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“Keep it,” she said softly. “For the shop. I used to owe you every week for groceries and you were always so good about it.”
“Bah, we don’t need charity. Shop’s doing all right for itself.”
But she closed his fist over the coin and he gave her a gruff thank you.
“There aren’t enough partners for dancing right now,” Mrs. Elmaleh said apologetically. “There are six couples tonight, but they are paired up already.”
Caroline looked at Arabella. “Perhaps—well—could we not dance together?”
Mrs. Elmaleh laughed. “Why yes, you might as well! Not enough men for dancing now that war has taken so many away from us, so why not take your turn where you may. Off with you now.”
Caroline had always enjoyed dancing but hadn’t realized what fun it would be to swing Arabella around the room. It took a moment for them to establish who would lead and who would dip, but after a few minutes of laughter, they found a rhythm. It was satisfying beyondall measure to stomp and twirl and clap their hands together in the country dances that either of them had only danced before with men. It was wonderful to laugh and shout on each other’s arms, almost as comfortable as they were in their own home.
Mrs. Rivendell was cutting generous slices of her famous peach pie, and Caroline’s mouth watered. A helping of pie baked by a dear neighbor was heaven in comparison to the fancy jelly that graced her dessert table too often these days. There were shouts and cries of delight when Mr. Brown tucked away his fiddle and slyly pulled a bottle of French brandy from his satchel. Caroline found herself sharing a dram from a chipped teacup with Arabella, as there weren’t enough cups to go around for everyone.
Caroline grabbed the teacup and took a sip. “Jacob thinks he’s clever by hiding an extra bottle of brandy in the back garden. I have been enjoying a lovely drink now and again when Betsy gets too out of hand.”
Arabella laughed. “Your brothers and sisters are never dull,” she said, and snagged the cup to take another drink of her own.
Once upon a time, an evening like this had been the highlight of her life. She drank from the teacup again. Caroline didn’t want it to end. She wanted to engrave each step and smile and laugh in her memory so she could carry it with her forever.
“Do you miss it?” Arabella asked softly.
She blinked, having lost her train of thought. “Miss what?”
“Do you miss your life before wealth changed everything?”
“Yes,” she said, and the enormity of it hit her. How was Arabella so insightful? She hadn’t admitted it even to herself. “It was easier before. We might have riches now, but in so many ways this inheritance is nothing more than a wealth of inconvenience.” She blinked back tears that threatened to spill. “Shall we go back to dancing? If Mr. Brown tires not with his fiddle—and he must be seventy if he’s a day—then how should we be too tired to dance again?”
If Caroline never stopped dancing, then she wouldn’t have to think, and if she didn’t think, then she couldn’t worry.
The result was that she ended up dancing with Arabella for three sets in a row.
“If I were a man, we would be considered engaged right now,” Arabella said with a laugh. “Shall I ask your brother for your hand tomorrow?”
Caroline’s breath caught. Perhaps it was the warmth of the brandy running through her veins, but oh, how she wished it were possible! It was agony knowing that it was something they could never have. Such a simple thing to arrange between two people—if those two people were one man and one woman.
Caroline laughed, though it hurt. “All of this between us is a dream, isn’t it?”
“It’s not a dream,” Arabella said, her face set. “It’s simply that it’s private. Just for us.”
“I want more than that.”
“So do I,” she said softly. “But that isn’t what is given to us to have.”
* * *
Near the end of the night, Arabella followed Caroline downstairs past the stockroom and through the back door. Arabella sat down on the wooden stair, tipping her head back and gulping in the cool night air to soothe her throat, raw from brandy and aching from shouting her conversations above the din of the fiddle. Her dress was damp with sweat, and she was giddy from drink.
Even from downstairs, she could hear the thumping of shoes and boots as the fiddle played on and the dancing continued. She was relieved to have a break from the pell-mell party to focus on the crash of the waves and the stillness of the night around them.
Caroline slid down beside her, and Arabella leaned her head against her shoulder. “The stars are beautiful tonight.”
They were twinkling sharp and brilliant in the deep black night. But tonight when Arabella looked up into the starlight, she felt overwhelmed by their terrifying beauty. It made her feel afraid. Small and alone. She shifted closer to Caroline and received a kiss to the top of her head.
“I’m right here.”
Of course she was. Caroline knew all her fears, great and small. She knew every trivial like and dislike. And she was always a shoulder to lean on.
