And Arabella Hughes promised to be a fascinating case, indeed.
“We’ll start with a few basic misconceptions, the types of things she thinks she already kens aboot Scots. Strong brogues. Tartan plaids.”
Nan rose and began to pace. “I dinnae ken, Gavin. This is my granddaughter. And she’s ainlie here for the summer. I’ll likely not get another chance. After losing Ada...” A fleeting look of hurt passed over Nan’s face, remembering the daughter who’d wed an Englishman and never looked back. Never visited. Kept her daughter out of reach of her Scottish grandmother. “I cannae lose Arabella, too.”
Gavin nodded. “I ken ye miss your daughter. That ye still grieve her.” He let out a slow breath, hating that these words would hurt her. “But have years of pleading and begging with her changed anything?”
Eyes on the floor, Nan shook her head.
“Perhaps ’tis time tae try something different,” he said softly. “Pleading and begging has not worked with her mother, and I do not think it will work on Arabella either.”
The last thing he would ever want to do is jeopardize Nan’s relationship with her granddaughter. But he also knew what he’d seen in Miss Hughes. “Ye cannae coddle her. Ye cannae hope tae change her mind or heart by making things easy for her. She’s a stubborn lass. And she needs tae be shown a bit of stubbornness in return.”
“For how long?” She pursed her lips together.
“No more than twenty-four hours.”
She stopped pacing. “One day?”
“At most,” he promised.
She hesitated. “I’ll think on it. But first, I think ye should take your carriage back down tae the village and bring her home tae me.”
“You!” An accusatory voice rang out from the doorway.
Gavin and Nan turned in unison.
There stood Arabella Hughes, so wet that it looked like she’d taken a dip in the loch. Her boots and dress were thickly coated with mud, her hair plastered to her head. Flecks of dirt and mud spattered her cheeks like an artist’s smock.
The lass hadwalked.
Three miles.
Uphill.
In the rain and mud.
She had spirit, Gavin would give her that. Or perhaps it was sheer Scottish stubbornness. Either way, he was impressed.
But given the look of contempt on her face, the feeling wasn’t mutual.
She spoke through gritted teeth. “I wouldn’t get into a carriage with that man if he were the last person on earth.”
Cargill, the butler, holding a sodden cape and looking more flustered than usual, peeked his head around her. “May I present Miss Arabella Hughes, ma’am. She insisted on seeing ye at once.”
ARABELLA COULDN’T BELIEVE it.
That . . . thatman.
Here, in her grandmother’s sitting room.
Relaxing on the settee, one leg crossed over the other, looking casually at home. As if he belonged. As ifhewere a family member andshethe interloper.
She glared at him, blood boiling so hot that she feared her wet clothes might begin to steam.
But under the force of her scathing stare, his mouth only tipped up in half a smile. A smile that she, not two hours past, had thought handsome. Now she was certain he bore a striking resemblance to the devil.
He got to his feet and ambled toward her. “Ach, women are such changeable creatures, are they not, Miss Hughes? An hour ago, ye were quite desperate for a ride in my carriage.” He cocked his head. “But dinnae fash yerself. I’ll do my best tae keep up with yer changing preferences.”
