Page 70 of The Duke's Sinful Deal
Still, that was no longer the point.
Arabella drew in a quiet breath. “Then I trust the matter is settled.”
“Yes, Your Grace,” both women said almost at once.
Behind them, one of the girls lowered her eyes quickly, though not before Arabella caught the spark of fascination there. The other had already begun, in that silent, earnest way of very young women, to rewrite the story in her mind.
Arabella found that she did not mind it.
She inclined her head, not warmly, but not cruelly either. “Good afternoon, ladies.”
She turned before either could answer and stepped back into the outer room, where the noise of the modiste’s returned gradually, as though someone had let the world resume after holding it briefly by the throat.
Only then did she stop.
Jane and Cissie were standing scarcely two feet behind her.
Jane’s hand was pressed lightly against her reticule, her expression somewhere between astonishment and pride, while Cissie looked as though she might, at any moment, laugh from sheer satisfaction.
Arabella blinked. “How long have you been there?”
“Long enough,” Cissie said at once.
“Long enough to hear all of it,” Jane added, and though her voice remained soft, the admiration in it was unmistakable. “Arabella…”
Arabella felt some of the steadiness leave her then, not in weakness, but in the release that follows being witnessed by those one trusts. “I had not intended an audience.”
“No,” Cissie said, stepping closer to tuck her arm through Arabella’s, “but I am delighted that one was present regardless. I have never in my life seen Mrs. Beresford look so thoroughly rearranged.”
Arabella let out a breath that became, despite herself, a small laugh. “I am not certain I behaved well.”
“You behaved brilliantly,” Jane said, more firmly than Arabella had ever heard from her before. “And kindly, which was more than they deserved.”
Cissie nodded with emphatic approval. “You did not flinch, you did not apologize, and you did not allow them to hide behind concern. I should like to preserve the entire exchange and carry it with me to every drawing room in London.”
“That seems impractical,” Arabella said, though her smile had returned.
“It would be worth the effort,” Cissie replied.
They moved together then toward the bolt storage area at the rear of the shop, where shelves rose nearly to the ceiling, and the scent of linen and cedar was stronger. A seamstress sidestepped them with a basket of trimmings, and Jane was still murmuring, “I am very proud of you,” when another figure rounded the end of the aisle.
The Dowager Countess of Lampton.
She moved with the easy assurance of a woman long accustomed to rooms parting around her, though she was dressed more simply than Arabella had expected, her dark silk walking gown elegant without ostentation. Her gaze fell first upon Jane, then Cissie, and finally Arabella.
For one suspended moment, the countess said nothing.
Then something bright and unmistakable crossed her face.
Not amusement or mere approval, but delighted reassessment.
“Your Grace,” she said, and there was a warmth to the address now that had not existed in their previous, minimal acquaintance. “How fortunate that I should encounter you here.”
Arabella inclined her head. “Lady Lampton.”
The countess’s eyes lingered just long enough to suggest that she knew more than she ought, or at least enough to be intrigued by it. “You and your friends must forgive me. I am forever stealing my modiste from her proper duties.” Her gaze moved between them, then returned to Arabella with a glimmer of unmistakable interest. “I hope we shall meet again very soon.”
Before Arabella could answer more than politely, the countess had moved on, her expression still lit with that same pleased curiosity.
