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She thought some more, then decided to begin with the basics.
Rule 1. Be charming, attentive, and ever present.
That was easy enough. Inverley was tiny, and she had already promised to be at any social event that Caroline attended.
Rule 2. Bring gifts during at home hours.
She could always find an excuse to drop by the Reeve house, whether it was visitor’s hours or not. As for gifts…well, that might be harder, now that Caroline could buy anything she needed. But she was certain she could think of something.
Rule 3. Dancing.
Her throat tightened, knowing it was something they could never share together. She lost herself in imagination for a moment, her hand on Caroline’s hip, her other hand clasped in hers, music playing and eyes only for each other.
However, if they couldn’t manage to dance together, there was plenty to do at an assembly where dancing occurred. Fetching wine. Plying her with a fan. Perhaps sneaking a liberty or two beneath the starlight.
Rule 4. Take her for a stroll or a carriage ride.
The best she could manage there would be to rent a donkey on the beach or to rent out the bathing machines again, so she scratched that part out. At least Inverley offered plenty of walking opportunities.
Arabella considered other ideas. But she was no writer of either poetry or love letters, preferring to read instead. Feats of bravery or prowess were out of the question with her shyness.
But she thought that her list was a good beginning.
She closed the book and let her thoughts run wild. Her shawl dipped low over her shoulder, and she pulled it back up, imagining it was Caroline’s attentive touch, and she sighed.
If Caroline was open to the same sort of desires that she had, then the reward could be rich indeed.
Epilogue
Two years later
“Remember when we lived on Belvoir Lane?” Caroline asked. “I caught sight of the sunset a thousand times through the tiny square of my kitchen window. I used to yearn for the luxury of time so I could enjoy it, instead of rushing to get the boys to bed. It’s been a long time since I was out here at this hour.”
“It’s magic, isn’t it?” Arabella breathed.
They watched the sun sinking into the cliffs, the sky stained with yellow and pink and purple, as vibrant as if the colors came undiluted from Arabella’s paintbox. They strolled down the bluff through the dusky air, the night so warm that neither of them needed a shawl. Even with the sun setting, it was light enough that they could make their way home without a lantern through the familiar streets of Inverley.
After a year of living together in Arabella’s cottage, Caroline and Arabella had decided that life was too quiet with only Will and George running around. Arabella’s miniature portraits did well enough for them to enjoy a decent living together, but Caroline decided she needed something to busy herself and which would also bring in additional income.
They had arranged to build a boarding house near the seashore for young ladies recovering from a less-than-sterling London Season. Caroline, Arabella, George, and Will lived in a suite at the back of the first floor, and the rooms of the second floor were bursting at the seams with ladies who had an abundance of exuberance and high spirits.
Colloquially, the boarding house became known as the Destination for Disreputable Debutantes. The townsfolk of Inverley looked kindly on the bevy of women whose exploits made for entertaining stories around a card table, but whose trespasses were forgivable.
The tranquility of Inverley was most welcome after the stresses of London. It was the perfect place for the ladies to lick their wounds and remember that one season of one’s life did not define one forever.
“Everyone makes mistakes,” Lady Margaret told them kindly over cups of tea. “No one is everreallyruined in their heart. No one is beyond happiness.”
She had been delighted to move to Inverley permanently and doted on the girls who stayed with them, who all adored her in return.
Arabella and Caroline entered the main parlor of the boarding house. Betsy and Rachel were there with their sons.
“Look, Bell! You’re in this year’s guidebook.” Betsy waved the book, balancing her baby on her hip.
“We couldn’t wait until you came home to show you.” Rachel took the book from Betsy and flipped it open. “Look there—it’s you!”
Arabella picked it up. Sure enough, there was a paragraph about her business on the seashore, proclaiming it to be the fashionable trend to be painted in a miniature watercolor by Miss Arabella Seton.
“Fashionable,” she repeated. “Me. I still cannot get used to it.”
