Page 95 of The Duke's Sinful Deal
“In what manner?” Arabella asked, her voice even.
Jane hesitated, as though weighing how much to say. “She spoke of your marriage. Not directly, but with sufficient implication that no one could mistake her meaning. That it was hurried. That it was… convenient.”
Cissie’s expression tightened. “She was less careful than that, from what I heard. Charles mentioned it last evening. There are things being said at the club as well.”
Arabella’s fingers stilled against the edge of the gown.
“What things?” she asked.
Cissie glanced at Jane before answering. “That His Grace was not always as he is now. That there were… excesses. That his reputation was not built on restraint.”
Jane added quietly, “And that your marriage was arranged to manage the consequences of those excesses.”
For a moment, Arabella said nothing.
She had expected some degree of scrutiny. It would have been naïve to think otherwise. But to hear it spoken so plainly, socasually, as though her life were a matter for speculation—it settled differently than she had anticipated.
“And you said nothing?” she asked, though her tone remained measured.
Jane’s eyes widened slightly. “On the contrary. I said a great deal. Enough, I think, to make it clear that such talk would not be entertained in my presence.”
“As did I,” Cissie added. “Charles was quite put out, though I suspect not for the reasons he claimed.”
Arabella inclined her head, a small gesture of acknowledgment. “I am glad of it.”
But even as she said it, something lingered beneath the surface of her composure. Not doubt, precisely. But a quiet, persistent awareness that the matter did not end there. Those conversations continued in rooms she did not enter, among people she would never hear.
Jane reached for a length of pale ribbon, holding it against the green silk. “It will pass,” she said lightly. “Such things always do.”
“Perhaps,” Arabella replied.
The fitting continued, the modiste offering suggestions, Jane and Cissie weighing in with varying degrees of enthusiasm,but Arabella found her attention divided. She responded when required, smiled when prompted, and allowed herself to be turned this way and that as measurements were taken and trims selected.
But her thoughts had begun to move elsewhere.
By the time they took their leave and stepped once more into the carriage, the earlier lightness had not returned entirely.
“Will you tell Eleanor?” Cissie asked, after a moment.
Arabella looked out the window, watching the familiar streets pass by. “I do not know.”
“It may be best that she hears it from you,” Jane said gently. “Rather than from someone less inclined toward discretion.”
“Yes,” Arabella said. “It may.”
But the thought of it settled uneasily. Eleanor would worry. She would act. And Arabella was not yet certain what action she herself wished to take.
“And His Grace?” Cissie asked, more carefully now. “Will you tell him?”
Arabella’s gaze shifted, her reflection faint in the glass.
“I am not certain of that either.”
The answer lingered between them, unchallenged.
When she returned home, the house greeted her with its usual quiet order, Poppet appearing at once at her feet, weaving affectionately between her steps as she made her way inside. Arabella bent to lift her, pressing her cheek briefly against the soft fur before setting her down again.
The afternoon stretched before her, unstructured, and for the first time in several days, she found herself alone with her thoughts, which came quickly.
