Arabella snorted. “She told me mine made me look provincial!”
They shared a brief, genuine smile.
“And Father,” Arabella added more carefully. “He has been asking after you.”
Eleanor’s smile faded. “I am sure he has.”
“He wants to know whether the Duke is pleased with you,” Arabella said. “Whether you are behaving as expected. It seems he too has forgotten all about Charlotte’s dress.”
Eleanor’s jaw tightened. “I am sure James has something in store for him after all, but I remain unconcerned about our father.”
Arabella’s gaze sharpened. “Good. Do not let him back in.”
“I will not,” Eleanor said. “I have given him enough of my life.”
Arabella nodded, satisfied. “Good.”
“Do you remember when we used to hide in the east corridor when he was in a mood?”
Eleanor smiled faintly. “I insisted on counting the tiles.”
“So I would not hear,” Arabella said. “You always won.”
“You cheated,” Eleanor replied.
“I was resourceful,” Arabella corrected.
Another pause, softer now.
“This place,” Arabella said quietly, “does it feel like yours yet?”
Eleanor hesitated. “Sometimes.”
“And other times?” Arabella pressed.
“It feels like a stage,” Eleanor admitted. “And I am not certain which role I am meant to play.”
Arabella leaned back. “That sounds familiar.”
Eleanor looked at her. “Does it?”
Arabella met her gaze. “You have always wanted more than the part you were given.”
The words lingered. Her hands needed something to do.
Eleanor leaned forward and poured tea her sister and then herself.
Arabella watched her. “You are shaking.”
“I am not,” Eleanor said automatically.
Arabella raised a brow. “Do not insult me. I have lived with you my entire life.”
Eleanor set the cup down more sharply than she intended. “I am fine.”
Arabella’s expression softened. “You are not fine. You are angry and hurt and trying to pretend neither matter.”
Eleanor swallowed hard. “It does not matter.”
