Chapter 13
“To abandon the London Season for Ashwell Park before June is entirely concluded,” Vivienne announced, settling herself against the tufted velvet squabs of the carriage with a sharp, aggrieved sigh, “is an absolute indignity. The dust on this road alone is a calculated assault on my wardrobe. I do not see the possibility of arriving anywhere presentable after such a long and barbaric road. It is a punishment, Mother. A deliberate punishment for some minor crime I have not yet committed.”
Eleanor smoothed the heavy silk of her traveling skirts, her expression set in lines of immovable patience.
“Your father requested our return, Vivienne. Furthermore, it is a perfect opportunity to entertain Lord Ravenswood in a more intimate setting, far away from the relentless interference and gossip of the London ton.”
“There is no audience in the country,” Vivienne muttered, her fingers aggressively picking at the delicate lace trim of her traveling gloves as she stared out the small glass window.
“We are simply dragging an earl to a house surrounded by sheep and excessive foliage. It is entirely a waste of a new Parisian gown. I shall be forced to converse with livestock before the week is out.”
Corinna kept her face turned toward the opposite window, pressing her lips tightly together to trap a smile. She absorbed the familiar litany of complaints with the enduring patience of someone who had twenty years of practice managing her sister’s theatrical temperaments.
The heavy iron wheels of the carriage rattled over the uneven country road, the rhythmic vibration working its way up through the wooden floorboards.
Outside, the gray stone and suffocating coal smoke of the city were slowly giving way to sprawling, vibrant shades of green and gold under the high afternoon sun.
Across the narrow carriage, Arabella sat quietly in the corner seat.
She had not spoken a single word since they crossed the city limits, her hands folded neatly in her lap.
As the tall, imposing buildings of Mayfair faded into rolling hedgerows, Corinna watched the younger girl’s shoulders finally drop a fraction of an inch.
Arabella was watching the city give way to the open road with an expression that looked remarkably like profound relief.
“Do try to look pleasant, Vivienne,” Corinna said mildly, adjusting her own modest traveling cloak. “It is our home, after all. And the gardens will be in full bloom, even if you refuse to acknowledge them.”
“I have no interest in gardens,” Vivienne sniffed, refusing to turn away from the glass.
“Gardens are merely places where plants sit and do nothing of consequence. Plants do not waltz. They do not possess titles. They do not appreciate the nuances of a good gossip. The entire concept of rustic leisure is remarkably tedious.”
Corinna did not bother to argue. She simply watched the reflection of her sister’s face in the glass.
Vivienne’s complaints were loud, but the frantic, tapping rhythm of her kid-leather boot against the floorboards betrayed a deeper anxiety.
The quiet of claustrophobic country life offered no mirrors, no society columns, and no immediate rivals to crush.
Vivienne clearly did not know how to gauge her own consequence in a world devoid of an audience.
An hour into the journey, the road widened, and the dense clusters of houses vanished entirely. The landscape opened into a sweeping patchwork of fields that stretched toward a soft, hazy horizon. The air inside the carriage grew warm and stuffy under the afternoon sun.
Vivienne’s complaints gradually lost their sharp edge, melting into a continuous, low murmur of general discontent, until a new thought seemed to strike her restless mind.
“And that woman,” Vivienne suddenly announced, her voice snapping back to its usual piercing volume.
Corinna blinked, pulling her attention away from a passing copse of trees where a hawk was circling.
“That French woman at Lady Winthrop’s,” Vivienne clarified, her pale blue eyes narrowing into dangerous slits.
“Cecily Vane. Did you see the way she attached herself to the earl’s arm in front of the entire assembly?
It was positively indecent. A woman behaving so aggressively is entirely without dignity.
She pursued him like a hawk after a hare. ”
Corinna watched her sister’s chest heave with indignation. The tap of Vivienne’s boot resumed its frantic pace against the floor.
Arabella listened to the outburst without a word, her gaze fixed entirely on the lace of her own gloves. Then she took a quiet, steadying breath.
“I believe Miss Vane was once very close to the household,” Arabella said carefully.
The quiet, measured voice startled the rest of the carriage. Vivienne stopped tapping her boot instantly. Eleanor looked up from her skirts with mild surprise.
Arabella stared down at her folded hands, her knuckles turning stark white against the dark fabric. “I understand there was an understanding between them, once. And that it ended very badly, and hurt him deeply.”
Both sisters turned to stare at her. Vivienne leaned forward instantly, the ostrich feather in her traveling bonnet quivering like a hound catching a scent.
“What understanding?” Vivienne demanded, her voice dropping into an eager, sharp hush. “What do you mean, it hurt him? Was the earl heartbroken?”
Arabella’s head snapped up. The color drained completely from her face, leaving her cheeks pale and her eyes wide with sudden panic. Her gaze darted toward Corinna, then back to Vivienne, realizing a second too late what she had just let slip.
“Forgive me,” Arabella said quickly, the words stumbling over one another in a rushed, breathless scramble.
“I meant Julian. His companion. Mr. Marsh. They were all acquainted in Paris. I did not mean to suggest that Lord Ravenswood was involved with her. I only meant that her presence is a difficult reminder for his secretary. That is all.”
Vivienne stared at Arabella for a long, heavy second, processing the hasty explanation. Then her expression cleared completely. She leaned back against the velvet cushions with a dismissive wave of her hand, her interest vanishing as quickly as it had appeared, entirely satisfied by the correction.
“A secretary’s romantic history,” Vivienne scoffed, closing her eyes against the sunlight. “How terribly mundane. For a moment, I thought you were about to reveal an actual scandal involving our guest of honor.”
Corinna said nothing. She remained perfectly still, pressing her shoulders back against the squabs.
Her stomach drew into a tight knot that absolutely refused to release.
They knew each other in Paris, she thought, her mind racing back to the suffocating heat of Lady Winthrop’s drawing room.
She remembered the way Cecily Vane had looked at Mr. Marsh.
She remembered the rigid, terrifying stillness in the secretary’s broad shoulders, and the way he had stepped between Cecily and the table like a soldier bracing for an attack.
A wealthy, titled earl and a plain-spoken secretary, both deeply entangled with a dangerous, expensive woman from the continent.
Within half an hour, Vivienne fell asleep against the carriage window, as she always did on long journeys, her bonnet resting awkwardly against the glass. Eleanor dozed quietly beside her, the rhythmic sway of the carriage lulling her into a light, peaceful sleep.
The carriage rolled steadily onward. The road hummed a constant, low rhythm beneath them.
Arabella shifted in her seat. She glanced across the narrow space, her brown eyes meeting Corinna’s with careful intent.
“I did not want to upset you,” Arabella said quietly, keeping her voice just above a whisper so as not to wake the sleeping women.
“You did not upset me,” Corinna replied evenly, keeping her gaze level. “I do not know what you mean.”
Arabella looked at her steadily for a long moment. There was no judgment in the younger girl’s face, only a quiet, unnerving clarity.
“I have watched you together these past weeks,” Arabella said softly. “You and Mr. Marsh.”
Corinna stiffened, her fingers curling tightly into the heavy fabric of her cloak. “There is nothing to watch.”
“There is something between you that words do not seem adequate to describe,” Arabella continued, her gentle voice completely unyielding. “I only wanted you to know that I have seen it. And that I think you should not let fear decide what happens next.”
Corinna looked out the window at the passing fields and said nothing. The tight knot in her stomach shifted into something else entirely—something far more complicated, and infinitely less comfortable. It felt dangerously close to hope, tangled up with a paralyzing fear of the unknown.
She sees it, Corinna thought, her pulse hammering in her throat. She sees the way I look at him. She sees the way he looks at me. And she is telling me not to run from it.
They stopped at a posting inn mid-afternoon to rest the horses and take refreshment.
Vivienne descended from the carriage with a loud, theatrical sigh and immediately redirected her considerable grievance at the man in the velvet coat waiting on the cobblestones.
“The road has been an absolute trial,” she complained, glaring at the dusty courtyard. “The dust has ruined the hem of this pelisse, and the carriage suspension is entirely inadequate for a journey of this length. I feel as though my bones have been rearranged.”
Julian and Mr. Marsh had already swung down from their horses by the time the carriage rolled to a stop, the two of them stamping the road dust from their boots near the inn’s entrance.
Julian stepped forward, managing her with practiced, flawless patience. “I shall ensure a private parlor and a fresh pot of tea are secured immediately,” he said smoothly, offering Vivienne his arm and steering her toward the inn’s entrance.