Chapter Six

T he most awkward thing about George’s farcical proposal was that he intended to linger at Newton Park for a few days before returning to London. Selfishly, Arabella hoped he might change his mind and go home early. He seemed determined to return to their original footing, but his continued presence could not be anything but an irritation now.

Every time she saw George, she remembered him saying “I never knew you wanted those things.” Every time, those words stung all over again.

To her, George’s words implied that other women were allowed to have dreams and desires, but not her. As if she were so different from everyone else that she could not expect to participate in the usual rituals of a woman’s life: courtship, marriage, childrearing, grandparenthood. She resented the implication all the more because it came from a friend. She’d thought George both understood and respected her despite her eccentricities. It hurt to find out otherwise.

For the next few days, Arabella avoided George as much as possible. Fortunately, he seemed to want to avoid her, too. He probably felt every bit as embarrassed about the whole incident as she did. Maybe he realized how fortunate it was that she had not agreed to the charade. After all, if they exchanged vows before the altar, he would be trapped as well, never able to marry and have a family, either. But it was rather like George not to think very far ahead when making decisions.

George’s planned departure date finally came around, but so did another heavy rainstorm. Leland took one look at the flooded carriageway in front of the manor, laughed, and told George to stay a few days more. Caroline smiled and pointed out that Charlie would be happy to have his uncle visit for a little bit longer. Indeed, Charlie capered with joy at the news.

But Arabella quietly despaired. She had looked forward to George’s departure, as it would free her of the new awkwardness between them. She was relieved when Leland and George retreated to the billiard room for some manly bonding, or whatever it was that drew men to such sports.

Since the rain kept her indoors, Arabella brought her sketchbook downstairs, intending to use Charlie as a subject for her drawing. She planned to draw a crayon portrait of him to give to Caroline as thanks for hosting her. So far, though, she had not been satisfied with any of her pencil sketches of him.

Getting Charlie to sit for a portrait proved more difficult than Arabella anticipated. She handed him an illustrated book of Mother Goose rhymes, hoping it would keep him occupied while she sketched him. But Charlie could not sit still. First, he pushed a toy wagon around the morning room, periodically trumpeting in imitation of the mail coach. Then he ran around in circles. Finally, he persuaded Caroline to take him up to the attic to look for a hoop, so he could roll it up and down the hallway.

“Sorry,” Caroline said, shrugging her shoulders. “It can be hard to get a four-year-old to hold still. You’ll see for yourself someday.” She chuckled softly as she followed her son out of the room.

Arabella sighed as she set aside her sketchbook. Would she find out someday, though? At her most despondent, she feared George might be right. Maybe she was already on the shelf. Maybe she really was so different from other people that she had no right to expect an establishment, a husband, and a family of her own.

As she’d told George, there had been suitors in the past. A well-born young lady with a good dowry was not likely to be completely overlooked when she entered the marriage market. There had been men Belle admired, too. She liked a set of broad shoulders and a handsome face as much as anyone. More than once, she had been certain that the object of her affection had shown some sign of partiality for her. Always, she’d been disappointed, the supposed partiality having existed only in her own mind. She lacked the ability to discern whether the men who danced with her or took her down to dinner meant anything but courtesy by their attentions.

On the other side of the ledger, there’d been times when Arabella unwittingly encouraged a suitor when she only meant to be polite. Apparently, some men took a cheerful smile and a kind word as signs of favor. Even worse, they sometimes grew angry when they learned they were wrong.

The worst case, of course, had been poor John Thurston. He proposed to her after fortifying himself with entirely too much alcohol. When he finally got it through his inebriated head that Arabella was refusing his offer of marriage, he became physically ill. After that humiliation, he grew vengeful. He went about telling everyone in Hillchester that Arabella Canning was a shocking coquette, a girl who toyed with men’s feelings.

John’s mother had never forgiven Arabella, not even after he married a perfectly acceptable young lady he met in Bath. Since the Thurstons lived within easy visiting distance of Oliphant Hall, this made life rather awkward for Arabella’s parents. After that incident, she spent months afraid to even smile at an eligible gentleman, lest he draw the wrong conclusion.

But if she ignored all the attractive young men, she could not be surprised that they ignored her in return. She saw no way to change that pattern. Her opportunities for making a respectable match were limited, too. At three and twenty, she had only a few years left before being considered a confirmed spinster.

Even so, that was no reason to enter into a sham marriage. She shook her head as she remembered George’s ridiculous suggestion. How could he have thought she would agree to something so foolish? What could she gain from such an arrangement?

“Miss Canning?” The footman interrupted her dismal meditations. “This letter arrived for you this morning. It ought to have been given to you at breakfast, but it was mislaid. I am very sorry.”

“Oh, thank you!” Arabella’s spirits lifted. She saw at a glance that it was a letter from home, addressed in Mama’s tidy handwriting. She broke the seal and opened it, eager to read all the family gossip. This was precisely what she needed to interrupt her gloomy reflections on matrimony.

At first, the letter answered all her expectations. Mama began by describing the well-being of everyone in the family. Joshua was home for the Long Vacation, and Mama thought he looked “peaked.” She wanted to make him drink bone broth every day, for strength, but Papa thought all he needed was more exercise.

Arabella grinned, thinking Papa was likely right. There was probably nothing wrong with her brother that a few country walks or horseback rides could not cure. She thought wistfully of her own saddle horse, Sparta, who undoubtedly needed exercise, too. Maybe she could ask Joshua to take him out sometimes.

Then she came to a paragraph that gave her pause.

Your father and I have been discussing our plans for next year, my dear, and we think the time has come to launch Lavinia into Society. We are agreed that she is ready to attend this year’s Hunt ball. Her manners are everything we could wish for, and both her dancing master and music master are pleased with her progress. She does not have your skill with a pencil, but of course that does not signify. We have some hopes that she will make a good match here in the neighborhood, but if not, your father is determined that she will have a season in London next spring, despite the expense.

You would be welcome to join us in London if you wish, but I know you do not care for the social engagements of the Season. We would not wish to leave you home by yourself, but your cousin Dinah wonders if you might care to visit her instead. Her children are rather a handful, you know, and you could be of great service to her. It will be months before you need to decide, but you might do well to begin thinking on it now.

Arabella stared at the paper, reading that paragraph over and over again. Up until now, Mama and Papa had insisted that Lavinia stay in the schoolroom, despite being nearly eighteen. Though they had never said it outright, it had always been assumed that Lavinia would come out once her older sister married. But now they were bringing Lavinia to London, and sending Arabella off to Cornwall—which, at the moment, seemed like the ends of the earth.

I don’t like London , Arabella reminded herself. I don’t like the Season. And I do like Dinah and her children . But she discovered that she also did not like being set aside. Left behind. On the shelf.

“I say, Caro, have you seen—oh!” George stood in the doorway, looking puzzled. “I thought Caroline and Charlie were in here.”

Arabella folded the letter neatly shut and tucked it inside her sketchbook. “They went upstairs to look for a toy.” She forced a smile. “I believe Charlie is tired of having to play indoors, and your sister is trying to find ways to distract him.”

“I’m tired of having to stay indoors, too!” George stood in front of the window, peering out into the rain. “Rain doesn’t look like it’s planning to stop anytime soon, does it?” He frowned, then shrugged. “Well, we’re comfortable enough here. But I don’t suppose you’ve seen the book I’m supposed to be reviewing, have you? It’s a book of poems by some lady who fancies herself as good a poet as Mrs. Barbauld.”

“The one with the red cover, you mean?” She remembered seeing him with it last night. When George nodded, Arabella cast a cursory glance about the room, though she struggled to focus on her surroundings.

She looked back at George and shook her head. “I’m afraid I haven’t seen it. Perhaps the maid moved it while tidying.” The other day, that had happened to the novel Arabella was reading, too. She’d looked about the house forever before she thought to check the bookshelves in the morning room.

Still, she scanned the room once more in case the book was hiding in plain sight. When her eyes landed on the sketchbook containing her mother’s letter, her face fell.

“Belle? Is something wrong?”

Arabella lifted her chin to look him in the eyes. “Oh, I had a letter from home that made me a little melancholy.” When he furrowed his brow in concern, she hastened to clarify. “Nothing is wrong at home, mind you; it merely reminded me that time passes. Lavinia will be making her come out this year. Next spring, she’ll have her first Season in London.” Her lower lip began to tremble, and she lowered her gaze to the floor so George couldn’t see her eyes tearing up.

George must not have been fooled by her smile, because he pulled a chair closer to hers and sat down next to her. “Is that really all? Because that sounds like a good thing to me. You and Lavinia will have so much fun in London. Since I live in London, I’ll be able to call on you when you are not gallivanting about!”

That was the final straw. Tears prickled at the corners of her eyes, and she blinked quickly in an attempt to hold them back.

“Belle?” George took her hand in his, stroking his thumb back and forth soothingly. “Are you upset about having to spend the Season in London again? I know you do not care for Town, but—”

“I am not to go to London,” she blurted out, as the tears finally escaped her eyes. She reached up to scrub her face, wishing she had a handkerchief in hand. George reached into his waistcoat pocket and handed her a white cotton handkerchief that had been worn into softness. Arabella wanted to thank him, but she could not speak.

“Why are you not to go to London, then?” George asked. “Did you want to go?”

Ah, that was the irony, wasn’t it? Under other circumstances, she would have very much preferred not to suffer through another miserable Season.

“No,” she said thickly. To her embarrassment, her nose was running. She wiped her face, hoping George didn’t notice. She must look a mess. “But I didn’t want to be left behind.” It might have been a mistake to state the situation so baldly, because her eyes teared up again.

“Why would they leave you behind?” There was an uncharacteristic edge to George’s voice. “Don’t you deserve a chance in London every bit as much as Lavinia?”

“I already had my turn,” she said in between sniffles. “I had two seasons in London and one in Bath, and I didn’t take in either place. I suppose they thought I might as well be useful. I’m to be sent off to help tend my cousin’s children.”

“As if you were already an unwanted spinster who could be passed around from relative to relative as needed? What rubbish!” George’s tone contained equal parts incredulity and indignation on her behalf. Arabella found the combination oddly soothing.

She sniffed as hard as she could, wanting to be able to speak clearly. “It is as you said the other day, though. I am already past my prime. If I were going to make a match, I ought to have made one by now.”

“Nonsense.” The incredulity had vanished, leaving only anger in George’s voice. “I was a fool to imply any such thing, and your parents are fools if they believe it. I have half a mind to write to them so I can tell them so!”

That elicited a shaky laugh from Arabella. “It is very kind of you to offer, but I assure you, it is not necessary. I do not like London, and I had rather not stay up all night at balls and crushes and routs. I am only a little melancholy because... because...”

“Because your parents don’t want to bring you with them? I ought to have words with them.” George scowled impressively, though she could not imagine what he thought he could do to help her. It was not as if he could defeat her father in personal combat. Papa was taller and broader than George, and he kept quite active for a man of his age.

All this time, George kept holding her hand. Now she gently squeezed his fingers and drew her hand away so that she could give him a grateful pat on his cheek. “It is very sweet of you to take up my cause, but there is nothing you can do about it, George.”

He drew a deep breath and squared his shoulders. Arabella frowned, she recognized the determined look in his eyes. This was the way George looked before he made a bad decision. That glint had shown in his eye the day he convinced Joshua and Arabella that there were too many piglets at the Canning home farm and Sir Michael wouldn’t mind if his children and their friends took a few of them to market, sold them, and put the money in the Poor Box. Somehow, he’d made this all sound like a very good idea—a noble and charitable deed.

“There is something I can do about it,” he argued.

Arabella buried her face in her hands. She could not guess what George was about to say, but she knew it would be terrible. So many of his plans ended badly! Papa had been furious about the stolen piglets, and for weeks afterward, the vicar preached sermons about the evils of theft and the need for children to obey their parents.

After that incident, there had even been talk of sending Joshua and Arabella to boarding school, to get them away from the pernicious influence of the Kirkland children. If Mrs. Kirkland and Lady Canning had not both possessed a talent for smoothing things over, the friendship between the two households might have ended then and there.

She sighed and lifted her head once again, thinking she had better confront his folly straight away. “What is it you think you can do to help, George?”

“I can marry you, that’s what!” he announced. “And then they’ll see how wrong they were to think you were past prayers.”