The Scottish Companion Read Online Free

liked warm milk in the evening, and preferred wearing a particular nightgown with blue flowers embroidered on the yoke. She had nopatience for card games, or conversation of any sort, and if she did speak it was to that hideous skeleton in her sitting room. That, and her growing dislike of the idea of marriage, was the extent of her knowledge of Arabella.
    There was a flash of white beyond the trees. Leaning forward, Gillian caught a glimpse of something pointed. The top of a tower? The tops of two towers, to be precise. Narrow and round, they were built atop a brick wall now covered in lichen or ivy. Beyond the towers were two other pediments, these square and cumbersome, as if they’d been added as an afterthought to the wall.
    “Is that it?” she asked, stunned at both the size and the majesty of Arabella’s new home. “Is that Rosemoor?”
    Dr. Fenton sat up and glanced out the window. “Indeed it is. Rosemoor, the seat of the Earls of Straithern. A most impressive edifice, don’t you think, Gillian?”
    The house was a jumble of buildings, all connected together, some high, some low, some topped with towers, some flat. The whole of Rosemoor was faded red sandstone, with large arched windows where there were windows, and tiny slits where there were none. She started to count them, and stopped when she reached twenty.
    “It’s very large.”
    “Indeed it is. Seventy-two rooms, to be precise. I myself have seen only a quarter of them. But I expect you, my dear,” he said, shooting a fond look toward his daughter, “will grow to know them well.”
    Arabella said nothing. Nor did she look up from her book.
     
    “Your bride will be here any moment, Grant.”
    Grant stared at the paper in front of him, wondering if he should engage in conversation with his mother, or ignore her. She was, after all, the Countess of Straithern, and free to speak her mind. But that didn’t mean he had to listen, or even agree. Although he’d occasionally solicited her opinion, he wasn’t interested in what she had to say now.
    He glanced up from his ledger. “I have given word that I’m to be notified when she arrives.”
    “Are you no more interested than that? A wife is not a horse, Grant, however much you’ve bargained for the filly.”
    He stood, unwilling to sit behind his desk while she advanced on him. He really should have left for his laboratory early this morning, but he’d been kept behind by his correspondence.
    “The subject isn’t open to discussion, Mother. I’ve done what I feel is necessary.”
    “Have you?” She took a step back as if to equalize their height, but he was at least six inches taller. Nor was he cowed by the ferocity of her look as he had been when he was twelve and guilty of some misdeed.
    Living in Italy had been a pleasure in more ways than one.
    “The subject is not open to discussion,” he repeated. “Is there anything else I can do for you?”
    She clamped her lips shut and narrowed her eyes. “You’ve become insufferably arrogant, Grant. I dislike that quality in you.”
    “Perhaps if you listed all my faults, we could meetsoon to discuss them. I’m not averse to improvement, Mother.”
    “Then at least tell me why you’ve chosen Dr. Fenton’s daughter. Are you set on this course, Grant?”
    He studied her for a moment. “Are you prepared to go to Edinburgh, Mother? Renew your acquaintances, enter society once again?”
    She didn’t respond.
    “Arabella Fenton will suit well enough. Is there anything else I can do for you, Mother?” He brushed his fingertips against the letter he was writing, wondering when, exactly, he could finish with this chore and escape. He liked routine, the act of finishing one task before beginning another. If he wasn’t so methodical, he would have bolted from the room before she’d advanced on him.
    She stood her ground, frowning at him. “Have you fallen in love?”
    He was almost amused by that question, enough that he felt the corners