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Arabella looked down at her work in progress, then at the stack of finished paintings on the table. How many would she need to sell to have enough money to leave her brother’s house before the babe was born?
Did even thinking about it make her a terrible sister?
She was terribly afraid that it did.
But October was a long way away. There was time enough to worry about that later. After all, what was the point to dwell on something upsetting when there wasn’t anything to be done about it now? It was far better to focus on putting away her paints and getting ready for the party at the Martins’ tonight.
With Caroline.
Ah, Caroline.
Shewas never a source of unhappy thoughts. Except, of course, for the single unhappiest thought of all of Arabella’s life—the undeniable, shocking truth, which could never be spoken aloud.
Arabella was in love with her.
It was a forbidden type of love that could never, ever be returned.
Caroline would be horrified if she ever learned of her true feelings. Any decent woman would be, Arabella had concluded long ago, miserable at the thought that she suffered such unnatural desires.
But it didn’t feel unnatural, despite the hushed and horrified murmurs that accompanied any mention of such things.
Instead, it felt…lovely.
Beautiful.
Perfect.
If only her love could be returned, Arabella thought she might be the happiest person in Inverley.
It was too bad for her that it was impossible.
Chapter Ten
The next two weeks were a whirlwind.
Lady Margaret may have proven to be a ditherer and a gossiper. But she also proved to be a source of encouragement that Caroline hadn’t anticipated. Every morning, Mr. Taylor walked Lady Margaret to the townhouse where she beamed at Betsy and Susan through etiquette lessons and advice on decorum, all the while rhapsodizing about the men they could expect to have on their knees by the end of the tedium. It was more than enough to make both girls behave.
They learned the different depths of curtsies appropriate to rank, which spoon to use for soup, and how best to stifle a sneeze in company.
Dresses and shoes and fripperies were delivered in droves, to the extent that Susan’s bedchamber resembled nothing more than a shop than a bedchamber. Clothing was piled high on every available surface and bulging from the wardrobe. Caroline sought out Susan and Betsy, who were arguing in the back parlor over the correct address for a duke in the admittedly long odds that one might appear in Inverley and be smitten with one of them.
“Susan, what is happening in your bedchamber?” Caroline asked.
Susan grinned. “Isn’t it wonderful? Our wardrobe shall be the envy of all.”
“But your room is now so filled with everything from fans to umbrellas that you have nowhere to lay your head at night.”
She shrugged. “Betsy and I shared a room together at the old house, and we decided we could make do again here. After all, the rooms here are ever so much bigger. It’s well worth it to have the extra storage for our fine things.”
“You’ll never have time to wear them all.”
“Yes, we will,” Betsy said indignantly. She poured the contents of her reticule onto the table. “Look at all of our subscription tokens.” She picked up a handful and let the stamped metal circles and crisp printed cards slip through her fingers. “We have enough for a full summer’s worth of entertainments—the lending library, the music hall, the theater, and the promenade. I calculated how many events we could possibly squeeze in, and purchased a change of outfits for each one.”
“One outfitper event?” Caroline reeled at the expense.
“I think I was quite frugal, if anything. Why have money if not to spend it?”
Caroline had no reply to that.
