinning down at Lady Ann. “You telling Arabella what to do? By all that’s holy, that was Arabella obeying? It boggles the mind. Perhaps you have become a witch. If I look about closely will I find a black cat who is your familiar?” She remained silent, and he knew she was thinking. He knew that look, he knew her every look. “You have stolen the indomitable will from your daughter. Never before have I observed you having the last word. It pleased me, Ann.”

Lady Ann sighed. “You are right. I was a Milquetoast, wasn’t I?”

“Well, no, not that, exactly. It’s just that the earl and Arabella—they seemed somehow to smother you with their vitality, their boundless energy. And both of them autocrats, no denying that. I could never quite feel Lady Ann’s personality in Evesham Abbey.”

“They are terribly alike. Sometimes, Paul, I wonder what I did all those years, what I thought.” She frowned a moment and gazed almost unwillingly down at the huge Deverill family ring on her third finger. Somehow it did not seem to weigh so heavily as usual on her hand. She drew a deep breath and looked up with absolute trust into a face whose every expression she had memorized long ago. “Many times I have felt that I am the child and Arabella, the fond, yet dominating mother. I have felt sometimes very out of place with her, as if