Page 67 of The Duke's Sinful Deal
“I am told,” the second voice went on, lowering slightly though not enough to obscure the words, “that His Grace was placed in a position where refusal would have been… inconvenient.”
The phrasing was careful. The implication was not. It was clear, then, that they, and probably most of the ton, had been made aware of what had transpired that fateful morning when Mrs. Penbury found them out.
“That is speculation,” the first woman said, though there was less conviction in it now.
“Is it?” A pause. “The source is considered reliable.”
Arabella’s gaze fell on the heavy curtain shielding the women, though she remained where she stood.
“And who,” the first asked quietly, “would claim such insight?”
There was a brief hesitation, as though the answer required some consideration.
“Her half-sister, I believe,” the second said at last. “The one who has not been received nearly so well. It would seem she has been… forthcoming.”
The words settled with a weight that did not require emphasis.
Arabella felt it then. Not sharp, not immediate, but steady.
Recognition.
Not of surprise, but of confirmation.
“She would have reason to resent the situation,” the first woman said carefully. “That does not make her account accurate.”
“Resentment does not create detail,” the second replied. “Only reveals it.”
There was a soft rustle of fabric, the suggestion of movement within the adjoining room.
Arabella straightened slightly, her posture aligning with the same quiet composure she had carried into the shop.
The conversation continued, though she no longer followed every word.
It was not necessary.
She had heard enough.
For a moment, she remained where she was, her gaze resting on nothing in particular, the sounds of the shop returning gradually to the forefront. The faint murmur of voices from the side room where Jane and Cissie had gone. The soft movement of fabric being lifted and set aside. The quiet efficiency of the staff as they attended to their work.
All of it continued as it had before. Only now she had a clarity that left little room for uncertainty.
She turned at last, moving back toward the center of the room with unhurried steps. The assistant glanced up as she passed, offering a small, polite smile that Arabella returned without effort.
“Have you found something that interests you, Your Grace?” the woman asked.
“Not yet,” Arabella said. “Though I think I may require a closer look.”
The assistant inclined her head, gesturing toward the adjoining room. “Your friends are just through here.”
“Yes,” Arabella said, her tone even. “I believe I shall join them.”
She paused only briefly at the threshold, the sound of Jane’s laughter reaching her clearly now, bright and untroubled.
Arabella allowed herself a single breath, and then she stepped forward.
Arabella did not enter the adjoining room at once.
Instead, she paused just beyond the threshold, her hand resting lightly against the carved edge of the doorframe. Around her, the modiste continued in its quiet industry. A seamstress crossed the front room with a length of pinned muslin draped over one arm. Somewhere toward the back, drawers opened and closed with soft wooden knocks. The bell above the door chimed faintly as another customer entered, and still the world did not shift in the slightest for what had just been said. None of it loud enough to drown out the two women who had been carelessly discussing who else, but her.
