Chapter 24
The following morning brought relief, though Arabella knew better than to examine it too closely. She allowed herself to be carried along by the promise she had made the previous day, grateful for something ordinary to occupy her thoughts.
Shopping with Cissie and Jane required no delicate consideration, no careful weighing of words, no scrutiny of her own heart. It was a simple plan, and for once, simplicity felt merciful.
Bond Street was already lively when their carriage drew to a halt, the pavement busy with ladies and gentlemen moving from one shopfront to another.
Sunlight glanced off polished glass, illuminating bolts of silk and ribbons arranged with calculated charm.
The cheer of it felt borrowed, but Arabella was willing to borrow whatever she could.
Arabella stepped down with care, smoothing her gloves into place, and turned just as Jane nearly collided with her in her eagerness to be free of the carriage.
“You are late,” Jane said without heat, though her eyes flicked once, quick and measuring.
“I slept badly,” Arabella admitted, then smiled before either of them could worry over it. “But I mean to recover in the presence of ribbons and impractical expense.”
“I refuse to spend the entire morning being sensible,” Jane declared, tugging at bonnet ribbons that had already lost their discipline. “If I am to be ignored, I should at least look very fine while it happens.”
Cissie laughed softly and slipped her arm through Jane’s. “You are not ignored. You simply choose to hide behind your brothers and then complain when no one dares approach you. It is a contradiction you seem quite content to maintain.”
“I do not hide,” Jane protested, rather unconvincingly. “They simply… arrive. All four of them, looming as though I were a prize to be guarded. No gentleman would willingly face such a gauntlet.”
Arabella smiled before she thought to stop herself. The ease between them had crept in quietly. “Then perhaps the solution is to appear without them.”
Jane gave her a look of exaggerated horror. “Alone? You might as well suggest I stand in the middle of the ballroom and announce my availability.”
“That would certainly solve the difficulty,” Cissie murmured, her tone dry. “Though it might create several others.”
Arabella hesitated before they moved into the first shop together. Not long enough for either woman to remark upon it, but long enough for her to feel the pause herself.
The bell above the door chimed as they entered.
Inside, the air smelled faintly of lavender and starch, the walls lined with fabrics in every shade imaginable.
A shopgirl approached with a practiced smile, but Jane had already abandoned courtesy for a display of gowns, her earlier complaints temporarily forgotten.
“It’s too pretty,” Jane said, and then, after a beat, “which is precisely the problem.”
“What do you mean?” Cissie asked, coming up behind her to inspect the offending silk.
“I do not understand it,” Jane said after a moment, holding pale blue silk against herself before abandoning it with a sigh. “Even if I find the most beautiful dress, it will make no difference. I shall still stand there while every gentleman chooses someone else to admire.”
“You say that as though admiration is the only measure of success,” Arabella replied gently, though she understood the sentiment more than she wished to admit.
“It is not the only measure,” Jane conceded, “but it is a rather obvious one. I should like, for once, to be noticed without the assistance of my brothers’ interference.”
Cissie glanced at her with sympathy. “You think too much of what others see, Jane. I would gladly exchange places with you if I could. My difficulty lies in being seen far too often and by far too many.”
Jane turned, surprised. “You would not.”
“I would,” Cissie insisted, her voice quiet but certain. “You have not endured my mother’s observations, or my aunt deciding that one glance from a gentleman deserves the same attention as a treaty.”
Arabella watched them with quiet interest. Jane wanted attention without guardianship attached to it, while Cissie seemed ready to bargain away attention altogether. Their honesty should have made Arabella feel like an outsider. Instead, it made the room feel safer.
“And you?” Jane asked suddenly, turning to Arabella with curiosity. “You have been very quiet. Surely you have some grievance to share, if only to complete the picture.”
Arabella hesitated, her fingers brushing over a length of fabric without truly seeing it. She had not intended to speak of it—not here, not now. Yet the openness between them drew something from her that she had kept carefully contained.
“Mine is rather less tidy,” she said, lowering her voice. “There was an understanding between my husband and me when we married.”
Cissie’s attention sharpened, though her expression remained kind. “An understanding?”
“A practical one,” Arabella said. “We married because it was sensible. There were expectations attached to that, of course, but affection was not among the terms.”
Jane lowered the gown she had been holding, her usual animation tempered by interest. “And is that still what you want?”
Arabella considered the question, the answer less straightforward than it once might have been. “It was, at the outset. It provided clarity and a sense of independence I had not expected to value so greatly. But circumstances change, and with them… one’s perspective.”
Cissie studied her for a moment. “You speak as though you are no longer certain it is enough.”
“I am not certain of much,” Arabella admitted, before caution could improve the answer. “Only that pretending nothing has changed is beginning to feel dishonest.”
Jane stepped closer, her earlier worries forgotten entirely. “Then you must speak with him. You cannot expect matters to resolve themselves if you do not give voice to them.”
Cissie nodded in agreement. “Jane is right. Whatever understanding you had, it was made under different circumstances. If your feelings have changed, he ought to know it.”
Arabella drew a slow breath, the suggestion both simple and daunting. “I know you are correct. I have told myself as much already. It is only… the manner of it. I do not know how to begin.”
“You begin badly, probably,” Cissie said, gentler than the words suggested. “And then you keep speaking until the truth begins to sound less impossible.”
Arabella inclined her head, grateful for their steadiness. “I will consider how best to do so.”
She meant to thank them. She even drew breath to do it, but the words thinned before they reached her tongue. At first, it was only a fleeting lightness, something she attributed to the warmth of the shop and the press of bodies around them. She shifted her weight, hoping it would pass. It did not.
“Arabella?” Jane’s voice cut through the haze. “You have gone quite pale.”
“I am perfectly well,” Arabella replied, though the reassurance felt thin even to her own ears. The room tilted slightly, the edges of her vision blurring in a way that was impossible to ignore.
Cissie was at her side at once, her hand firm on Arabella’s arm. “You are not. Sit down at once.”
Arabella attempted to protest, but the words dissolved as her knees threatened to give way. She allowed herself to be guided to a nearby chair, the movement unsteady despite her efforts to maintain composure.
“Water,” Jane said, already turning toward the counter. “We must have water.”
The shopgirl hurried to comply while Cissie remained close, her voice low and soothing. “Do not try to stand. It will pass.”
Arabella closed her eyes briefly, willing the dizziness to recede. Instead, it intensified, a wave of nausea accompanying it that left her breathless.
“Make space,” a firm voice instructed from somewhere nearby, cutting through the confusion with quiet authority.
Arabella did not immediately recognize it. Her focus narrowed to the effort of remaining upright—Jane returning with water, Cissie steady at her side.
“Take a small sip,” the voice continued, closer now. “Slowly.”
She obeyed without thinking. The coolness grounded her slightly. The dizziness began, at last, to ebb, though it left her weak in its wake.
Only then did she become aware of who stood beside them. Lord Covington inclined his head, his expression composed, though marked by something she could not immediately name.
“I beg your pardon,” he said, the apology quiet enough that she nearly missed it.
She knew him before she fully looked at him. Her body recognized the discomfort first.
The dizziness had not fully left her, though it had dulled enough that the room no longer spun quite so violently.
She remained seated, her gloved hands loosely clasped in her lap, while Cissie hovered at one side and Jane stood just beyond, watching her with a kind of anxious vigilance that made Arabella feel more fragile than she wished to appear.
Lord Covington did not step back. “I wondered when chance would grow bored of avoiding us.”
He had positioned himself just close enough to be useful without appearing intrusive, though the distinction felt thinner now that Arabella’s awareness had returned in full.
“You give chance too much credit,” Arabella said, her voice steadier than she felt. “It rarely bothers with intention.”
His gaze remained fixed on her, attentive in a way that might have been mistaken for concern by anyone less familiar with him.
“And who might this gentleman be?” Cissie asked, her tone defensive, though carefully polite.
“Lord Covington,” Arabella said. The name came out level. The rest of her did not.
“You should not have been left standing so long,” he said, his voice low, as though the fault lay somewhere beyond her.
Arabella lifted her eyes to him, drawing her composure back into place piece by piece. “I was not left standing, my lord. I chose to be so.”