Chapter 16 #2
Arabella lifted her cup, pausing only slightly. “Truly?”
“No,” Cissie said. “You are actually listening.”
Jane glanced between them, curiosity flickering across her expression. “That is a good sign, is it not?”
“It depends,” Cissie replied. “On what she intends to say now that she is listening.”
Arabella set her cup down carefully.
The moment stretched, not uncomfortable, but expectant. The breeze stirred the edge of the blanket, carrying the faint scent of blossoms from somewhere beyond the trees. Arabella drew in a slow breath, her gaze moving between them.
“I suppose,” she said at last, “that depends on whether you are prepared to hear it.”
Jane straightened slightly. “We always are.”
Cissie said nothing, though her attention sharpened.
Arabella folded her hands loosely in her lap, her expression composed though steadier than before.
“You asked me,” she began, “whether I was content.”
Jane nodded.
“And I told you that I was,” Arabella continued. “Which is true.”
Cissie tilted her head. “But not complete.”
“No,” Arabella said. “Not complete.”
She paused, as though considering her next words more carefully than she had the first.
“I do not think I understood what that question meant when you asked it,” she said. “Or rather, I answered it as one is expected to answer.”
“And now?” Jane asked quietly.
Arabella exhaled, her gaze lowering briefly before returning to them.
“Now I think I would answer it differently.”
Neither of them interrupted.
“My husband is not… easy,” she said. “He does not offer comfort for the sake of it. He does not speak unnecessarily. He does not behave as though affection is something to be displayed.”
Jane’s brow softened slightly. “That does not sound particularly promising.”
“No,” Arabella agreed. “It does not.”
A faint smile touched her lips.
“And yet,” she continued, “he listens. He stops when asked. He considers before he acts. He does not take what is not given.”
The distinction settled between them.
Cissie leaned back slightly, her expression thoughtful now rather than sharp. “That is not nothing.”
Jane studied her more closely. “And so I ask you again, is it enough?”
Arabella held her gaze.
“I think— yes. I think it is more than enough,” she said. The breeze lifted a strand of hair loose from Arabella’s arrangement. She did not move to fix it.
“I think,” she continued, more quietly now, “that I would rather have something real, even if it is uncertain, than something easy that is not.”
Cissie’s lips curved faintly. “That is an odd preference.”
Arabella met her gaze. “I am beginning to think that I like that description.”
Jane’s voice softened. “And you are willing to accept being an outcast in your decisions? Society is not kind.”
Arabella did not answer immediately. Her fingers tightened slightly against the fabric of her skirt before easing again.
“I am not certain it is a matter of willingness,” she said at last. “Only that… I chose this marriage— we both did. Nothing else matters.”
The silence that followed was brief, but meaningful.
Then, as though sensing the moment had settled sufficiently, Cissie reached for the basket with renewed purpose.
“Well,” she said briskly, “if we are to discuss odd preferences, we ought at least to do so with proper provisions.”
Jane let out a small breath, smiling as she reached for the plates. “That is the most practical solution you have offered all morning.”
“It is the only one that will not lead us into further complication,” Cissie replied. Then, after a beat, “At least not immediately.”
Arabella laughed softly, the tension easing from her shoulders.
“And what complications do you propose we discuss instead?” she asked.
Cissie’s eyes brightened at once. “The masquerade.”
Jane looked up. “It is confirmed, then?”
“Entirely,” Cissie said. “The Dowager Countess of Lampton is hosting it at the end of the month. Invitations are already being whispered about, though not yet formally delivered.”
“A masquerade,” Jane repeated, her expression shifting between intrigue and uncertainty. “I cannot decide whether that sounds thrilling or deeply improper.”
“It is both,” Cissie said without hesitation. “Which is precisely why it will be attended by everyone who claims otherwise… that is, if they are invited.”
Arabella tilted her head slightly. “And what is the purpose, beyond spectacle?”
“Speculation,” Cissie replied. “Mystery. Opportunity.” She smiled faintly. “No one is quite who they appear to be, and for one evening, that is not only permitted but encouraged.”
Jane laughed softly. “That sounds like an invitation for disaster.”
“Or discovery,” Cissie countered.
Arabella considered that, her fingers tracing lightly along the edge of her teacup.
“A room where no one is known,” she said slowly. “And yet everyone is observed.”
Cissie inclined her head. “Exactly.”
Jane glanced between them. “You sound as though you approve.”
“I sound,” Arabella said, her gaze drifting toward the open stretch of park beyond them, “as though I am curious.”
Cissie smiled. “That is far more interesting.”
“And you will attend if you receive an invitation?” Jane asked.
Arabella did not answer at once. The thought settled beside everything else she had only just begun to understand.
“Yes,” Arabella said at last, her voice steady. “I believe I shall.”
Cissie’s smile deepened. “Then we must ensure you are very well disguised. All the better to hear what the ton is saying about you if they do not know who they are talking to. ”
Jane shook her head lightly. “I think she may not require it.”
Arabella glanced at her. “Why do you say that?”
Jane hesitated, then smiled. “Because I think you are only just beginning to decide who you wish to be.”
The words lingered.
Arabella held her gaze for a moment, something thoughtful settling behind her expression.
“Perhaps,” she said.
But as she reached once more for her tea, her thoughts had already begun to drift ahead of the moment, drawn not to the conversation at hand but to the quiet anticipation of what was to come. It was Cissie who pulled her back with a sudden brightness.
“Shall we go on to the modiste? Only if to see what she has for the moment, we get our invitations to the masquerade.”
The suggestion was met with immediate enthusiasm, chairs shifting, and parasols gathered. Arabella rose with them, smoothing her skirts as they set off together toward the street, the lightness of the afternoon carrying them forward.