Chapter Thirty
P
A local family, the Nappers, called the next day. Arabella watched them all, once more uncertain of her place.
Mater chatted amiably with Mrs. Napper. Dr. Scorseby found in Mr. Napper a fellow science-minded gentleman.
Charlie, who had once again been carried down from his bedchamber, seemed particularly pleased to see the younger daughters, something Artemis apparently found particularly ridiculous.
Linus took great pains to interact with the oldest Miss Napper, a lady likely only a bit younger than Arabella, who did not seem to be putting any true effort into capturing Linus’s interest.
She was quiet and appeared a little uncomfortable.
Indeed, the more Arabella watched her, the more familiar the lady became, not because they were acquainted but because she saw so much of herself in Miss Napper.
Quiet. Reserved. A bit out of place amongst the people with whom she associated. In need of a friend and a kind word.
And Linus was showing her attention and cordiality. Just as he did for Arabella when she most needed it. She knew compassion was part of his nature; it was one of the things she loved best about him. But certainly that was not all he felt for her?
How was she, who struggled to understand the minutia of interactions and relationships, supposed to be certain of Linus’s feelings for her if he offered such contradictory versions of those feelings?
I am so confused.
“Mr. Lancaster, you should play your lyre for us,” Mater said. “I so enjoyed the music last evening. The Nappers would as well; I am certain.”
“My amateur efforts hardly deserve such praise.”
“Do play for us,” the eldest Miss Napper said. “I would enjoy hearing the lyre. It is not an instrument with which I am very familiar.”
He offered an amused smile, the one that always set Arabella’s heart flipping around in her chest. But it was not directed at her. Miss Napper was the recipient.
Arabella looked away. She did not like these feelings of doubt, but she didn’t know how to rid herself of them.
The Nappers were shifting about, switching seats and rearranging their positions.
When Mrs. Napper vacated the chair nearest Mater, Arabella took advantage of the opening.
She would feel better situated near the lady who came so close to being a mother to her.
And Charlie sat on the sofa on the other side of the chair Arabella took.
She would be flanked by Jonquils. A person couldn’t help but feel safe in such a position.
The younger Misses Napper had moved to surround their sister. They were whispering and fluttering whilst their oldest sister simply smiled quietly. Mrs. Napper, now sitting nearer the fire, met her husband’s eye. They exchanged pointed, knowing looks.
“Mr. Lancaster is very indulgent,” Mater said to Arabella.
“He does like to play the lyre. I don’t imagine he needs a great deal of convincing to do so.”
“Especially since Miss Napper seemed keen on hearing him play,” Charlie added.
Despite her wariness to receive a further explanation, Arabella looked to him for one, praying it proved innocuous.
“We had dinner with the Nappers the night before—” Charlie motioned to his broken legs.
“Before Mr. Lancaster pushed you off a roof,” Arabella finished for him.
Charlie laughed. “You’re funnier than I remember you.”
“Mr. Lancaster is shocked that the lot of you don’t think I am endlessly hilarious. He, apparently, has thought so from the very beginning.”
“Maybe he’s just more observant than the rest of us,” Charlie said.
Mater’s brow pulled in an expression of pondering. “I don’t believe that’s it.”
Charlie shrugged. “I don’t know if he thinks Miss Napper is hilarious. At the dinner we had at their home, Linus talked to almost no one other than her. He was so persistent, so determined to hold her attention.”
“She seems a little timid,” Mater said.
Charlie nodded. “And he seems a little interested.”
Linus returned with his lyre and set himself down in the midst of them.
He had the eldest Miss Napper’s full attention.
He strummed the strings a moment, just as he’d done the night before.
The tune he played first was the one he’d begun with the previous evening.
The second and third were familiar as well.
Then he played her song, the one about walking, the one that had set her heart to fluttering.
He had looked at her as he’d played, his expression warm and personal, at least it had seemed so to her.
He wasn’t doing so now, but neither was he looking at anyone else.
As the tune ended, Miss Napper declared herself quite thoroughly impressed. Linus declared himself pleased that she approved.
Arabella’s heart sank. His music the night before had touched her. His declaration that the song he’d chosen for her had, indeed, been for her had swelled in her. She’d felt special, important, noticed. She still believed it, and yet . . .
It was all very confusing and a touch overwhelming.
She rose. With a quick quarter smile of apology, she made her excuses to Mater, insisting her long walk had left her weary.
She’d gone no farther than the corridor directly beyond the sitting room door when Dr. Scorseby caught up with her. She’d all but forgotten he had joined the gathering.
“Miss Hampton, are you feeling unwell?” His assessing gaze swept over her, taking stock of her condition.
“I am only in need of a brief moment to lie down,” she told the doctor.
His brow pulled low. “Are you certain? I cannot like the idea of you feeling unwell, not if I might be able to alleviate some of that suffering.”
His solicitous treatment of her served as something of a balm in that moment. “I thank you for your concern and kindness. I really do need nothing more than a bit of quiet.”
He nodded, not pressing her, though he clearly disbelieved her minimizing of her suffering. “I hope we will see you at dinner.”
“I am certain I will be feeling quite well by then.” She fully intended to have herself sorted out enough by then to return.
He offered a bow and she a curtsey, and they parted.
She slipped into the quiet sanctuary of the room she had been assigned, a peaceful, tranquil bedchamber draped in sheer white. She had loved it from the moment she’d stepped inside, yet it seemed to have lost some of its soothing ability. Her mind and heart, she feared, were too burdened.
Life had afforded her so few opportunities to truly come to understand people and relationships. Every hope she had harbored for a connection as a child had ended with four simple words: Family stays with family.
The only thing she knew with absolute certainty was that sometimes, no matter the closeness she might feel to someone, there was simply not a place for her. It was not an easy lesson to unlearn.