Page 68 of The Duke's Sinful Deal
“That is what I was told,” the sharper-voiced woman was saying. “And I do not repeat such things carelessly.”
“You may not intend to,” the other replied, softer but no less intent, “but it has been said often enough that one begins to wonder how much of it is invention.”
“There is no invention in it,” the first insisted, lowering her voice just enough to suggest discretion without losing conviction. “He was found in a state that left very little to interpretation. And she—well.”
A faint, knowing pause.
“She was not precisely in a position to deny it.”
The second woman hesitated, her fingers stilling against the ribbon. “You speak as though she had no choice.”
“I did not say that,” the first returned. “Only that the situation… resolved itself rather conveniently.”
“Convenient for whom?”
“For her, certainly,” the sharper voice replied. “To secure such a match under those circumstances—one might almost admire the efficiency of it.”
A breath of quiet amusement followed.
“And for him?” the other pressed.
There was the faintest shift, as though the answer required more care.
“For him, it was less a question of preference and more of necessity, from what I understand.”
The second woman’s brows drew together slightly. “You speak with a great deal of certainty.”
“I heard it from her sister,” came the reply, quick enough to suggest satisfaction. “Miss Charlotte Barker. She did not say it outright, of course, but one does not need to be told everything plainly to understand what is meant.”
Arabella’s fingers tightened once against the doorframe before easing again.
Of course.
The name settled cleanly into place, not as revelation, but as confirmation.
Her father’s silence had never been absence—it had been decision. Distance maintained where it suited him, attention withheld where it did not. And Charlotte?—
Charlotte had learned early that sweetness carried further than spite when properly arranged. That a suggestion, lightly delivered, would be taken up and repeated far more eagerly than any accusation spoken outright.
Arabella exhaled slowly, the motion controlled enough that it did not draw attention.
So that was the shape of it.
Not invention. Not entirely.
But guided.
It ought to have angered her more than it did.
What she felt, instead, was something colder and steadier.
Decision.
She turned before she could reconsider it and moved toward the smaller adjoining room from which the voices had come. The women within had not yet emerged. One stood near a display of ribbons, her gloved fingers trailing idly over a row of folded satin. The other had turned slightly toward her companion, hat feathers trembling faintly with the motion of her head as she continued whatever remark had followed the one Arabella had heard.
Neither noticed her immediately.
“Again, that is just what I was told,” the sharper-voiced woman was saying. “And I do not repeat such things carelessly.”
