“Aye.” He reined in Baird, emotion thickening the back of his throat. “They died in a shipwreck when I was twenty-one.”
“Oh, Gavin,” she breathed. The eyes she turned on him were as soft as the fading blue of a summer sunset. The tenderness in her voice made a bit of the hollowness inside him recede.
“When I think how you let me go on about my own parents.” She bit her lip. “About silly things, little things...”
He eased Baird closer to her and reached out his gloved forefinger to set it softly on her lips, quieting her. “They aren’t little things, Arabella. Not tae ye. Not tae me.”
Tears sparkled on her lashes, balancing on the tips as if she was determined not to let them fall. “I’m sorry, Gavin. Truly.” She tried for a smile. “Your mother sounds wonderful. And wise. Wise enough to send you to school in England to prepare you for those ridiculous people who are prejudiced against Scots.” Her lips twisted in a sad sort of smirk. “Like me.”
“That was her intention, Arabella. No doubt,” he said, laughing softly. “Though I doubt anything could have prepared me for the likes of ye.”
WHEN ARABELLA RETURNED home a few hours later, she headed straight up to change. There was a lightness in her steps as she walked down the hall to her room. Her cheeks hurt from smiling.
After riding down to the beach, she and Gavin had dismounted and given the horses into the groom’s care, then spent almost an hour walking the shoreline, finding shells, throwing rocks, and...talking.
About nothing and everything. Their favorite foods and books and places. Gavin’s were scones,Gulliver’s Travels, and the ruins of an old abbey several miles north, which he’d promised to take her to. When Arabella had confided thatThe Mysteries of Udolphowas the first novel she’d ever read, he’d shown mock outrage and immediately recommended several books he thought she’d enjoy.
While they’d walked, he’d extended a third challenge: to take off her shoes and stockings and wade out into the ocean in her bare feet. The cold had been shocking, and she’d yelped when an unexpected wave had snuck up on her, soaking the bottom of her riding habit. But it had also been exhilarating. Within several minutes, her feet had grown numb, and she’d begun to enjoy the sensation of the lapping waves, laughing as Gavin reenacted her shrieks with great fanfare.
Later, after she’d put her shoes and stockings back on,they’d discussed weightier matters. Gavin had told her more about his parents and about the dark period after their deaths. About how Nan had come over every day to make sure he’d eaten something and gotten dressed. Arabella had confided in him about the secret widow’s walk on the roof of their townhome where she went at night when she couldn’t sleep. About how few friends, real friends, she had in London.
One thing was certain. Gavin Alexander McKenzie was nothing like any of the men Arabella had known in London. He wasn’t stuffy or conceited, nor did he believe he had all the answers to life’s many questions. He laughed and joked about everything, including himself.
And what’s more, he madeherlaugh. Often.
While undoing the top buttons on her riding habit, Arabella caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. At first glance, she was a mess. Her hair disheveled, bonnet askew, riding habit flecked with mud. But she also looked...happy. Nothing like the staid and proper young woman who had arrived here just over a month ago.
The next two weeks passed in a joyful blur. Rounds of piquet and playing the pianoforte for Grandmother. Looking through some of her mother’s old chests, trying to piece together the puzzle of the girl she’d once been. Rising early to try and capture the beauty of the Highlands in watercolor. Dinner with neighbors. Accepting new challenges from Gavin as they rode the hills or walked down to the beach.
She’d just returned from one of these long rides and was going upstairs to freshen up when Molly appeared at her side. “You wanted the blue organza for this evening, was that right?”
Arabella nodded. “Thank you, Molly.”
Molly followed her upstairs, chattering about the habits of the other servants, about how slowly time was passing, about how they still had another six weeks to endure here in Scotland.
Only six more weeks?
The thought made Arabella freeze. She remembered having similar feelings when she’d first arrived. Her first week here, even as she’d gotten to know Grandmother, had inched by, each day stretching interminably.
But now it had begun to feel as if time was going too fast, as if the sand in an hourglass was slipping through her fingers.
Molly opened the door to Arabella’s chamber. “Your grandmother told me to tell you dinner will be served at seven. Will you be needing anything else?”
Arabella’s thoughts jumped to the letter her mother had written, the one she still hadn’t opened. “No, I think I’ll rest for a while.”
But when Molly shut the door, Arabella didn’t go to the bed. She took a seat at her dressing table and opened the drawer, pulling out the letter. There was no need to open it to know what was inside. Chastisement for not writing. A list of expectations. Threats of what the consequences might be if she failed to live up to them.
Opening it would be akin to holding out her wrist to be fitted with a manacle, and she wasn’t ready to do that just yet. Not when she was finally beginning to learn who she was; not when she was at last discovering what it meant to be free.
To read an afternoon away because she wished to find out how the book ended.
To go hunting for shells along the shoreline for hours at a time, delighted by the variety of their size and shape and color.
To listen to Grandmother telling stories of her childhood over breakfast.
To begin to feel, as she wandered the hills and valleys, as if this country, this place, even with all its rugged wildness, was in her blood.
Images of Gavin flashed in her mind, of all the moments,big and small, they’d shared these past weeks, and a lump formed in her throat.
