Page 55 of The Duke's Sinful Deal
She adjusted the ribbon at her wrist, her fingers moving absently. “He is… consistent,” she added. “Which is more than can be said for many.”
Cissie tilted her head. “Consistent sound romantic… but in what sense?”
“In that he does not pretend to be other than he is,” Arabella said. “There is a certain clarity in that.”
Jane exchanged a brief glance with Cissie, something passing silently between them before Jane spoke again. “And that is enough for you?”
Arabella met her gaze. “Enough? I do not think about it in that way… I guess. I believe everyone deserves clarity and consistency in their spouse.”
The conversation drifted then, as it often did, to lighter matters. A passing carriage drew Cissie’s attention, and she leaned to identify its occupants with a degree of enthusiasm that required little response. Jane followed, adding her own observations, and for a time, Arabella allowed herself to be carried along by it, answering when prompted, smiling when expected.
But the sense remained.
It pressed more insistently now, not unpleasant, but undeniable.
She rose after a while, smoothing her skirts as she stepped away from the bench. “Shall we walk?” she suggested. “I think I should like to move before I am entirely rooted to this spot.”
They agreed at once, gathering themselves and falling into step beside her. The path curved gently through the trees, the gravel soft beneath their feet, the air carrying the faint scent of damp earth and new leaves.
“You have been very fortunate,” Cissie said after a moment, her tone thoughtful now. “To have everything resolved so quickly.”
Arabella glanced at her. “Fortunate?”
“Yes,” Cissie said. “Not everyone is afforded such… efficient outcomes.”
Jane’s expression lifted, though she said nothing.
Arabella slowed slightly, her attention sharpening. “I am not certain I understand.”
Cissie hesitated, just briefly. “There has been some talk,” she said. “You must have expected it.”
“Talk is a constant in London,” Arabella replied. “It rarely concerns itself with accuracy.”
“That may be so,” Jane said gently, “but it does concern itself with patterns. And your situation… does not fit neatly into one.”
Arabella stopped walking.
The movement drew their attention at once, both women turning toward her.
“What is being said?” she asked.
Jane hesitated. Cissie, less inclined to caution, answered.
“That the matter was handled with remarkable speed,” she said. “That His Grace was… compelled to act.”
Arabella felt something settle in her chest, not sharp, not immediate, but firm.
“Compelled?”
“Yes,” Cissie said, her voice quieter now. “That he had little choice in the matter.”
There it was. Not loud. Not dramatic. Simply placed before her, as though it had always been waiting.
Arabella drew a slow breath, the sounds of the park continuing around them as though nothing had shifted at all. A carriage passed behind them, the murmur of conversation carried faintly on the breeze, the world proceeding as it always did.
Jane reached for her hand, her touch light. “We do not give it weight,” she said. “It is only talk.”
Arabella looked at her, then at Cissie, and for a moment she said nothing.
