Page 13 of Seven Swans a Swimming

Or even better, go straight to Chalcroft. Surely it would not take long for a carriage to get her there, and then she could pretend this entire thing never happened.

As Arabella’s eyes closed, a face appeared in her mind. A haughty face, with a dark beard and light eyes.

Arabella’s eyes snapped open, but in the darkness of her bedchamber the vision of Nathaniel’s face kept appearing, no matter what she tried to force him out.

“I apologize, Miss Fitzroy, but I believe you have been brought here under false pretenses. As I said when you arrived, any agreement that has been made can be unmade.”

It was in the early hours of the morning, therefore, that Arabella was able to fall asleep, and when she awoke it was in a very bad temper, with red eyes and heavy bags beneath them.

“Oh, blow,” Arabella muttered as she caught sight of herself in the rather large looking glass by the toilette table.

She looked…well, awful. She was certain her sister Jemima would have had a few choice words to describe just how terrible she looked, but thankfully, Arabella was alone, and could merely imagine the descriptors.

That was the trouble with having red hair, she thought ruefully. When one also had red eyes, the whole effect was rather…unfortunate.

But still, she had no choice but to bathe her eyes and dress herself in her most formal cotton gown. She may have to send back to London for more gowns at this rate, Arabella thought as she finished buttoning herself up, thanking her lucky stars this gown was buttoned at the side, as the lady’s maid had not made another appearance. She could not be expected to stay in a place as luxurious and stately as Oxcaster Lacey without a wider collection of gowns.

Breakfast was a quiet affair. Arabella had already learned that mealtimes with the Cartiers were to be taken, in the main, in silence, and though it took her three attempts to find the breakfast room—finally pointed in the right direction by a kindly maid—Arabella did not look up from her plate during the meal.

Nathaniel did not attend.

It was on the tip of her tongue to ask Lord and Lady Cartier precisely where they thought their son was, and why they believed it acceptable for him to talk to her as he had last night.

His words rang in Arabella’s ears, and her cheeks pinked as she sipped her tea and recalled her own.

“Did it ever occur to you, my lord, that I may be the one who does not like what I see?”

“It did not occur to me. Something interesting for me to consider. Good night.”

It was outrageous, Arabella thought viciously as she stabbed at a roasted tomato—a real luxury in December, she had no idea how they had managed it.

After all, she was the one who had come all this way to meet him—to meet them, she corrected herself silently. She was the one who had sacrificed a family Christmas, and a Christmas at Chalcroft no less.

And she was the one who was being examined, being judged?

Arabella was furious, which was why she was not currently admitting to herself that Lord Nathaniel Cartier was probably well within his right to do so.

It did not take an intelligent person to see from the state of Oxcaster Lacey—nor the fact that he had a title—that Nathaniel was her social superior. The thought burned in Arabella’s mind, irritating her but making it impossible for her to ignore.

Her sister may be a countess, but that had been a surprise to everyone—and the Fitzroys were now considered by most of thetonto have married her beyond her class.

He was the one who would be marrying lower than his status, Arabella reminded herself, no matter how much she hated the thought. Of course, he wished to review her, like a painting he would consider purchasing.

She would need to be suitable. Was that perhaps why her father had not wished to send one of her sisters with her?

The thought made Arabella’s stomach drop most painfully. Did her Papa know that this was the tack Nathaniel would take, and was concerned, perhaps, that the distraction of one of Arabella’s more beautiful sisters would complicate matters?

Arabella stabbed at a sausage, a grim look on her face.

“Goodness, what did that sausage ever do to you?” remarked Lord Cartier with what he obviously thought was a genial smile.

“Where is your son?” Arabella said in reply.

The moment she had spoken, she knew she had spoken too rudely, too abruptly.

Lord Cartier’s face went pale, and he instantly looked at his wife.

“Ah,” said Lady Cartier, dabbing at her mouth with her napkin.

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