A man stepped forward to pull out my chair.
My eyes betrayed me, and I looked at him. Not Rowan. It was only a footman. Rowan had jumped up to take my hand or pull out my chair so many times that my brain had thought for a moment that it could be him. In desperation, my eyes darted to the faces at the table. Straight across from my chair sat Rowan. Before I could stop it, the corners of my lips jumped, and my heart sang with relief.
His own smile, though more hesitant, greeted me with its familiar warmth.
“It’s nice of you to join us,” Papa said.
Papa. Was he angry with me? Bitterly disappointed? I swung my gaze his way and took my seat. His face was impassive—unreadable—but there were no traces of temper that I had seen on my return from Quillsbury. “Forgive me. I lost track of the time.”
“Scribbling away, no doubt,” Elizabeth said under her breath beside me, her tone low like she was impersonating Lady Farthington.
My eyes widened, and I reached under the table and pinched her. What if Rowan had heard her? Yes, she was right. But I had lost track of time. I had been quite caught up in my writing once I had allowedmyself to explore what a story would look like with both Rowan and me as the leads. But the last thing in the world I wanted was for Rowan to find out.
I glanced up to find him staring at me, brows furrowed. Had he heard? Please, please, please let it not be so.
Mr. Clodwick leaned toward me. “Have you been ill, Miss Delafield?”
My head darted his way, only now realizing he was sitting beside me. “No, I am well.”
“Are you sure? Your complexion is quite pink.”
“I assure you, I feel . . .” Well, another partial truth might be best in this case too. “I feel . . . not sick.”
“Good. May I recommend an afternoon nap in the future? They are most restorative.”
“Oh. Uh, thank you. I shall consider it.”
Mr. Clodwick smiled in his barely there sort of way and went back to his soup. I glanced down at my own soup, seeing it for the first time, and forced myself to pick up my spoon.
After dinner, I followed the women into the drawing room while the men remained behind to drink port together. “How shall we entertain ourselves tonight?” Tabitha asked, sitting between me and Elizabeth on the sofa.
“What about a night ride?” Elizabeth’s voice held more enthusiasm than I thought she was capable of.
“That’s too dangerous for a lady,” Mama said, picking up her sewing basket and bringing it to a chair near the cold fire. It was much too warm to burn anything, which was probably a good thing, or I might have tried to burn Penelope’s story this afternoon.
“If men can do it, why can’t we?” Elizabeth pushed.
She had enjoyed riding before, but I knew perfectly well what was motivating her on this occasion. “It’s improper,” I answered. “Which I know is terribly unfair, but sometimes unfair situations are not what we think they are. Sometimes they’re for our best, and we won’t appreciate them until it’s too late. And then we will wish for the situation back, but we can’t reverse time. That’s not how life works.” I paused, realizing I had been rambling, my thoughts having strayed to Rowan . . . again.
I looked up to find Elizabeth’s brow screwed up in confusion. “Are you feeling well?”
Why did everyone keep asking me that? “I am the picture of health.”
“She is probably too warm. The heat in this house has been oppressive today. What about an evening walk?” Tabitha asked. “Would that satisfy you, Elizabeth?”
“It’s not the same.” Elizabeth folded her arms across her chest.
“A walk could be refreshing,” Mama agreed. “We have been cooped up every night trying not to let the neighbors know about Arabella’s unique situation. And we did purchase those torches for that garden party last summer and haven’t used them since. We could have the servants light a path for us.”
Grimacing, I apologized. “I had no idea everyone was feeling that way on my account. I’m terribly sorry.”
“Mama turned down dinner at the Peterson’s and the Randall’s,” Elizabeth explained.
“And we were happy to do it for Arabella’s sake,” Tabitha said. “A walk with the torches sounds lovely. I will take care of the arrangements, Mama. I’ll instruct a maid to gather light shawls for the women and direct the footmen to the proper placements for the torches.” She stood with purpose from her seat between us and hurried away with a skip of anticipation in her step.
Elizabeth sighed in her wake. “I still think a ride would have been manageable.”
“Elizabeth,” I hedged, my voice low so Mama would not catch it. “Don’t you think you are spending too much time in a certain groomsman’s company?”
