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Her back throbbed against the unyielding wood bench with every movement of the horses.
Her temples pounded with the laughter and chatter that surrounded her, along with the creaks and groans of the wheels, and the water slapping up against the machine.
Instead of the fresh sea air, her nose was now filled with the odor of damp wood and horseflesh.
“This has been such a delight!” Miss Linfield announced, her face shining, her earlier apprehension having dissipated. “I cannot believe I had the nerve to do such a thing. I must recommend it to Lady Edith. There isnothingquite so invigorating, is there?”
“I commend your bravery, dear Miss Linfield. Shall we prolong the pleasure and have tea in the charming little shop next door?” Miss Balfour asked.
Oh no. No, Arabella wanted nothing more than to leave this outing behind her.
“We would love to,” Caroline announced for both of them.
Arabella was more comfortable after being toweled dry at the bathing house, and dressed again in her soft cotton shift and cambric day dress, her spectacles once again putting the world to rights all around her.
She still would have preferred seeking her bedchamber and cuddling Shelley and Byron to soothe her, because far beyond the pain in her temples was the ache in her heart.
Their kisses obviously had been nothing to Caroline, for her to speak so casually of London. When had she set her sights on the capital?
The tea shop next to the bathing house was dainty and delicate. Floral paper covered the walls, and there were flowers and lace everywhere one looked. It was picturesque enough that Arabella’s paintings of it always sold very well.
It was nothing like the neighborhood bakery that Arabella preferred to frequent, where she was accustomed to picking up the daily bread for the Seton household and the occasional addition of chocolate biscuits for the Reeve boys.
As they were settling into a table near the window, a deep voice spoke. “It is my luck to see such a bevy of beautiful young ladies, sitting together as pretty as a painting.”
Arabella dropped her reticule on the floor.
Mr. Worthington.
It was not every day that one’s past caught up with one.
Especially not in the form of one’s former fiancé.
Chapter Eight
Mr. Worthington looked as well as ever. Little details showed the passage of years—the cut of his hair, the style of his sideburns—but his eyes were as serious as ever, and his manner of dress remained neat and practical instead of fashionable. She had worried for so many years that she would see him again, but that worry had long faded over time. It made the shock even greater now, when she least expected to see him.
He must have read the silent appeal in her eyes, for he hesitated, then bowed to them as a group without acknowledging Arabella.
“I am Mr. Worthington and would be pleased to make your acquaintance. If I may be so bold, I believe I may know who you are already—you are the talk of Inverley, Miss Reeve.”
It was gauche to have introduced himself, and he had the grace to look embarrassed. Arabella realized he must have expected her to greet him and introduce him to her friends, but she was fixed in place as if made of stone, her tongue locked.
Caroline’s smile didn’t reach her eyes. “Thank you, sir. If you may excuse us, I am in the midst of a private conversation with my friends.”
“Of course. Do forgive me.” Instead of returning to his table, he settled his hat on his head and walked out the door.
“How very odd,” Caroline said.
Miss Linfield frowned. “He is one of the gentlemen I mentioned to you as a prospective suitor—Mr. Worthington, the widower.”
“Well, I thought his manner strange. The way he had stared at us! It was most peculiar. If he had not taken the hint, I daresay I would have started to go on about the best home remedies for one’s menses.”
“If you had, you would surely have earned your rightful position among your sisters as vulgar,” Arabella told her, unable to stop laughing. She was trembling with relief now that Mr. Worthington had left.
Whatever was he doing in Inverley?
Miss Balfour snorted. “That would have been inspired, Miss Reeve. Though I would like to know your remedy, if you have one. I suffer dreadfully, you know.”
