“No,” Charlotte laughed, poking her sister in the side until she squealed. “It isThe Swing. Anyone with eyes knows that.”
Arabella giggled, clutching her side. “You must not be so honest about liking anything French.”
Charlotte grinned. “Lord Holdford is obviously poor in vision, and Lord Stanton knows fine art when he sees it.” Once she said his name, the smile slipped off Arabella’s face and she brushed through her hair angrily.
“Must you bring him up?”
Charlotte sat on the ottoman that lay at the foot of her bed. She leaned back on her palms. “Yes, because you are making a mistake.”
Arabella quieted, frowning. “You who are so distrustful of the opposite sex? If anyone is to hate him, it is you.”
Charlotte bit her cheek. “True, however I have made an important discovery.”
Arabella turned sideways in the vanity chair to face her sister.
“Remember when you found your love for cucumber sandwiches, which are, for the record, absolutely revolting?”
She smiled dubiously and nodded.
“And you just shouted ‘This is amazing!’And the entirety of the tea party gawked at you?”
The memory brought a laugh back to Arabella. Her cheeks were still red, obviously still a bit embarrassed by the memory.
“Well maybe you are Lord Stanton’s cucumber sandwich.”
“What an odd thing to say,” Arabella shook her head.
“When passion strikes you, it can be very difficult to allow your brain time to catch up with your mouth. I am not so quick to believe he intends to dishonor you. I believe he was struck by something. Do you see the way that man looks at you? I am not even certain he knows I exist when you are near.” Charlotte smiled, brushing her fingers back and forth against the blue crushed velvet ottoman, changing the shade of the fibers as she swept them back and forth.
For a few moments a heavy silence hung in the room. Arabella continued to brush her hair, perhaps why it looked so lovely all the time. She stared back at herself as if trying to make sense of what Lord Stanton saw in her.
“It is lonely from where I sit, Charlotte,” Arabella confessed. “It seems everyone is deciding the way the world is for me and I am just looking out the window. I like it that way. I trust you and Benedict. When you confuse me like this, I do not know what to think.”
“What do you think?”
“I just said that I do not know.”
“Not what I think, Arabella. What doyouthink?”
“I think…” her eyes watered as she looked at her reflection. “I think I am taken by him, but I also think I am naive. I think I want to travel the world, but some mornings I am afraid just to leave my bed.”
“What scares you, exactly?”
Arabella stuttered, frantically. “What do I know?” She asked. “Sometimes I wonder if I really know anything at all. Is that not the most foolish thing you have ever heard?”
“I have heard worse. Mainly from Benedict.”
She smiled, but her eyes were still overwhelmed with anxiety. “I am just afraid of letting myself down. I am not used to making my own decisions and for some reason, this, above all, feels so much more like my decision than anything else ever has been.”
“Shh,” Charlotte whispered. “You think too much. We are all bound to make mistakes. I make them daily. Need I remind you that I am in a fake courtship?”
“Mm,” Arabella nodded. “That is true.”
“I just mean to say that you will always have me to fall back on if you make a mistake,” she promised. “Speaking of afraid…you are afraid to read Aunt Chastity’s books,” Charlotte added. “Which is—as I have said before—a huge mistake.”
“I am not afraid,” Arabella disagreed.
Charlotte got down onto the floor and reached under her bed. She pulled out a box and shuffled through it. Soon a book was in her hands. She dusted off the cover and handed it to Arabella.