“Your marriage is already precarious enough as far as the ton is concerned,” she said.
“Explain what you mean.”
“Oh, do not pretend ignorance,” she said lightly. “A rushed wedding, a quiet bride from nowhere in particular, a husband who disappears most mornings before anyone has seen him take breakfast. People talk.”
“They always do.”
“Yes,” she agreed. “But lately they are curious. It is not only myself that expected us to marry. They are all wondering why you changed your mind so suddenly.”
Nathaniel did not react outwardly, though his attention sharpened. He did not doubt that there were questions as to his change of heart, but he found himself caring for them less and less.
“You should let go,” he repeated. “You can find a husband of your own, rather than making such ridiculous attempts to steal someone else's.”
Arabella tilted her head.
“I only mean to help you.”
“I did not ask for help.”
“You may soon require it.”
“From you?”
“Why not?” she asked.
“Because I have already declined your assistance once.”
“And yet the present seems so unstable.”
Nathaniel slowly removed her hand from his sleeve.
“Say what you came to say,” he told her.
She watched him for a moment, perhaps noting the absence of anger in his voice. He wondered if that had been part of her plan, perhaps; to infuriate him so much that he lashed out.
“You married her to quiet speculation,” Arabella said.
“No.”
“You married her because it was convenient.”
“No.”
“Then why?” she pressed.
“That is none of your concern.”
“Of course it is,” she said softly. “You and I were nearly engaged.”
“We were not. I did not consider it even once. Therefore, it did not almost happen. It did not happen at all, and the sooner that you accept that, the better you will be for it.”
“It was expected.”
“It did not happen.”
Arabella paced slowly across the room, then turned back toward him.
“You have always been careful,” she said. “So careful that sometimes you forget how things appear.”
