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She watched Arabella dance, the candlelight shining on her face and glinting off her spectacles, and wanted to weep for the loss of what she had just learned that she had.
How was it that all these weeks had been wasted in flirtation and lovemaking, and not enough time spent in putting the truth of her heart to words? Arabella had been right. They hadn’t spent enough time talking about things that mattered most.
She wanted to pour her heart out now.
She wanted to rage against the future of money and marriage and misery.
She wanted to throw herself between Arabella and Mr. Williams and declare herself to be Arabella’s lover, to claim her for her own.
She wanted to tell her family to find their own solution to their troubles.
But she couldn’t.
Why had she jettisoned her chances for success during all these weeks? Why had she turned away from respectable gentlemen who would have leapt at the chance at her dowry? Where were those men now?
She hated the idea of wedding a man for his name and position and for what he could provide for her family, and more than anything, she hated the idea that it was because she had failed so spectacularly at providing for them herself.
She didn’t want her circumstances to change, and to be whisked off to some town house in London or an estate in another county. She had never traveled so much as fifteen miles beyond these shores. The idea of settling in another part of England felt as strange as the idea of relocating to France.
At least in France, she wouldn’t be in any danger of ever seeing Arabella again after her marriage.
How would she endure the touch of a man, when all she wanted were Arabella’s hands and lips upon her?
Standing there with no dance partner and no friend in sight, Caroline felt her stomach twist as she realized that while Arabella was being pursued because of her own merit and talents, Caroline had only been pursued because of a fluke, a happenstance of fortune. And now it was gone.
Caroline felt flustered. At every event she had attended, she had been courted. Tonight, everyone was polite, but distant.
Had she shown herself to be too proud this summer, declining so many dances and opportunities to talk with gentlemen?
Or had news of their faded fortunes already made its way through the assembly?
She tried to flush her worries away with her fan, plying it so fast that her wrist would ache later. A drink would do her good. She made her way to the refreshment table to select a glass of the least-warm looking lemonade that she could discern, when a shadow loomed over her.
James Martin.
Chapter Twenty-two
James smiled at Caroline and offered her a glass of wine. “A woman who looks like you should never appear in such dire need of sustenance. Gentlemen should be lining up to offer you refreshments.”
He wasn’t her first choice of companionship, but the wine was more than welcome. She thanked him and took a healthy sip.
“Why is there trouble on that pretty face of yours?”
She shook her head. “No need to concern yourself.”
“It’s Jacob, isn’t it?” He shook his head. “I’ve played a hand or two with him this summer. The lad has no skill at cards, I am sad to say.”
“Of course he doesn’t,” she snapped. “Where on earth would he have learned any? Playing for ha’penny stakes at the tavern?”
“Well, I was sorry to hear the news.” His face was uncharacteristically serious. “I had thought it high time that you were living the life you deserved this summer. I always thought well of you, you know.”
She took another gulp of wine but didn’t say anything as she couldn’t return the compliment.
“It pains me to say it, but there are not so many challengers for your hand these days, are there?” He scanned the room. “I see no champion emerging.”
James would be surprised if one did, as any challenger for her hand or heart would have been Arabella.
“You are correct. I am not so in demand anymore. And yet, my position on matrimony has changed from what it once was.”
