Chapter Eighteen
Arabella hoped the panic would subside; it didn’t. It sat beneath her breastbone during that last day at the Priory, it kept her awake at night, it accompanied her in the carriage back to London, it climbed the stairs with her to her bedchamber in the house on Mount Street. It stayed with her overnight and was there when she woke.
She hugged herself, shivering beneath the covers, and stared at the light leaking through the drawn curtains. This is all a mistake, a terrible mistake.
A ride in Hyde Park and an hour spent at the piano did nothing to calm her agitation. She played mechanically, not hearing the music. Her attention was focused not on her fingers but on the growing conviction it would be better if she didn’t love Adam St. Just, if she’d said No instead of Yes.
