They were at the top of the stairs and Arabella dropped Juliana’s arm and opened her mouth to defend her mother, herself, her blood. But she could not. After all, Juliana was just echoing her own most private thoughts on the matter.
But Juliana went on speaking while walking down the upstairs hall. “But I think that the doctor gives you an excellent sort of excuse.”
Arabella was forced to follow. “What do you mean by that?”
“Well, one would not expect a physician’s wife to move in society. Your marriage explains your absence. But I must know,” she lowered her voice, “was he the one who ruined you?”
Arabella’s mind churned. She had long tried not to think about how widely known it was that her flower had been taken. Because of the Pluckers and her initials and the tokens pinned to the wall in her stepfather’s club. But she was glad that Juliana did not know who had lain with her. That fact must never have been widely known.
But she would not let anyone think ill of Alasdair. Better she be rightly thought promiscuous than Alasdair be falsely accused of doing what Giles had done.
“No, it wasn’t him.”
“And yet he married you. You are so lucky, Arabella.”
“I don’t feel lucky,” she said quietly.
Juliana’s retort was bitter. “You should. It is inordinately unfair that your used-up old mother wound up with a catch like the Duke of Middlewich—almost two decades younger than she!—and you should have a handsome, doting doctor and neither of you obeyed the rules.”
Arabella looked at Juliana and saw her pain.
“Are you unhappy, Juliana?”
“Of course not, I am to have a completely new set of dresses for spring from Madame Dupont. Everyone says she is the next Madame Beauchamp. And I am thinking of taking a lover.”
Arabella gasped.
“You gasp, Arabella? You dare to be shocked at me?” Juliana did not veil her anger. “You defied propriety, why shouldn’t I? Sir Timothy is so dreary. Now that I know what it is all about and have some inkling of what it could be, I must have some thrill in the bedchamber before I die. The marquess, Lord Painswick, has been giving me that look, you know? But I would much prefer Lord Morpeth, I think.”
“I want you to be happy, Juliana, but I don’t think either of those men will make you happy.”
“Well, then, shall I set my sights on Dr. Alasdair Andrews?” Juliana nodded down the hall and Arabella turned her head and saw Alasdair, poised on the top step of the stairs, pretending to look at his watch. “I think, however, given his devotion to you, that I would be quite out of my depth.”
“Juliana, please don’t do anything hasty.”
“Why not? I am already married. I have all the time I want to repent in leisure.”
The luncheon gong came then, and Arabella was glad to separate from Juliana and sit next to Rebecca at the table and talk of pleasant things such as the books Rebecca had read recently. Strangely, Rebecca did not discuss the upcoming Season and her hopes for a proposal. Could she no longer have any interest in such things? Perhaps she had a secret love like the one Arabella had harbored for Alasdair. Arabella had always thought that Rebecca was quite the prettiest of the Dalrymple daughters. It was surprising that she was not yet engaged or married.
After eating, as everyone was standing to leave the table, Arabella yawned. Alasdair was at her side immediately. He did not say anything but she looked up at him and could feel herself pinken. His hand brushed hers. She took his arm.
“Thank you, Dr. Andrews.”
It was the first time he had touched her today besides playing with her hair. And that did not really count, did it? It wasn’t the same as skin. After all, her hair could not feel.
She made her apologies to Rebecca, saying she was still tired from yesterday, and led Alasdair to the stairs.
As soon as they got into her bedchamber and Alasdair closed the door behind them, Arabella had her arms up around his neck.
“Kiss me, Alasdair,” she said. He put his arms around her and bent his head down and his warm lips pressed against hers. She trembled as the kiss went on, his mouth becoming hungrier as the seconds passed, his tongue dipping into her mouth, his lips roaming over her jaw and back to her mouth.
She could feel his arousal growing, his member pressing into her upper abdomen. She also had an ache in between her legs and she cursed her height. Oh, to be six or eight inches taller like her older sisters. When he broke the kiss and they stood there, him leaning against the closed door and her leaning against him, her cheek on his lower chest, she told him what she had been thinking.
“I wish I were taller.”
“Why is that, Miss Lovelock?” he said and brushed a kiss on the top of her head.
“So our necks didn’t get cricks from looking up and looking down when we’re kissing,” she said. She had intended to tell him about her ache and how she wanted to put it against him but then she thought better of it.
