Page 42 of Somewhere Along The Way (Mackinnon #3)

Chapter Thirteen

The Duchess of Grenville looked out the window into the garden below and wished she hadn’t.

“What the devil is going on out there?” she said in a worried way as she drew back her hand, allowing the heavily tasseled silk drapery to fall back into place.

She turned away from the window, an anxious look on her face.

She began pacing the floor, then paused to look at the window.

“Oh, Bella, Bella, Bella. What are you doing, child?” She began pacing again.

“What shall I do? I do wish Alisdair were here,” she said to no one.

She began to pace in earnest now, back and forth across the floor of the bedroom she had occupied at Dunford Castle since the ball, her silk skirts swishing, her hoop thumping against the furniture, her mind reeling with the scene she had observed a moment ago in the flower garden when she happened to look out her window.

Annabella’s mother was a very decent sort of woman, one who desired only the happiest and best things for her children, but she was not one to tolerate flagrant disregard of propriety.

What she had just witnessed was, in her book, most assuredly flagrant disregard—for there was no doubt in her mind that Annabella knew what was expected of her as a betrothed woman and a Stewart.

Neither of which should be groping with a rogue as handsome as Lachlan’s grandson.

She thought about Alisdair, trying to decide what he would do.

She knew Alisdair would tolerate no such behavior from his daughter when he returned—and he would give Bella a scolding to end all scoldings, whether his wife reminded him of Shakespeare’s words —”Trust not your daughters’ minds/By what you see them act” —or not.

She threw up her hands. It was times such as this—well, today was one of those days she felt as if her wits were wilting.

She simply didn’t know what to do. Try as she might, the duchess couldn’t decide what she should do in such a case.

Indeed, these were trying times. Her wife’s heart told her to march with authority to Annabella’s room and confront her with her discovery, then confine her to her room until her father came home and let him deal with the matter.

Yet her mother’s heart told her to cushion the blow to her child as much as she could.

Of course she would have to tell Alisdair, but perhaps it would be better to have Annabella safely ensconced at her sister’s home before she did, and that way she could report the matter to Alisdair and at the same time inform him that she had taken care of the situation.

But it was her woman’s heart that was so sympathetic to her young daughter’s affections.

Well she could remember what it was like to be young and if not in love, at least infatuated.

And well she could remember what a handsome devil of a grandson the old Mackinnon had.

If ever she had seen a man who looked as if he could seduce a woman and have her thinking it was all her idea, it was Ross Mackinnon.

No, her woman’s heart could not fault her daughter in the least. And so it was a troubled Duchess of Grenville who sat upon her bed and gave much thought to what she was about.

After all, the peace and tranquility of her family was at stake here, as well as her daughter’s future and happiness.

An hour later she hadn’t resolved much, but she had learned one thing: the heart of the woman and mother were far ahead of the heart of the wife. At last, with a prayer for guidance, she decided what she must do.

The duchess prayed all the way to Annabella’s room, reminding God as she went that it would have been much simpler for all concerned if He had nipped this thing in the bud before it had a chance to blossom.

But even as she thought it, she knew that when a young woman was bent upon falling in love with a hero, one would, without fail, stumble into her lap—or the other way around.

It was amazing to the duchess that all Annabella did when she marched with authority into her room and confronted her with the goings-on in the flower garden was to stare.

Actually, staring was a pretty good response, for that stare said far more than words ever could.

Annabella stared as if she had personally been violated, as if someone had come into her room and yanked down her drawers.

And that was precisely how Annabella felt. Violated. She looked up at her mother, who looked as if she had just been heavily starched and ironed. Annabella wasn’t in the mood to be favored with one of her mother’s sermonettes at the moment.

“You needn’t look at me as if I have been sneaking peeks at your journal,” the duchess said.

“Friend or foe, I’m here to help you. You’re in a passel of trouble, young lady, and something will have to be done about it.

Gavin and your father will return shortly, and I deem it best to have this thing settled and done with before they arrive. ”

“What are you going to do? Boil me in oil? I haven’t exactly been soliciting the attentions of the duke’s grandson, you know.” Annabella just wasn’t thinking all of this was as bad as her mother was making it out to be.

But the duchess was bent upon a lecture, and a lecture it was—on why a young lady, and most certainly a betrothed one, did not go scampering about a rose garden with a man, allowing him to take certain liberties.

“He did not take liberties—at least, not in the way you think.”

“Annabella, my mind might not be functioning, but my eyesight is perfect.” Her mother threw up her hands again.

“Oh, stuff and bother. None of this will make any difference to your father. You know how he has that dreadful tendency to punish first and ask questions later.” She gave Annabella a look that was overburdened with significance and went to the armoire, removing her daughter’s valise.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m saving your life, or at least your pride.

I’m taking you to your Aunt Una,” the duchess said, her voice emitting a certain tone of utter satisfaction as she added, “all by myself. I feel it will go ever so much better for you if you are tucked away and out of mischief’s reach by the time your father returns. ”

Annabella watched her mother stare down at her valise as if she were committing it to memory and never expected to see that particular valise again. “When are we leaving?” she asked.

“At first light,” the duchess replied. “I’ve already taken the liberty of speaking with His Grace, and he has kindly offered us the use of his coach, which will take us to Broadford. We’ll take the ferry over to Kyle of Lochalsh. His Grace has another coach there that he has put at our disposal.”

But Annabella wasn’t listening. Her mind had been trapped in horror a few words back. Her mother had spoken with His Grace about all of this? The same His Grace who was Ross Mackinnon’s grandfather? Annabella was horrified at the thought. “Mother, you didn’t tell the Mackinnon…”

“No, I didn’t. What do you take me for? A cabbagehead?

Although, I must say, I had every right, mind you, to tell him all the goings-on of the past few days.

Really, Annabella. I’m beginning to feel like a sheep with all my bleating over the bubble you have gotten yourself into.

How I wish old age would start creeping up on me so I could quietly slip into a blissful state of mental infirmity where the most taxing thing I had to do was listen to the prattle of my grandchildren. ”

The duchess’s words were said in a befuddled, rather disordered voice that made Annabella wonder if her mother hadn’t gotten her wish and slipped peacefully into that blissful state already.

But she knew that wasn’t so. Since she was old enough to remember, her mother had been saying such things to her.

And since she was old enough to remember, Annabella had always listened quietly, offering no comment, asking no questions.

But this time she asked, “Why? I’m the one that’s being shipped off to Western Roses. ”

“Wester Ross,” her mother corrected. “By the by, I don’t fathom why you are looking as terrified as a sheep at a shearing.

I daresay a visit to your aunt isn’t the same thing as being locked in the Tower of London.

You should thank your lucky stars, my dear girl, that I have decided to play the part of the sacrificial lamb and confront your father all alone in this.

Would that I could, I’d go and stay indefinitely in Wester Ross myself.

Don’t you think for a moment that if you remained here there aren’t far worse things that could happen to you at the hands of that… that…that grandson of the duke.”

Annabella, of all people, knew that, for foremost in her mind was Ross, blue-eyed and loose-limbed, grinning his way into her heart in a way that was more endearing than an overzealous lick from an affectionate puppy.

She watched her mother slap the valise on the bed and fidget with the straps to open it.

“What worse things, Mother?” A month ago Annabella would not have had a question like that enter her modest little mind, much less find the fortitude to ask it.

As it happened, her mother didn’t have much more intestinal fortitude than Annabella.

In answer, she went back to the armoire and began removing clothes, packing them in the valise, as if by doing so she could quickly and efficiently roll up Annabella’s questions with them and tuck them away, out of sight.

The duchess began to wring her hands and look miserably about the room, as if she was searching for the nearest way to exit.

“A man like that is very experienced at those sorts of things…with young, susceptible women, I might add.”

“ What sorts of things?”

“The usual sorts of things, Bella. I have seen many men like Lord Mackinnon in London—the kind who will pursue pleasure until they overtake it.”