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

“Justin, wait. There is no reason for you to be upset. It is a surprise to her. Surely you know how much she loved her father. No, please—” But he was gone from the dining room without a backward glance.

Dr. Branyon walked to her side and clasped her hand. He said very quietly, for only her ears, “I was afraid of this. You know that Arabella isn’t happy. I believe that she held to her father’s memory to help her during this time with Justin. Please, Ann, don’t let her hurt you for she doesn’t mean to. There is such rage in her, such pain. Come, let’s go into the Velvet Room and try to act natural, at least around Elsbeth. As for the comte, I could wish him gone right this instant, but it is not to be. Come, love.”

Lady Ann said sadly, “How very stupid of me not to have realized, even foretold Arabella’s reaction. I suppose I didn’t want to delve too deeply. I just wanted to hug my own happiness close.” The comte was so startled by Arabella’s outburst that he acquiesced with a mere nod. He slid Elsbeth’s arm through his. As they followed Lady Ann and Dr. Branyon past the wooden-faced footman who’d heard everything that had happened, Elsbeth suddenly tugged at his arm, holding back.

“Oh, Gervaise, whatever shall we do now?” She was close to tears. He couldn’t allow her to fall apart in front of Lady Ann or Dr. Branyon. He clasped her hands in his, squeezing them nearly to pain. “Listen, Elsbeth, as I told you earlier, it is as nothing. I will think of a plan.

Do not worry. Here, straighten yourself. Don’t cry. Do not enact an ill-bred scene like your half-sister just did. You are above that. You are gentle and kind and you will keep control of yourself.”

“Yes, Gervaise, yes, all right, I will try.” She sniffed, wiping her hand across her eyes, as would a child. He felt something deep and painful move within him. “Yes, I thought Arabella’s behavior was shocking. Why did she do that? Our father wasn’t a loving man, you know that. He hated me. Oh, all right, he loved Arabella, but still, how could she behave so horribly to her own mother?”

Justin strode into the main hall and made directly for the staircase. He took the steps two and three at a time and was midway to the first landing before Crupper realized his destination. He waved his hand at the earl’s back, shook his head when there was no response, and turned back to his post by the front doors. He simply refused to shout after his lordship. Such a thing wasn’t done, certainly not done at Evesham Abbey.

The earl’s anger was evident even to Grace, Arabella’s maid, who scurried from his path the moment she saw his face. His nostrils flared and angry cords stood out taut on his neck. His hands were shaking, he couldn’t help it. Damn her, how dared she serve her mother such a devastating blow? Had she not eyes in her head to see where Lady Ann’s affections were so obviously placed? He would strangle her.

Justin jerked at the handle on the bedchamber door. It was locked, as of course he had expected it to be, but his futile fumbling at his own bedroom door only added to his anger. He flung into the adjoining room and sent his valet, Grubbs, staggering back in surprise.

“My lord, what is wrong? What has happened?” Justin paid him no heed, and but an instant later stood in the middle of the earl’s bedchamber. He wanted to bellow out her name, but saw that the room was quite empty. “Bedamned,” he said quite softly as he turned on his heel and strode back downstairs.

“Crupper, have you seen her ladyship?”

“Why, yes, my lord,” Crupper said, with complete composure.

“Well? Where the devil is she?”

“Her ladyship left the house, my lord. Very quickly, I might add.”

“Damnation, man, why the hell did you not tell me that little bit of news before?”

Crupper drew to his full height. “If you will pardon my liberty, my lord, your lordship was near to the top of the stairs before I was even aware of your presence.”

“This is damned ridiculous,” the earl nearly shouted as he strode past his butler into the warm night.

It did not occur to the earl to simply let her return whenever she wished to. He mentally reviewed her favorite haunts—the old abbey ruins, the fishpond, perhaps even the Deverill graveyard. For some reason he could not define, he knew that she would not be bound for any of her usual places. No, he thought, he knew she was trying to escape—from Evesham Abbey, from her mother, but mainly she would want to escape from him.

Lucifer. He would bet every sou he had that she was riding madly away from here on her stallion.

He ran full tilt to the stables. He was just in time to see Arabella, her skirts billowing out about her, astride Lucifer, galloping away into the dark night.

“James,” he yelled.

His spindly legged head groom emerged in the lighted doorway, his eyes widening at the sight of his master’s furious face. He waited miserably for the earl to sack him. But that didn’t even come to the earl’s mind.

He knew that Arabella’s word was indisputable law with all the servants.

“Fetch my stallion, James, and be quick about it.” As the seconds crept by, the earl was mentally calculating the lead Arabella would have on him. His bay stallion was Marmaluke-trained and of Arab stock. But, Lucifer, damn, the beast was strong as ten horses and fast as the wind. She could be in the next county before he even managed to reach the end of the drive. “James, hurry!” He wanted to strangle her.

He wanted to shout at her until he ground her down, until she finally admitted