Page 16 of Somewhere Along The Way (Mackinnon #3)
Chapter Six
Annabella sat in the garden behind Dunford Castle listening to the Ossian-like notes randomly plucked by an afternoon breeze from the strings of an Eolian harp suspended from a low-sweeping branch of an ancient pine.
The entire Grenville party—that consisted of her two coaches, an embarrassing amount of baggage, her mother, father, brother, four coachmen, her father’s valet, who served both Gavin and her father, and two maids, her mother’s and her own—had arrived that morning.
The ride in the family coach was exhausting, not because the coach was uncomfortable, which it was, and not because the journey from her Uncle Colin’s was a particularly long one, which it was not.
She had been seated next to Gavin, the two of them facing their parents, and the topic of conversation for six hours had been Bella’s wedding, something discussed in exhaustive detail.
Her father, commenting upon her silence, said, “Bella, aren’t you in the least excited about the wedding? Think of all the clothes you’ll need to have made.”
“I am trying to be excited. Truly. I know you must find me very rude,” she said, desolately wringing her folded hands.
She glanced at Gavin and the thought hit her swiftly, mercilessly.
They’ll separate me from Gavin. They’ll keep him in England and leave me here.
“It all happened so fast…the betrothal and all, I mean. I haven’t had much time to…
” She felt a stinging, burning pressure building in her eyes and she blinked as one determined tear escaped, to meander in an aimless path across her pale cheek.
“Bella, don’t cry,” Gavin whispered in her ear, his voice gentle and full of compassion.
Gavin’s concern unleashed a flood. “I’ve tried to be happy about the wedding, but I can’t. I don’t want to be married. Please. Can’t you change your mind? Can’t we go back home?”
Her father studied her face for a moment, and then sighed wearily. “We have discussed this before, Annabella. I thought you understood completely why this marriage must take place.”
“I understand it, but I don’t want it.”
“I understand that as well, but the betrothal has been announced. The wedding must proceed as planned. Your persistence only makes things more difficult for your mother and me. It isn’t our objective to see you miserable and unhappy.”
But that’s what you’re doing, making me miserable and unhappy. Tears of rage glistened in her eyes, but she guided herself away from sounding defiant. “Isn’t there anything you can do, Papa?”
Ever the mollifier, the balm of the family, the one most likely to interject humor at a time when it was sorely needed, Gavin said cheerfully, “There is one thing,” and three pairs of eyes focused on him immediately. “I could strangle Huntly.”
The memory of that brought her mind back to Huntly and the present.
Huntly, a man she found both horrid and distrustful.
He was also something she did not want to think about, especially since she did not have to.
Since he had not yet put in his appearance at Dunford—something Annabella found quite pleasing—she found it perfectly reasonable to cut him completely from her thoughts, in spite of the fact that it was quite the rage in London to cultivate a little unhappiness.
As the paperweight in her father’s study was inscribed, IT IS THE WISE MAN’S PART TO LEAVE IN DARKNESS EVERYTHING THAT IS UGLY.
And that was where she intended to leave Huntly, in the dark—at least as much as possible.
The garden was, much to her liking, deserted.
This fact meant there was no one about to disturb her solitary concentration, for her parents were taking tea with the duke, whom everyone strangely persisted in calling “the Mackinnon”.
Her brother, who could be quite pestiferous at the times she wanted to be alone, was last seen plying his charm on a coy milkmaid in the dairy.
As for Annabella, she was still wearing her dark blue carriage dress.
Her heavy black hair, perfectly dressed, was swept back into a gleaming coil and tied with a blue grosgrain bow.
Her appearance suggested a fragile cameo, lavender and lace with a delicate constitution.
She was a small girl, dark-haired, fair-skinned, with cheekbones set high in a heart-shaped face.
It was an unusually warm afternoon, yet it never occurred to her that removing a petticoat or two or loosening a few of the buttons on her high-necked gown might make her more comfortable and less hot.
And taking her shoes off was something she would have never imagined anyone did, outside of the bedroom, that is.
It would have sent a flush of color to her cheeks to think of such a thing.
Still, she did pause a moment to reflect upon the casual dress of the milkmaid Gavin had cornered.
She remembered the way the girl’s hair was coming loose from its knot, the low-necked dress and cool, cotton skirt she was wearing.
Bella looked down at her notepad, open and in her lap. Her face was pensive as she thought of the lines she would write. So far, she had only the title: “ Ode to an Eolian Harp. ”
She was about to write the first line, “ Half-stirred to passion, embraced by the wind ,” when her brother Gavin interrupted her tranquility.
She had expected no one to disturb her here in the garden at this time of day, so when she heard footsteps approaching and looked up to see Gavin burst between the glossy green foliage of a hedge of holly, she was startled.
“Ho! There you are, Bella. Come! Put away your letter writing. Lord Percival showed me the most splendid green—perfect for a game of croquet.”
Annabella looked at her brother. “Gavin, if that splendid green is anything like the roads coming to this place, there will be potholes large enough to lose a carriage in.” It was perfectly clear from her tone that leaving her poetry to play croquet was not something she found particularly appealing.
“I’ve seen the green, Bella. It is splendid. Truly.” Then with a cajoling grin, he cuffed her on the chin. “Come on, brat,” he said, taking her notepad and pen from her. “You’ll have a good time once you’re playing. Or would you rather go fishing?”
“I’m not such an ogre that I have to be beguiled into playing a game of croquet,” she said, ignoring the offer to go fishing.
“Then you’ll play—or fish?” he asked with a wide grin.
“Of all the bounders,” she said, clucking her disapproval; then, smiling fondly at him, she added, “I’ll play, but I ought to change my slippers, I suppose.”
“You look quite the fashion,” he said. “We’re just going to play croquet.”
“But if I ruin them—”
“You won’t. The grass isn’t damp at all. They’ll be fine.” He pulled her to her feet. “Come on. I’ll show you the green.”
Brother and sister set off down the gravel pathway. A large black dog ran across their path, following a rabbit he had spotted turning up the lane. Annabella followed the chase until they turned the corner of the castle and saw a sloping green meadow. “Is this the green?” she asked.
“Of course. I told you it was splendid.”
“Splendidly full of lumps and bumps. We can’t play croquet on this,” she said.
Gavin gave it a critical look. “Of course we can. Percy said they play here all the time. See, the wickets are already set.”
An hour later they had played three games—which Gavin won. “One more, Bella,” he pleaded.
“Why? So you can trounce me again?”
“I’ll let you win, then. Come on, one more. Please?”
“Let me win? Oh, thank you very much. You’re cajoling me again.”
“Whatever it takes,” he said, grinning.
“One more game,” she said emphatically. “One…and no more.”
“And I let you win.”
“Fair and square,” she said.
Gavin won the next game as well. “Be a sport, Bella, and play one more.”
“No.”
“Come on, what else have you got to do?”
“We can’t play another game,” she said.
“Why not?”
“We don’t have enough balls.” Before he could respond to that, she drew back her mallet and smacked the wooden ball lying nearest her foot. It left the ground and sailed across the green before bouncing twice and rolling into the trees.
“We will in a minute,” Gavin said, laughing, and giving chase.
As soon as he ducked into the trees, searching for the ball, Annabella located the second ball, and as she had done before, she brought her mallet down, sending it sailing in the opposite direction.
Like its predecessor, the ball lifted off the ground, but this one skipped over the stone fence before coming down on the other side.
A moment later a loud bellow pierced the air.
“What in the hell?”
Annabella’s mouth dropped open, but no sound came forth.
Whatever she wanted to say was frozen somewhere between her lungs and her throat.
Her first instinct was to seek sanctuary behind the thick stone walls of Dunford Castle.
But what if she had injured someone—injured them badly?
Without a moment to waste, she cast a quick look toward the trees where she had last seen Gavin.
He was nowhere in sight, which was precisely the way she wanted it.
It wouldn’t do to have Gavin know she had turned an intellectual into the village idiot with one whack of her croquet ball.
He would never cease to remind her of that.
Racing across the green, she paused inside the gate for a moment, then with a fortifying gulp of air, she opened it and stepped out into the lane, looking the perfect picture of composure. She looked to the right, and then to the left. And then she saw him.
For the second time in a few short minutes her mouth dropped open.