Page 40 of Seven Swans a Swimming

Before they had talked. Before she had grown to know him, before he had revealed himself to her, been vulnerable.

Before they had shared the most important thing that two people could ever share.

Arabella knew she had to do something, knew this painfully silent moment could not continue forever.

Knew if she did not do something and soon and right, then the love she had found—for it was love, she was certain of it—would be lost. And she would regret, for the rest of her life, the loss of such a perfect affection. Such an adoring partner.

The swan of her heart, the perfect mate who had been far away but had been found.

As guilt tinged her heart, for Arabella knew all too well that it was her own hand which had condemned Nathaniel in her father’s eyes, she wished heartily she had never sat down to write that dratted letter.

But that could not be changed, not now. She had to face what was before her, deal with the situation she found herself in—or lose the man she loved.

“Nathaniel,” Arabella said urgently in a low voice. He did not look up. “Nathaniel, I—”

“Nathaniel Cartier, you have let us both down!” Lord Cartier rose to his feet, though he did not need to for his words to be impressively loud.

It may have been Arabella’s imagination, but she believed the china on the table rattled slightly at Lord Cartier’s words. His glare was most alarming, and Arabella turned instinctively to his wife to calm the situation—but she, too, had risen to her feet.

“We should have known you would not manage to secure Miss Fitzroy’s heart,” said Lady Cartier with none of the anger and far more sadness than her husband. “Oh, Nathaniel, we should not have permitted you to speak with her alone, what have you said to her?”

“You did not tell her about…about your obsession with nature, did you?” Lord Cartier glared at his son, and Arabella’s heart prickled painfully as she watched Nathaniel look resolutely at his hands in his lap. “Boring that poor girl to tears, no wonder she has no wish to marry you!”

On and on they went, a tirade of disappointment, and Arabella could not think what to do. She was in their home, their guest; it was not her responsibility nor her duty to interfere. And Nathaniel was their son, albeit a grown one.

But it was torture. Every word from their mouths dripped with disdain and frustration, all with the assumption that as soon as Arabella had started to get to know their son, she had immediately decided the man wasn’t enough for her.

Wasn’t…wasn’t enough?

Arabella could think of nothing more incorrect. If anything, she had been burdened for the last few days with the panic that Nathaniel would wake up one morning, take a look at her, and realize that he could certainly do far better.

She swallowed, feeling the tension in her shoulders, unsure how to make Lord and Lady Cartier halt berating their son—but as Arabella’s gaze shot over to Nathaniel, she saw precisely what she had to do.

“Stop.”

Arabella could hear her own heartbeat in her ears, a rush of blood soaring through her, making her feel powerful. Was that why she had stood to her feet?

Lord Cartier opened his mouth, but no sound came out as Arabella glared at him, her hands clenching the table as though somehow that would make it easier to do what need to be done. Say what needed to be said.

Lady Cartier wordlessly reached for her husband’s sleeve and tugged it. Very slowly, he sat down.

The two of them were staring at her, as though they had never seen a young lady speak her mind before.

Perhaps they had not, Arabella found herself thinking wryly, trying not to smile. After all, they only had a son, and it did not appear as though they had many visitors. Nathaniel certainly had no idea what to do with her when she had first arrived.

“Miss…Miss Fitzroy,” Lady Cartier managed to say, her voice shaking—though with anger at her, or her son, Arabella could not tell. “You do not seem to understand—your father—”

“My father is my own problem, and I will deal with him when I return to London,” Arabella said impressively, power rushing through her.

She had no idea where it was coming from—her love for Nathaniel perhaps, her passion for him, her determination to be with him, no matter the cost.

Because she loved him. Knew she could not be without him. Knew that after all their fears that they would not be acceptable to the other, they were in fact perfectly suited.

Matched. Designed to be mated for life.

And nothing, not her own father, not Nathaniel’s parents, was going to come between them. She was determined.

“This is all your fault,” hissed Lord Cartier toward his son.

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