She gave him a devious smile. “And?”
Devil take it, when Nan got an idea in her head...“Ye ken I have no intention of marrying an English lass. Related tae ye or nae.” He’d marry a Scottish lady, one who loved this land like he did.
“Don’t think I haven’t seen the way ye look at her.” Nan raised her brows. “And she’s ainlie half English, Gavin.”
“Andyeare ainlie half blind,” he replied. “Now, I think perhaps I’d better lie low for a few weeks. Give the two of ye some time together.”
“Nonsense. Ye must dine with me every Tuesday, as ye always do.”
“Not tomorrow,” he said firmly. “Or the week after. She needs some time, remember?”
Nan grudgingly agreed and the conversation meandered on, but Gavin’s mind kept returning to that moment when he’d placed his hand on Miss Hughes’s arm. The obstinate set of her chin, the way she’d jerked back.
And he couldn’t help but continue to think about what Nan had said. What her hopes were. He hated that he’d have to disappoint her.
Not because Miss Hughes wasn’t lovely. Not because of her ridiculous pride. Not because she was English.
But because, for the first time, Gavin had decided there might be such a thing astoostubborn.
ARABELLA SAT AT the dressing table, the ink on the letter she’d written her mother still drying. Instead of joining her grandmother for dinner, she’d requested a tray in her bedroom, claiming a headache.
She was still hurt and humiliated. Whenever she allowed herself to think of last night’s dinner, it was all she could do not to groan. Remembering her willingness to believe every one of the ridiculous claims made by her grandmother and Mr. McKenzie.
Arabella touched her finger to the paper, testing to see that the ink was dry. Satisfied, she looked over the letter that held an account of all she’d been subjected to since setting foot here. Scathing words. She was certain, once they received it, her parents would come for her. All that remained was to send it off and wait.
One week? Two?
Three weeks at most, she decided.
Surely she could last here for three weeks.
She glanced around the room she’d been given, cozy and quaint, though quite outdated. Several decades out of fashion, at least.
Arabella’s gaze was drawn to where her empty trunks sat near the foot of the bed. She hadn’t expected to find themwaiting for her when she’d returned from the beach, but there they’d been, Molly humming as she unpacked them.
She’d frowned, watching as Molly aired out her dresses. “However did you manage to get my trunk up that steep hill? Grandmother said the roads were still impassable.”
“A Mr. McKenzie came for me. Said he’d retrieved your trunks and offered me a ride.”
Molly had chattered on, complaining about her stay at the inn last night, the roads, the weather. But Arabella had stopped listening. After the way she’d dismissed Mr. McKenzie, after the argument they’d had...
He’d fetched her trunks.
But why?
A knock sounded at the door, rousing Arabella from her thoughts. Probably a maid come to collect her dinner tray.
“Enter,” Arabella called, folding the letter. “The tray is just here.” She slipped the letter into the drawer of the dressing table and looked up, only to meet her grandmother’s gaze in the mirror.
“Oh,” she said softly. “I didn’t . . .”
“I hope ye dinnae mind.”
Arabella cleared her throat. “Of course not.”
She stepped forward, coming to stand behind Arabella. “I am sorry. For dinner last night. And for this morning. I...”
The uncertainty of her words made Arabella soften, just a little. She waited.
