“That you are betrothed toa duke,” Arabella hissed. “A recluse. A man no one has seen in years. A man who–” She broke off, dragging a hand through her curls. “Eleanor, this is madness. This is not like one of your quiet sacrifices that no one notices. This is theton. This is Father. This is Charlotte.”
At the mention of their half-sister’s name, something cold settled in Eleanor’s chest.
“She is indisposed,” Eleanor said. “Which is precisely the point.”
Arabella stared at her. “You cannot possibly mean –”
“I do,” Eleanor replied. “And do not look at me like that. Think, Arabella. Truly think.”
“I am thinking,” Arabella said tightly. “I am thinking that if Father hears of this–”
“–he will be pleased,” Eleanor interrupted. “Or at least distracted. A duke reflects well on him. Even one attached to the wrong daughter.”
“That is not comforting.”
“It is practical.”
Arabella let out a sharp breath. “And Charlotte?”
Eleanor’s mouth curved, though there was no humor in it. “She has been unwell for days. Confined to her room, attended like a tragic heroine. For once, she is not here to poison every conversation she enters.”
“You think she has been poisoning them?” Arabella asked quietly.
Eleanor did not hesitate. “Iknowshe has.”
Arabella’s brows drew together. “You cannot know that.”
“I can,” Eleanor said. “I have watched it happen.”
She leaned back against the wall, crossing her arms, allowing herself at last to speak what she had carried alone. “Since Charlotte’s debut, every invitation that once came easily has hesitated. Every gentleman who once sought an introduction has found an excuse. Too busy. Too distracted. Too conveniently absent.”
Arabella swallowed. “That could be coincidence.”
Eleanor shook her head. “Charlotte is not subtle, but she is persistent. And she is jealous.”
“She has no reason to be jealous of me,” Arabella protested.
“She believes she does,” Eleanor said softly. “And that is reason enough.”
Arabella’s expression wavered. “So you invented a duke.”
“I borrowed one,” Eleanor corrected.
Arabella gave a short, incredulous laugh. “Youborroweda duke.”
Eleanor met her eyes. “It worked.”
Arabella opened her mouth, then closed it again. Her gaze slid toward the ballroom, where laughter rippled and the music swelled once more.
“I have danced three times,” she said slowly.
“Yes.”
“With gentlemen who have never once asked me before.”
“Yes.”
“One of them asked if I prefer Bath or Brighton,” Arabella continued faintly. “He said he might escort me there one day.”
