Page 3 of Seven Swans a Swimming

“Caroline’s baby, Papa,” she sent gently, nudging her father to his feet. “You have remembered that you are about to be a grandfather, have you not?”

“Oh, a grandmother, at my age!” said Selina, bursting into tears. “My baby! My baby’s baby!”

“Yes, right, well. A baby,” said Arthur, evidently unsure precisely what he should be doing in that moment and consoled himself by taking his sobbing wife into his arms. “My dear, you must hurry!”

“I must? I must!”

Arabella smiled affectionately as she looked at her parents, almost beside themselves with excitement and worry. Caroline’s baby. Well, they had expected it for a few weeks now, and it was finally here. At least, almost. A little Walsingham. Perhaps an heir to the earldom.

It was such a picture of happiness that it made her stomach squirm slightly.

Was this her future? Her parents had married for love; at least, that was what they had always told their daughters, and Arabella had no reason to doubt them. It was not common, of course, a pure love match—but then Arthur Fitzroy, despite being the youngest of his brothers, had plenty of fortune to support a family.

And she had been matched. Lord Nathaniel Cartier had been destined to be her husband since she had been born.

But would they find this sort of comfort with each other? This kind of affection?

As Arabella watched her father dry the eyes of her mother with his kisses, his murmured jesting making her laugh, Arabella’s stomach tightened painfully.

Surely not. That was the true affection that a love match could bring.

She would be fortunate indeed if she admired or even respected her husband, she knew that. How many of their acquaintances in London absolutely loathed their partners?

And that was why, she saw with a sinking feeling, her Papa was so determined for her to go and visit the Cartiers this Christmas. A chance to get to know them. An opportunity to see them as they were, as a family.

The family that she would one day be joining, and perhaps not too distantly in the future.

“No, no, you should still go to Chalcroft,” Selina was saying to her husband. “No offense, my dear, but I do not believe you will be much help.”

Arabella giggled, and her parents turned to look at her, as though they had entirely forgotten she was there.

“Arabella,” said her Papa. “Go and pack. Now.”

She knew better than to argue. And that was why, several hours later, Arabella found herself alone in a freezing cold carriage, on the road to Sussex, where the Cartiers’ home was.

A ray of sunlight broke into the carriage, pouring light onto her face, and much desired warmth. Arabella closed her eyes for a moment, letting its amber glow seep through her eyelashes.

Well, so what if the rest of the Fitzroy family—save her mother and Sophia, who had rushed off to be with Caroline—were going to Chalcroft to be merry? So what if they would have larks she could not participate in?

Arabella had even heard murmurings from Jemima, who had rushed in at the last minute before she had left for Sussex, that she had guessed there would be a Christmas ball.

“Uncle William loves balls,” Jemima had said confidently, her husband, Hugh’s, arm around her shoulders protectively, though against what, Arabella could not tell. “A Christmas ball!”

A ball! Arabella sighed and sunk lower in the carriage as it rattled along the frozen road. A Christmas ball at Chalcroft, the beautiful manor house that seemed perfectly designed to host such a gathering.

And she was on her way to Oxcaster Lacey, alone, to spend the Christmas season with Lord Nathaniel and his parents.

Arabella sighed heavily, watching her breath blossom out before her. An arranged marriage was all very well, but the name Lord Nathaniel Cartier did not exactly stir up feelings of warmth.

Only once had Arabella seen anything of Lord Nathaniel. When she had turned eighteen, amongst the many presents that she had received from her caring friends and relations had been an elegant profile silhouette.

“Who on earth could that be?” Jemima had asked, snatching it away from Arabella’s hands the moment she had opened it.

“Well, I might be able to tell you if I have more than a second to look at it!” Arabella had laughed, taking it from her sister’s hands.

Seated in the carriage on the way to meet him, Arabella drew out the silhouette from her reticle. It was small, perhaps three or four inches across, and showed the haughty profile of a gentleman.

That was all one could make out, really. The silhouette did not show a great amount of detail, which may have been because it was roughly made, or because the sitter himself did not have many defining features.

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