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“It sells more paintings,” Caroline said, shrugging.
“I don’t want my work to sell based on sensationalism. I want them to sell because they’re good art.” She was staring down at her work, her shoulders hunched up, and Caroline was surprised to see how upset she was.
“I’m sorry, Bell. I thought the whole point was to generate income.”
“Yes, that’s the goal. But I want my work tomatter.”
Caroline felt a jolt of uncertainty. How had she missed how much her painting meant to Arabella? She had always known her to be passionate about her art. How many times had she lain in the grass on the bluffs and stared up at the sky while Arabella stabbed her brush at her easel, back in their childhood days?
But she had thought now that Arabella was an adult, the paintings were a simple means to an end.
“You’re right. It does matter,” Caroline said quietly. “Your work is excellent.” She meant it. She had always loved looking at Arabella’s paintings.
“Any accomplished young lady can do as much, if not more.” Her voice was stiff, and she was still gazing down at the thick paper instead of looking at Caroline, so she knew she had made a grave error. “It’s not like proper art. Like oil paintings.”
Caroline glanced out the window to make sure that no visitors were on their way in, then stepped over to Arabella and took her hands in her own, reveling in her touch despite the barrier of their gloves. “Your work is full of charm and spirit and color. When I look at the seascapes, it’s like I’m standing right there at the shore. And most importantly—what you do makes peoplehappy. Did you see the look on that woman’s face when she purchased the painting? She was full of joy. You’re a wonderful artist.”
She grasped Arabella’s face in her hands, slowly stroking her thumbs along her cheeks, then dipped her head down and kissed her. There was desire in the way that they moved against each other—she felt the heat of it in her blood, and the urgency between her thighs—but there was so much more. Caroline felt the sweetness of it flood through her body. Behind the touch of their lips lay the years of caring for each other, the knowledge of each other at their core.
Caroline broke away. “That was an apology kiss. Between friends. All the rage in…um, France.”
Any excuse would do at this point, no matter how silly or how thinly veiled. But they were going to have to do something about this. And soon.
Arabella squeezed her hands, then pulled away, pink flooding her cheeks.
“Were you on a morning walk through town?” she asked, busying herself again with making sure the room was neat and tidy for the next round of visitors.
“Will missed the cats,” Caroline confessed, relieved that they weren’t looking so intensely at one another.
Arabella laughed, and the tension in her shoulders eased. “Shelley has been meowing in your garden every morning, looking for you all.”
Will came in, carrying Shelley close to his chest.
Arabella smiled at him. “Would you like to bring Shelley on a nice long visit to your new home to help you get settled in?”
Caroline started. It was a generous gesture. But then why was she surprised? It was typical of Arabella to be so kind.
“Won’t he miss Byron?” Will asked, but his eyes were big and shining and he clutched Shelley tighter.
Arabella shook her head. “If he doesn’t like it with you, then he is always welcome to come back here. After all, your sisters named the cats, and they have belonged almost as much to your household as they have mine over the years.”
“Thank you,” Caroline said as they got ready to leave. She tried to put all of the meaning into it that she could, but words didn’t seem like enough, so she squeezed her hand and hoped that could help convey the depth of her gratitude.
“It’s a big adjustment for them, isn’t it?” Arabella asked softly. “For Jacob and the girls, it’s a madcap adventure and a dream come true. But for Will and George, it’s the upheaval of all they’ve known.”
How was it that Arabella saw it so clearly, when Caroline was struggling to make sense of it all?
But she was always a sensitive soul. Arabella was always there to help, always ready with a kind word or action. It had taken her time away from being her neighbor to realize how precious that was.
She was quiet on the walk back to the townhouse, Will chattering her ear off as he held the wicker basket which contained the plaintively meowling cat.
When they arrived at the townhouse, all was in total pandemonium. Two wagons were outside, a burly man was demanding payment from one of her footmen, and Caroline could hear arguing from the open front door.
Inside the house, Susan squealed when she saw Shelley streak out of the basket. She nabbed him and nuzzled her face into his orange fur. “My favorite poet,” she crooned. “Oh, Caroline, how wonderful!”
“What’s going on?” Caroline demanded.
“George has managed to have a spot of fun, is all.”
