To spend time with someone, not because of how they might improve one’s status, not because the rules of etiquette required it but for the sheer pleasure of his company.
Arabella’s thumb brushed over one corner of the letter.
In a small vase on her dressing table was a single white rose, one Gavin had picked for her when he’d given her and Nan a tour of his glasshouse. The petals were just beginning to unfurl, the rose on the cusp of blooming. Arabella lifted the bloom to her nose, careful not to touch the fragile petals, breathing in its sweet scent before gently placing it back in the water.
She couldn’t open the letter. Wouldn’t open it. Like the rose, her newfound freedom and her feelings for Gavin were fragile. Her mother’s words would bruise and break them as surely as a clumsy hand would crush the petals of a blooming rose.
Which is why, instead of opening it, she placed it back in the drawer of her dressing table.
It was only then that she noticed that the letter she’d written to her parents that second day at Grandmother’s was missing.
“’TWAS A FINE meal, Gavin. Ye’ll have tae give my compliments tae the cook.” Grandmother leaned back in the chair. “Ainlie problem is, I’m not sure I’ll be able tae get up.”
Gavin laughed. “Let me help ye.” He rose and went to her side.
Arabella watched the scene, surprised by the emotion billowing within her chest, a soft sort of joy. The smallest details that no one else would notice but that said a great deal about the two people who had come to mean so much to her.
The gentle way Gavin took ahold of Grandmother’s elbow and helped her rise.
The affection shining from her eyes as she looked up at him.
The way he murmured in her ear, making her laugh.
Arabella couldn’t remember ever feeling as content as she had this past month. In many ways, the time felt like a soap bubble, sitting on the rim of a tub. One that might burst at any moment. But for now, as she followed Gavin and Grandmother into the parlor, she allowed herself to revel in it.
Gavin saw Grandmother settled in a chair by the fire. She lifted a hand to cover a wide yawn. “We cannae stay too late if the two of ye hope tae get an early start tomorrow, but will ye play a little something for us, Arabella? Gavin has a fine instrument.”
Gavin led her over to a handsome pianoforte, painted and carved with intricate figures of a lake scene with swans. She ran her hand over the top of its smooth surface. “It’s beautiful.”
He nodded. “’Twas my mother’s.”
She started to pull her hand back. “Are you sure you don’t mind—”
“I dinnae mind,” he said, setting his hand over hers, thumb brushing over her knuckles. Butterflies fluttered low in her belly. “I’d like tae hear ye play it.” He squeezed her hand gently before releasing it.
“She’ll need someone tae turn the pages,” Grandmother called.
They both chuckled. Gavin pulled back the bench while Arabella leafed through the sheet music until she found a song she knew.
Her fingers glided over the keys, the tone of the instrument warm and mellow. Arabella had seen a painting of Gavin’s mother, her laughing eyes and easy smile so much like his, and she couldn’t help but think of her while she played. Did hearing Arabella play make Gavin miss his mother, or did it bring back happy memories?
Perhaps both.
Her mind drifted back to a few days before when Gavin had gifted Arabella the bonnet he’d purchased for his supposed cousin in India. With perfect grimness, he’d explained that she’d met her unfortunate end in a tiger attack. And though Arabella had been in stitches, Gavin unwilling to admit his second cousin three times removed had been a ruse, she’d wondered, even then, if it was from his father that he’d had inherited the ability to give thoughtful gifts.
How she wished she knew them, the parents who had formed and molded and shaped the man she was coming to love.
When she’d finished, fingers lifting gently from the keys, she put her hands in her lap. “Thank you,” she said. “For letting me play.”
Gavin stood behind her, and the space between them had its own sound, a buzzing, an insistent hum. Arabella moved to the edge of the bench and got to her feet, but she was unprepared for the proximity in which it would place them. Gavin, inches away, green eyes muted in the dim room, jaw shadowed with soft stubble.
Her breath caught in her chest because the look of aching desire on his face made her realize she’d been wrong. This wasn’t a bubble at all. The feelings that had been growing between them these past weeks were real. And they were becoming more and more difficult to ignore. Instead of satiating her, every minute, every hour spent with him only made her hungrier for his company, his stories, his teasing.
His touch.
They stared at each other a long moment before Gavin lifted a hand, brushing the back of his fingers down her temple. He leaned closer, his breath whispering against her cheek. Arabella closed her eyes, her heart pounding.
Gavin pressed a kiss to her hairline, his lips soft. Tender.
