ARABELLA MADE HER way down the hillside, boots struggling for purchase on some of the steeper inclines. The same “dreich” weather that had kept her indoors the past few days had left the path slick and muddy.
The last several weeks had been . . . surprising, to say the least.
As promised, she and Grandmother had begun again. And once Arabella had let go of some of the preconceived notions she’d had, she found she liked Grandmother. Quite a bit.
She certainly wasn’t as prim and proper as Mother.
Nor as strict.
Arabella would almost venture to say she was...
Well, for lack of a better word . . .fun.
She hated formal meals, loved gothic novels, and was an avid and competitive game player.
This had all come as a bit of a shock to Arabella, who had grown up in a home whereeverythingwas formal, novels of any sort were forbidden, and Mother had taught her it wasn’t ladylike to show any interest in the outcome of a game.
But several nights before, after being soundly beaten at piquet three times in a row, Arabella had had enough. “Again,” she’d demanded.
Grandmother had only laughed as she’d begun to deal a new hand. Instead of making small talk during that fourth game, Arabella shifted her attention to each card and trick played.
Grandmother, after taking an early lead, needled Arabella relentlessly.
Arabella had retorted with a snide comment or two of her own, redoubling her efforts.
And she’d won.
Another thing Arabella had quickly discovered about her grandmother was that she didn’t follow any sort of schedule. One night she’d retire at eight o’clock, another they’d stay up readingThe Mysteries of Udolphotogether until well after midnight. One morning she’d come down in a formal gown to join Arabella for breakfast, the next she’d invite Arabella to her room for tea and still be in her wrapper.
But what Arabella liked best about her grandmother was how very easy it was to relax in her company. She didn’t protest if Arabella slouched or ate a second biscuit or wished to take a nap.
So different from Mother, who never seemed to be satisfied with anything Arabella did. Forever reminding her to eat tiny portions and small bites. If she was playing the pianoforte, it was too loud. If she laughed, she was acting childish.
Even after three weeks away from home, she could still hear Mother’s voice in her head, imagine her disapproving looks, the silent scolds Arabella had learned to anticipate and avoid.
Perhaps that was why she still hadn’t sent that letter, demanding her parents come for her. It sat in the drawer of her dressing table, untouched.
The river was even more enchanting up close—the watera jewel-toned aquamarine, the soft murmur of the water soothing. Grandmother had been adamant she get out and explore. “There are plenty of cloudy days here, Arabella. Ye must take advantage of the sunny ones.”
Grandmother’s rheumatism had been bothering her this morning, so she’d sent Arabella off on her own, encouraging her to walk down the hill path to the river. “Mr. McKenzie keeps several small boats down by the river. The river divides our property, ye see. But the bank on his side is steep, so I allow him tae keep the boats on my property, and he allows me tae use the boats whenever I wish.” Her eyes twinkled as she said, “Though since I dinnae use the boats, I suppose he’s getting the better end of the deal.”
Though Arabella had avoided Mr. McKenzie whenever possible, their paths still crossed plenty. And always he found some way to provoke her, ruffling her composure. Even when he wasn’t around, the man had the audacity to occupy her thoughts, and she often had to force her mind in other directions, which was difficult to do, since Grandmother talked about him constantly. In the past few weeks, she’d heard enough stories about Gavin Alexander McKenzie to last a lifetime.
Exactly in the spot Grandmother had described, there were two boats, one stacked atop the other. Initially, she’d been hesitant about taking one of the boats out by herself, but seeing the river up close, her worries faded. The river was slow-moving and not more than about forty feet across.
Arabella tugged the top boat away and began pushing it down the bank. She grunted with effort, but with one final shove, the boat hit the water with a satisfying splash.
What she hadn’t considered was how quickly it would begin to drift away. Having no desire to get her boots wet, Arabella had only one choice. She leapt.
She hit the far side of the boat, her weight tipping it, water splashing up over the side. Heart thumping, Arabella stayed low as the boat settled. With slow movements she positioned herself onto one of the seats, then used an oar to push against the shallow river bottom, maneuvering out toward the deeper part of the river.
The boat was sucked into the slow-moving current, making the use of her oars unnecessary. Arabella sat up straight as the boat glided through the water.
Her gaze was drawn upward. Birds winged over the river, darting low and then riding sharp gusts of wind high overhead. Sheep dotted the rolling green hills in the distance, grazing lazily, low bleats drifting across the valley.
But there wasn’t a single person in sight.
Arabella was utterly and completely alone.
