“You give chance too much credit,” Arabella said, her voice steadier than she felt. “It rarely bothers with intention.”
His gaze remained fixed on her, attentive in a way that might have been mistaken for concern by anyone less familiar with him.
“And who might this gentleman be?” Cissie asked, her tone defensive, though carefully polite.
“Lord Covington,” Arabella said. The name came out level. The rest of her did not.
“You should not have been left standing so long,” he said, his voice low, as though the fault lay somewhere beyond her.
Arabella lifted her eyes to him, drawing her composure back into place piece by piece. “I was not left standing, my lord. I chose to be so.”
His expression softened, though the change did not reach his eyes. “You are gracious, even now. It is… admirable.”
Jane’s hand brushed lightly against Arabella’s sleeve—not by accident. A question, unspoken.
Arabella did not answer it.
“She is also recovering, Lord Covington,” Jane said, her tone firm enough to settle the matter. “I think she requires very little admiration at present, and rather more air.”
Cissie nodded in agreement. “We shall take her home at once.”
Covington inclined his head, acknowledging the correction without quite retreating. “Of course. Forgive me. I meant only to ensure she was not in distress.”
Arabella might have answered him then, might have dismissed his concern outright, but he spoke again before she could gather the words.
“I owe you an apology,” he said, more quietly this time.
Something in his tone stilled her.
“For my behavior,” he continued, his voice lowering further, as though the words were not meant for the others. “I spoke out of turn before. I allowed my… opinions to overshadow my regard for your well-being.”
The irritation rose almost at once, sharp enough to cut through the lingering weakness in her limbs.
“My well-being does not require your oversight,” Arabella began, the words forming more firmly than she had expected.
But as she drew breath to continue, the world tilted again.
This time it came without warning. The dizziness returned with a force that left her grasping blindly for the arm of the chair, her stomach turning in a sudden, violent wave of nausea that swallowed whatever composure she had managed to reclaim.
“Arabella,” Cissie said at once, dropping to her side.
Jane reached for her other hand. “We must take her out. Now.”
Covington stepped forward before either of them could move her, his hand hovering just short of her shoulder, uncertain whether to touch her. “Careful,” he murmured. “Do not rush her. She will faint if you move her too quickly.”
“I shall not faint,” Arabella managed, though the words sounded distant even to her own ears.
“You need not prove anything,” he replied softly.
The shopgirl returned with a damp cloth, and Cissie pressed it gently into Arabella’s hand. “Hold this,” she said. “Breathe slowly. It will pass.”
Arabella obeyed, though her focus narrowed to the simple act of remaining upright. The voices around her blurred, the edges of the room softening once more.
Somewhere close, Covington leaned in, his voice lowered to something meant for her alone.
“You should not be enduring this,” he said. “Not under such circumstances. Not with a man like?—”
Arabella’s fingers tightened. Her eyes opened despite the strain. She would not hear it again—not here, not now.
