Page 36 of A Wallflower for the Disguised Earl

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.”