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Arabella squeezed her hand. “How is Jacob?”
“Sulking in his rooms. But I cannot blame him. He has lost everything.”
“He must be devastated. Is there anything he can do?”
Caroline squared her shoulders. Though she was dressed in a muslin frock, with pins in her hair and dance slippers on her feet, she felt like a general about to go to war. “There is not much that Jacob can do. We have nothing, Bell. I need to refocus all my attention on making sure Betsy and Susan are provided for. There’s only one way left that I can try to provide for them.”
Arabella went very still. “You would—marry?”
Despair clawed at her throat, but she swallowed the words that she wanted to say. “If I must.”
She felt brittle, as if she could blow away in the breeze coming in through the windows.
“You’re not alone in this,” Arabella said, reaching for her hand. “You haveme.”
That glow on her face pained Caroline to the core. “My dear, it’s not enough,” she said, and moved her hand away. Arabella’s face dropped and her shoulder slumped. “If my brothers and sisters cannot settle themselves because they fall into one scrape after another, thenit is up to me to see us all respectably arranged again. I must set it all to rights.”
“But—”
“There is no but. Our name depends on my success.”
“You don’t have to sacrifice yourself for your family! You would be miserable married to a man.”
Arabella wasn’t looking at her anymore. Caroline knew from long habit that it was because she couldn’t conceal her emotions, so she was staring into the sea of dancers, her bosom rising and falling with shallow breaths.
Caroline reached out and tipped her chin to turn it toward her. “Bell, it’s what I must do. I must endure unhappiness for their sake.”
Arabella’s eyes were luminous and her face was splotched with red.
A gentleman approached them, and Caroline steeled herself to admit that she was free for whichever set he wished to dance.
To her surprise—he was here for Arabella.
“Miss Seton, the portraitist!” He bowed and then kissed her hand. “I so admired your work when I saw you on the beach last week.”
“Oh yes, Mr. Williams. I do remember you stopping by to chat.” Arabella shot a look at Caroline, who knew perfectly well what she meant by it.
As per the spinsters’ agreement, Caroline should dissuade him from asking Arabella to dance. But she hesitated.
“Dare I hope that you are free for a dance, Miss Seton?”
Arabella fidgeted with her fan. She took her time before replying, but was forced to when Caroline said nothing. “I suppose I am.”
This was different from thwarting unwanted advances. Arabella had a business to run. This gentleman could become a customer and could recommend her artwork to his friends. Arabella deserved the chance to grow her success where she could.
Arabella and Mr. Williams joined the dancers, but it was Caroline’s mind that whirled round and round.
It was wonderful to see Arabella being appreciated. But a spark of jealousy flared inside her. After all, she had always appreciated Arabella. Everything about her, in fact, from her talents, to her warmth, to her sweet nature.
In fact, she more than appreciated Arabella.
She loved her.
Lovewas the name of this half-sick agony that had her clenching her hands as she watched Arabella in a man’s arms.
Love had been growing on her all summer, as slow, tenacious, and unnoticeable as a barnacle beneath a ship’s prow.
Now she was deep in its throes, and it was too late to do anything about it.
