A scratch at the door had her pulling the sheets tighter about her.

“Lady Farnsworth, would you care to break your fast?”

The voice of the kind man from last night, Holland, soothed her a little, but she still did not want to be seen. She remained silent, hoping he would go away and forget she was here at all. He knocked again and then the sounds ceased.

After a time, when she’d grown uncomfortably warm beneath the blankets, Arabella threw them off her face. She was being childish and fearful, two traits she rarely admired. It was not the man’s fault she wasn’t fit to be seen. She should have answered him and suggested he come back later. Much later, in fact. A whole week would do.

The scratch came again. “Arabella? We know you’re awake.”

Rothwell. She bolted upright and grimaced at the idea of him seeing her like this. She glanced at her ruined dress where she’d hung it across the chair to dry and shuddered. It needed much work to be presentable by anyone’s standards. She’d been too shocked to consider how she might have appeared last night, but hoped he had not paid too much attention to her ragged appearance. Since Rothwell always gravitated to the finest looking women at a ball or party, she dreaded the revulsion she would see on his face this morning. The knock came again.

She could not ignore the earl. “Yes, I’m awake.”

“Good.” The door handle rattled but thankfully did not open immediately. “Holland would like to deliver a few necessities for your comfort. May my staff come in?”

Arabella slid down the bed again, hands on the edges of the sheet, ready to cover her face when the door opened. “Oh, very well.”

She tossed the covers over her head and lay still as china rattled beyond her safe cocoon beneath the blankets. Other footsteps came and went. Water poured as if from buckets into a tub. The comforter covering her twitched as if someone had touched the bed. She stiffened, wondering what was going on, but dared not look for fear of letting someone see her so battered. When nothing else happened, she calmed herself. Rothwell had promised she was safe.

After a time, the footsteps filed out, and the door handle rattled again. “They will not come again until you ring for someone to attend you,” Rothwell informed her in a kind tone that brought warmth to her cheeks that had nothing to do with embarrassment. “I have to go out for a while. I thought it best to keep up appearances as if nothing untoward had occurred, but call if you need anything. Holland will deliver whatever you request.”

The door closed with a soft click, and Arabella lowered the sheet carefully, checking that she was indeed alone again. Alone again, but not forgotten. A feast covered the dressing table, a bath of steaming water sat before the fireplace. On her bed lay a peach-colored day gown she had never seen before and a few wrapped packages. She darted a glance at the chair and saw her poor ruined dress had been taken away. Rothwell had provided her with the means to dress for the day. She covered her face as her true situation struck her forcefully. She had nothing. Had no one now. Had it not been for Rothwell’s aid, she did not know what would have become of her last night. She pressed her hand to her eyes and held back further tears.

She had to put herself back together again. The situation wasn’t completely hopeless. For now, she was dry and warm and by all appearances would be well fed. Arabella would not let her host’s generosity go to waste. She hurried to the door and locked it, as she’d neglected to do last night before sleep claimed her, and then she slipped off the borrowed nightshirt, shivering a little as she stepped into the warm water. She scrubbed her skin, washing away the terror of the night before with masculine-scented soap. She raised the bar to her nose and inhaled, liking the fragrance of sandalwood more because she recognized it as Rothwell’s own. When she was clean and dry and bundled in a man-sized banyan while her hair dried, she inspected her small world and found nothing wanting.

The hot chocolate was warm enough to still be delicious; the bread rolls were cold but appetizing. She ate slowly because her jaw tingled with pain whenever she bit down with any enthusiasm. Arabella experimentally tapped at her teeth and discovered one to be the source of her discomfort. She was lucky not to have lost it completely when Farnsworth had struck her so hard that her head had spun. The one thing she’d feared most of all until yesterday was to have a tooth pulled.

Other food had been delivered, too—exotic fruits and small cakes in covered dishes. She had enough to last her most of the day without ever needing to show her face outside this room and would save them for later. Relief trickled through her that Rothwell had planned everything so she did not have to make any immediate decisions about her life. Another sign that she did not know very much about him at all but what she discovered now proved him extremely generous.

Arabella moved to the bed where clothing had been laid out in readiness for dressing. The parcels were a mystery but clearly meant for her. She opened each one, blushing with each new discovery. A chemise, corset, and fine silk stockings were terribly personal but essential if one cared to be properly dressed. How had Rothwell acquired ladies’ clothing so quickly at this hour? Given her gown of last night had disappeared when the servants had come, and she had nothing else to wear, she couldn’t refuse to put them on.

Feeling extremely self-conscious, Arabella slid the stockings up her legs and secured them beneath her knees. Next she slipped from the robe and drew the chemise over her head. The fit was good and she lifted the corset. Luckily, it was a style she could manage alone without a maid, and it fit snugly around her body.

The last was the dress, a simply styled affair that didn’t look too fussy. She stepped into the peach muslin, securing the material around her and at last feeling ready to face, well, anything better than last night.

However, dressing did bring to mind her future destination. She wasn’t wanted by Farnsworth except to marry off. He would sell her home and leave her with nothing but her pride to warm her. She had no family to turn to, only friends, and none of them in London. Every decision required an effort and more hours of travel than she cared to contemplate.

She moved to the window and carefully peeked through the gap in the curtains at the street below. The view was one she’d never had before and she took a moment to reacquaint herself with Rothwell’s nearest neighbors. None of them were friends to Farnsworth, though they were little known to her too. The relief of that eased her mind. She leaned against the wall, hiding behind the safety of the drapes, and watched the comings and goings of those below. She was relieved to be here and not out there where who knows what else could have assaulted her.

She touched her face again and then moved to the mirror. The bruise was not as bad as she had imagined this morning, but it definitely did not make her pretty in any way. She lifted her chin and moved her damp hair back over her shoulder to inspect the bruises made by Farnsworth’s hand about her throat. A shudder raked her. She’d never been subjected to violence before. Her father had been the gentlest of men, and her late husband had left her alone. At no time in the past had she ever imagined Farnsworth capable of such cruelty, although his temper was easily provoked.

Arabella pulled her hair forward so it covered her neck and the bruised side of her face. She would keep it down today to hide the damage even from her own eyes. She poured another cup of lukewarm chocolate from the pot and settled in a chair to think. Perhaps if she was as undemanding as possible, Rothwell might allow her to remain hidden in his house for today and maybe, if she was extremely lucky, until she was fully restored to her usual appearance. She couldn’t face the world like this, but to make plans for her future she would have to speak to others. At the moment, she might only have the courage to let Rothwell see her face. He’d been so kind, but she didn’t want to shock him. There was nothing else she could do now but wait for her appearance to heal itself or for Rothwell to grow bored with the situation and suggest an alternative that involved leaving.