“Mine is rather less tidy,” she said, lowering her voice. “There was an understanding between my husband and me when we married.”
Cissie’s attention sharpened, though her expression remained kind. “An understanding?”
“A practical one,” Arabella said. “We married because it was sensible. There were expectations attached to that, of course, but affection was not among the terms.”
Jane lowered the gown she had been holding, her usual animation tempered by interest. “And is that still what you want?”
Arabella considered the question, the answer less straightforward than it once might have been. “It was, at the outset. It provided clarity and a sense of independence I had not expected to value so greatly. But circumstances change, and with them… one’s perspective.”
Cissie studied her for a moment. “You speak as though you are no longer certain it is enough.”
“I am not certain of much,” Arabella admitted, before caution could improve the answer. “Only that pretending nothing has changed is beginning to feel dishonest.”
Jane stepped closer, her earlier worries forgotten entirely. “Then you must speak with him. You cannot expect matters to resolve themselves if you do not give voice to them.”
Cissie nodded in agreement. “Jane is right. Whatever understanding you had, it was made under different circumstances. If your feelings have changed, he ought to know it.”
Arabella drew a slow breath, the suggestion both simple and daunting. “I know you are correct. I have told myself as much already. It is only… the manner of it. I do not know how to begin.”
“You begin badly, probably,” Cissie said, gentler than the words suggested. “And then you keep speaking until the truth begins to sound less impossible.”
Arabella inclined her head, grateful for their steadiness. “I will consider how best to do so.”
She meant to thank them. She even drew breath to do it, but the words thinned before they reached her tongue. At first, it was only a fleeting lightness, something she attributed to the warmth of the shop and the press of bodies around them. She shifted her weight, hoping it would pass. It did not.
“Arabella?” Jane’s voice cut through the haze. “You have gone quite pale.”
“I am perfectly well,” Arabella replied, though the reassurance felt thin even to her own ears. The room tilted slightly, the edges of her vision blurring in a way that was impossible to ignore.
Cissie was at her side at once, her hand firm on Arabella’s arm. “You are not. Sit down at once.”
Arabella attempted to protest, but the words dissolved as her knees threatened to give way. She allowed herself to be guided to a nearby chair, the movement unsteady despite her efforts to maintain composure.
“Water,” Jane said, already turning toward the counter. “We must have water.”
The shopgirl hurried to comply while Cissie remained close, her voice low and soothing. “Do not try to stand. It will pass.”
Arabella closed her eyes briefly, willing the dizziness to recede. Instead, it intensified, a wave of nausea accompanying it that left her breathless.
“Make space,” a firm voice instructed from somewhere nearby, cutting through the confusion with quiet authority.
Arabella did not immediately recognize it. Her focus narrowed to the effort of remaining upright—Jane returning with water, Cissie steady at her side.
“Take a small sip,” the voice continued, closer now. “Slowly.”
She obeyed without thinking. The coolness grounded her slightly. The dizziness began, at last, to ebb, though it left her weak in its wake.
Only then did she become aware of who stood beside them. Lord Covington inclined his head, his expression composed, though marked by something she could not immediately name.
“I beg your pardon,” he said, the apology quiet enough that she nearly missed it.
She knew him before she fully looked at him. Her body recognized the discomfort first.
The dizziness had not fully left her, though it had dulled enough that the room no longer spun quite so violently. She remained seated, her gloved hands loosely clasped in her lap, while Cissie hovered at one side and Jane stood just beyond, watching her with a kind of anxious vigilance that made Arabella feel more fragile than she wished to appear.
Lord Covington did not step back. “I wondered when chance would grow bored of avoiding us.”
He had positioned himself just close enough to be useful without appearing intrusive, though the distinction felt thinner now that Arabella’s awareness had returned in full.
