The Heir - Catherine Coulter [83]
“I remember that you got me into trouble on more than one occasion,” Arabella said. “As for your thinking I wouldn’t marry, that is rather strange. What else is there for a woman to do? Be like that ridiculous Stanhope woman or my aunt Grenhilde? No, marriage is doled out to us. As to my being certain of myself and strong”—Arabella paused, carefully choosing her words—“perhaps it would be better for me now were I more bending, more submissive.”
“Ah, your dominating husband. I begin to think that you and the earl are in a tug of wills, Bella. And it is obvious to me that despite all the bravado and wild exploits of our youth, you are simply not wise in the ways of women.”
“Wise in the ways of women? That sounds like an old gypsy crone who makes up love potions. What on earth are you talking about?”
The twinkling laughter dropped from Suzanne’s eyes and her voice became suddenly very serious. “I will tell you, Bella. You have a strong character, but it is simply not a woman’s strong character. No, now don’t interrupt me, for I believe that I am getting to the kernel of the corn. I have never known you to shy away from something, even if it was unpleasant. You are always forthright, honest, and loyal—and those are the traits gentlemen are supposedly noted for.
“You see, that is exactly your problem. Gentlemen think that we are playing games, or lying, even when we are honest. And when we are forced to be less than honest, they do not know the difference anyway. Therefore, my dear friend, why disappoint them?”
“You have said a lot there, Suzanne, and I’m not certain that I have quite gleaned your meaning. I am honest, most women are, yet it makes no difference to gentlemen if we are or not. Is that what you said?”
“That is close enough.”
Arabella sighed, pulled up a blade of grass and began chewing on it. “I invited you to ride with me to cheer me up. You must know that Elsbeth has sunk into total gloom since her maid, Josette, fell to her death. I expected gentleness from you. I expected tender wit and perhaps even soft pats on my shoulder. But here we are, and I find that all you wish to do is to dissect my character.”
Suzanne sighed herself and pressed her lips together. She stretched out her legs and wiggled her toes inside her soft calf riding boots. “I see that all my wisdom will go unheeded. I will tell you, Bella, I think you almost as much a romantic ninny as dear Elsbeth.”
Arabella turned startled eyes to her friend. “Come, Suz, stop twitching your toes and tell me what you mean. Elsbeth a romantic? Why, the thought is absurd. She is such an innocent child despite her twenty-one years. She would have no notion at all about romance.”
“Poor Arabella. Even Elsbeth tries to dissemble although she isn’t at all good at it yet. Haven’t you noticed how she hangs on to the comte’s every word? I swear she is much taken with the young Frenchman. He is her cousin?”
“Yes, of course he is her cousin. Her mother was his aunt. But really, Suz—”
Suzanne threw up her hands. “Oh, Bella, how can you be so blind? Your dear half-sister is not such an innocent child. I vow she has quite set her sights on her young cousin. Why last night I happened to look at her when the comte was playing whist with you. There was hatred in those pretty eyes of hers, Bella, hatred and jealousy of you, and all because the comte was just being his French self.”
Elsbeth and Gervaise? It cannot be possible. But wait, Arabella, think back. Have there not been many times when Elsbeth and Gervaise have both been absent during the day? Has Elsbeth