I relaxed into my seat. “We have progressed to mature adults who can have civil conversations. We should be very proud of ourselves.”
Her look turned uncomfortable. “So you have forgiven me for pushing you in the lake?”
I shifted toward her. “I forgive you for all your wicked pranks.”
“Wicked?” Arabella sputtered. “They were not as wicked as yours. You used to pull my hair.”
“The perfect excuse to touch it. It’s astonishingly soft.”
“Your charm won’t work on me. I know you weren’t thinking of how soft my hair was when you were ten or twelve or even fourteen.”
I shrugged. “Maybe when I was fourteen.”
She shook her head. “I don’t believe it.”
“Very well, then I have something I cannot believe either. You enjoy books now?”
She folded her hands together in her lap—a hand I wanted to clasp in my own. “If we are being honest now, then yes. I do. The truth is . . . well, the truth is that I’ve always loved to read. I didn’t want you to know we had something in common when we were younger.”
I gaped at her. “You aren’t deceiving me again? You’ve truly liked books since you were a child?”
“Books have always been my greatest joy.”
“Then why did you burn a book that day in the library?”
Arabella winced. “You saw that?”
“It haunts my dreams.”
She did not laugh this time or even smile. “That wasn’t a good day.”
“What happened?”
“We might be starting on a fresh page, you and I, but we are not so good of friends yet that I want to confessallmy secrets.”
Her tone was full of jest, but her words did not settle. A few weeks ago, I could have let her silence alone. Now, I wanted to be her very best secret keeper; the one she told everything to. Her hesitation served to remind me that though we were friends, we were nothing more.
“Someday,” I said.
“Someday?” she repeated in question.
I nodded. “Someday I hope you’ll feel safe enough with me to tell me.”
I don’t know why I said it. She was marrying someone else, and I was leaving. When would she have the chance to learn to trust me? I stood and forced a smile. “I should see if I can find your father. Excuse me.”
Chapter 22
Arabella
With absolutely no decorum, I ran to the drawing room door after Rowan. I stopped just short of it, plastering my body against the nearby wall. With all the discretion I possessed, I leaned forward and peered around the corner. Sure enough, Rowan was headed straight for Papa’s office.
This was the plan.
I wanted this to happen.
I needed this to happen.
I wanted to scratch out last night’s verbal agreement between us with my pen and write a new ending—one where I gave Rowan a second chance. But that was foolish, wasn’t it? I had let my heart overrule my intelligence. There was still the fact that Rowan didn’t know about my writing and the part where he would mock it and destroy the greatest source of happiness I’d had these many years.