Page 12 of A Match Made in Heather

“Aye, yer lairdship.”

When Arabel’s face paled at the sleeping arrangements, Garrick nearly laughed. This day was getting better and better!

“We’ve shut off most o’ the rooms, ye see,” Mrs. Stewart explained. “Only those in this wing are open, an’ none on th’ floor above.” When the two of them stared silently at the other, with Arabel clenching her teeth and Garrick grinning like the cat who’d gotten into the cream, the housekeeper shifted nervously. “But they be good rooms,” she assured them, misunderstanding the tension between them. “Practically the same. An’ her ladyship’s is just there, at the far end o’ the hall.”

“How cozy,” he murmured, goading Arabel by dropping his gaze to her mouth. “And how convenient for wishing you a good night.” Her full lips parted temptingly at his audacity. “Or a good morning.”

Her face flushed scarlet, and he bit his cheek to keep from laughing. But he wasn’t naive enough to think her blush was anything more than barely restrained fury.

Knowing she was beaten on this front, Arabel tossed her head and spun on her heel to march into her room. “This will be perfect, Mrs. Stewart. Thank you.”

Yes, he thought, as he sauntered into his own room.Perfect.

Day Five

Arabel reached into the armoire in Aunt Matilda’s boudoir to pull out the last stack of shifts.

“We’ll need another trunk,” she told the maid, who was helping to pack in preparation for the move to the dower house. Although the house was located just across the estate from Highburn, Arabel had moved enough in her own life to know that a clean break was best, and her aunt’s things all needed to be ready to go at once. Auntie would be more comfortable if all was waiting for her when she moved in, right down to the last shift.

Of which there appeared to be several dozen. She frowned as she handed the stack to the maid. Heavens. How many shifts did an octogenarian widow need?

“I think we’re done with that one,” Arabel told the maid as she gestured at the full trunk. “Would you call for a footman to carry it downstairs?”

“We’ll put it in the drawin’ room ’til we’re ready to send them all on to the dower house,” Mrs. Stewart instructed the maid as she helped sort through a pile of shoes.

Arabel asked curiously, “Has the house been made ready, then?”

“Yes, miss.” Handing the sought-after slipper to Aunt Matilda, Mrs. Stewart answered over her shoulder, “Been ready fer a while. Jus’ waitin’ on Mr. Davidson t’ settle the will.” She added in a weary voice, “An’ packin’.”

Arabel bit down her smile. Judging from the mess of clothes, accessories, and other whatnot filling her aunt’s rooms, she could only imagine how long the household staff had already been at the task. “Perhaps, Mrs. Stewart, you’d be good enough to accompany me to visit it? I’d like to see if there’s anything I can do to make Lady Rowland feel welcome there.”

Aunt Matilda let out a scoffing laugh. “If I were made any more welcome there, I might think you were attemptin’ to be rid of me.”

“Not at all, Auntie. You know that.” The twinkling gleam in her aunt’s eyes told Arabel that the old woman was teasing. “Besides,” she countered mischievously, giving back as good as she got, “it was either the dower house or the old sheep barn for you, and at the dower house there seemed less chance of the shepherds attempting to shear you.”

Matilda cackled with laughter. The white lace edging the black sleeves of her mourning dress waved in the air as she brandished a finger at Arabel. “You’ve still got the same fierce spirit, lass! The city hasn’t completely stripped the highlander from you.”

“No.” Arabel smiled as she closed the armoire’s doors. “Not completely.”

Just mostly.But then, how else could it be? She’d been gone from the highlands nearly as long as Garrick.

“There’s no reason for you to change houses,” Arabel assured her as she crossed the room to where Matilda and Mrs. Stewart had moved closer to the window to get a good look at a pair of boots that had been shoved beneath the bed. “You’re perfectly fine staying right here. I don’t mind.”

“Aye, you don’t. But does Townsend?”

Arabel startled at the use of Garrick’s title. Would she ever get used to that? He’d left her to become a head groom and returned an earl. The change was unsettling. Just like the man. “It’s none of his concern.I’veinvited you to remain.”

“But Highburn’s half his.”

“Not for long,” Arabel mumbled beneath her breath, then turned toward the window. For once, the day was bright, warm, and clear, so she pulled back the heavy drapes to let in as much light as possible.

“Quite a bind for you, eh?” Matilda commented.

Arabel glanced out the window to take in the expansive view . . . the blue mountains in the distance, the heather fields and loch further in, and close to the house the narrow strip of lawn stretching between the gardens and the stables. “What do you mean?”

“For Townsend to return so close to your weddin’.”

Arabel tensed, not turning around to face her aunt until she’d controlled the emotions on her face. A forced smile hid the racing thumps of her heart. “And so much to do between now and the wedding, too. I hope you’ll consider giving me your opinion on my plans.”