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Arabella did wish there was a way for those worry lines across her brow to be erased for good, as well as the deep smudges of exhaustion under her eyes, which stood out in stark contrast against her pale skin. But Caroline maintained that her family came first, and she would not rest until they were all grown and settled. With her youngest brother, Will, at ten years of age, there was a long time before that could come to pass.
They took one step outside the front door when Caroline stopped. “Do you smell that?”
She did. The faint acrid smell of cheroot smoke.
Caroline sprinted to the back garden, and Arabella waited and listened.
“Jacob Reeve, what did I tell you about such a vile habit? Besides, we haven’t any extra money to spare for you to smoke a penny away at your leisure!”
“Aw, Caro, you’re no fun at all.” Jacob laughed. “Besides, I nicked it, so don’t worry about the cost.”
“Nickedit—oh, Jacob!” Their voices disappeared with the slam of the back door, then Caroline came sailing out through the front again.
“That boy will be the death of me,” she said, color high on her cheeks as they set off across town to the Martins’ house. She sucked in a deep breath. “But tonight I wish to put the worry of every Reeve behind me.”
“This will be a nice evening,” Arabella said, darting a look at Caroline’s face. It warmed her heart to see her face ease into a smile. “The Martins always set out a lovely supper.”
The Martins belonged to a respectable younger branch of an earl’s family, having settled in Inverley two generations ago. They had built the largest estate in the area, nestled beside the cliffs overlooking the sea.
Caroline laughed. “It’s rare enough that you or I get to enjoy it. I’m sure we were invited with such last-minute notice to even the numbers for their card tables, now that their son is home for the summer. Mr. Martin’s desire for whist trumps the usual order of things, does it not?”
With unspoken agreement born from long habit, they crossed the lane and took the shorter route to the Martins’ house by walking along the beach. It was cool by the water, and Caroline shivered. Arabella pulled the thin wool shawl from her own shoulders and tossed it to Caroline. She would prefer to feel the chill all night than see Caroline in even one moment’s discomfort.
Caroline sighed in relief and rubbed her hands up her shawl-wrapped arms. All Arabella wanted was to be wrapped up inside the shawl with her.
She swallowed. This way lay dangerous thoughts indeed.
Arabella’s feet faltered as they approached the house, and she had to force herself through the door. The reason for her reluctance were standing in the parlor. Mr. James Martin was a Corinthian and the eldest of the Martin brothers, overly proud of his high collars and groomed sideburns and skin-tight tan trousers. He also had a fondness for what he deemed to be little witticisms, which were less than witty and more than mean-spirited.
“Miss Arabella Seton is here to grace us with her presence,” James drawled, then dropped his quizzing glass. “Butgraceis hardly the word I am looking for, is it?”
His voice was low enough that his parents couldn’t hear him, but Arabella felt her cheeks burn.
Caroline glared at him. “I see London hasn’t improved your manners. Do recall that we are all respectable adults but I still remember your days in shortcoats. We have known you too long.”
He winked at her. “ ‘Age cannot wither her, nor custom stale her infinite variety.’ You are indeed a treasure, Caroline. I am alwaysdelighted to see you. You are as beautiful as ever, and you know how I value beauty.”
She touched Arabella’s arm to steer her toward their hosts, Mr. and Mrs. Martin, and Arabella concentrated on the warmth of her fingers. “Thank you,” she murmured, and slid her spectacles up. She wished she had the courage to throw such retorts around, but was grateful that Caroline was always there for her.
“I swear James exists to torment us,” she said with a shake of her head. “Flirting with me, and making sport of you. Wretched man.”
After making the round of greetings and introductions, for the Martins had invited a variety of early arrivals to Inverley to their party, Arabella and Caroline were led to their card table.
Arabella bumped into the table before sitting down and her face flamed again as she recalled James’s slight, but she pushed it out of her mind and turned her attention to the women already seated with them.
“Welcome to Inverley,” she said, while studying the quality of their gowns to try to determine whether she would be able to interest them into purchasing a painting.
Miss Maeve Balfour’s dress was made of fashionable silk the color of champagne, and she wore lacy black gloves that Arabella greatly admired. She was beautiful, with rosy-red lips, coal black hair piled high on her head, and a smattering of freckles across her nose and cheeks. Promising for her pocketbook, though Arabella feared her tastes were too expensive for what she could offer.
Miss Grace Linfield wore a simple pink gown that was fetching against her light brown curls, but which spoke of no significant income or pin money. She had a long oval face and a serene smile.
“My mother insisted on visiting for the summer,” Miss Balfour said. “She is on an eternal search for relief from megrims, and we have tried many such watering holes—Brighton, Margate, Sidmouth, and now…Inverley.”
“The waters here are reckoned to be quite good,” Arabella said. “I hope your mother benefits from her time here.”
“Oh, nothing pleases her,” she said. “We have come all the way from Ireland to England in search of help with no end in sight, and Ihave started to wonder if my dear Mama perhaps wishes to spend my stepfather’s coin without the bother of his presence.”
Arabella blinked. This was plain speaking indeed.
