Page 64 of Hard-Hearted Highlander
“They say Chatwick Hall is quite grand, but that Lady Chatwick prefers the smaller dowager house for her family, for it’s very quaint and cozy,” Avaline had declared after that initial meeting.
Bernadette wondered whotheywere. “I believe the correct address now is Mrs. Mackenzie,” she’d patiently reminded her.
“Well, of course, that’s correctnow,” Avaline had said. “But she’s really a lady. She married for love, you know. She defied everyone.”
Bernadette didn’t know who everyone was, either, or if Avaline had heard the irony in praising Mrs. Mackenzie for marrying for love when she herself would have her marriage arranged for her by an unfeeling father.
Yesterday afternoon, as Avaline studied her gowns, she’d said, “I wonder what clothes Lady Chatwick will wear this evening. Do you suppose she’ll don plaid? She’s always so stylishly dressed. My mother said her modiste is French and she uses only fabrics from Paris.”
“Avaline, there is something I must tell you,” Bernadette had said, uncaring what Lady Chatwick wore.
“What is it? Oh, I nearly forgot! Do you think you might arrange my hair as she wears it? She has long tresses pinned just so,” Avaline said, using her own long hair to demonstrate.
“I will try—”
“Goodness that reminds me!” Avaline said suddenly. “Stay here, darling—I must mention something to Mamma before I forget it entirely.” She’d skipped out of her room, leaving her gowns in the piles on the floor where she’d dropped them when she’d twirled to the mirror to have a look at her hair.
And so it had gone. On those rare moments Avaline and Bernadette were alone, Avaline chattered like a flock of starlings, her glowing admiration of Lady Chatwick uppermost in her thoughts, followed only by thoughts of the garland her mother wanted her to wear in her hair on the day of her wedding, and what she meant to do with the north sitting room, as her father had agreed she might have a bit of money to change things about at Killeaven.
Bernadette was miserable. It was impossible to take her aside and speak to her in confidence. And yet the clock was ticking, and Bernadette felt every stroke of it thrumming in her head.
The next day, when they were all to pile into that awful coach bound for Balhaire and supper with the Mackenzies, Bernadette begged off. “I am unwell,” she’d said to Lady Kent and Avaline.
“Unwell!” Lady Kent said, stepping back. “A contagion?”
“A rather excruciating headache, that’s all.” Bernadette pressed her fingers to her temples. It wasn’t exactly a lie—she had a headache, which, she supposed, was to be expected when one did not eat or sleep.
“Oh, but you must come, Bernadette,” Avaline complained. “You’re much better at speaking to Mackenzie than I am.”
That only served to make Bernadette feel worse. “Please, darling, go without me.”
Avaline pouted.
“Of course you may stay behind,” Lady Kent said. “Avaline, you can’t rely on Bernadette to always speak to Mackenzie on your behalf.”
Avaline complained, but it was decided—the Kents would go on to Balhaire without her.
When it came time for them to depart, Bernadette stood in the drive next to Charles and Renard as the coach pulled away with all the Kents stuffed inside of it. As he coach swayed and bumped down the drive, Charles said, “Well then, Miss Holly, what crime have you committed to be left behind?”
“I begged,” Bernadette said, her gaze still on the coach.
Charles laughed. “Then you are free to join us. Fancy a game?” he asked.
Bernadette looked at him, then at Renard. “A game?”
“While the cat’s away,” Renard said, and looked her up and down. “If you have a purse, you may come to the servants dining hall at half past seven.” He strode for the door but paused there and looked back. “We don’t play parlor games, Miss Holly,” he warned her. “Don’t bother to come if you aren’t prepared to lose.” He disappeared inside.
“Isthiswhat you all do when we are at Balhaire?” Bernadette asked Charles.
“What else is there?” Charles asked with a shrug. “There’s nothing to divert us for miles and miles, except perhaps wondering what those two are about.” He pointed up on the hill. Two riders were ambling by. “They come round to have a look several days a week. What can they possibly think to see?” he asked. Then to Bernadette he added, “Well then? Are you prepared to lose, Miss Holly?” He winked.
She shook her head. “I feel as if I’ve already lost and was banished to the farthest reaches of earth.”
He chuckled and said, “Suit yourself, then.” He turned on his heel and walked into the house, apparently eager to get to the gaming.
Bernadette stood a moment longer, watching the riders as they moved on, disappearing over the rise in the hill. The sight of them made her restless. She felt prickly in her own skin.
She returned to her room and tried to read from a book of poetry, but the language was too flowery and sweet and vexed her. She attempted to mend a gown she’d inadvertently torn, but her mind was elsewhere, and she took out more stitches than she made.
