Chapter 17
ARABELLA
A breeze rustled the hair on Mr. Campbell’s forehead.
I had been staring at it since the moment he opened the front door.
His hair had always been neat, not a strand out of place, but now there were many out of place.
It suited him. The dark strands fell just short of his eyes, which were blue and intense and looking straight into mine.
As curious as I was, I wanted to pry about the scandal his brother had caused, but I kept my mouth shut. I understood the constant worry that he must have felt at having a brother who could ruin the family at any moment. I worried day and night about Freddy’s decisions. I bore the weight of them.
I wished I could explain to Mr. Campbell why I needed money so desperately, but I knew in my heart it would drive him away.
He had told me that he wanted to be known and loved for who he was and not for what he possessed.
No one would wish to marry a woman who already had plans for how to use his money to protect her reputation, which was now tied to his own.
It would feel like a betrayal to reveal all of that after a marriage, but what choice did I have?
My heart galloped with dread.
To distract myself, I looked down at my canvas. I had been planning to paint a butterfly, but I had only painted the body thus far and not the wings. I had added too much water to my paint, so a dark gray droplet rolled down the canvas.
I cringed, desperately hoping Mr. Campbell wouldn’t notice.
He did.
His eyes widened, his lips twitching. “What, pray tell, is that?”
The dark gray cylinder was meant to be the body of the butterfly, but it dripped sadly down the canvas.
The antennae I had painted sprouting out of its head were limp and fat, and certainly too heavy for the slim body to carry.
I covered my work with both hands in a panic. “Go back to your own canvas!”
Mr. Campbell narrowed his eyes, his lips still twisted in a smirk.
I wanted to slap it off his face. “You never explained why you pretended to like watercolor,” he said.
He didn’t budge, standing just a few feet away from me and my wingless butterfly.
“Are any of the things you told me you enjoyed true?”
I picked up my brush, mixing red and yellow paint to make a pleasant shade of orange.
I considered his question carefully as I outlined the wings.
Were they triangular or circular? I tried to envision the shape, but I realized I hadn’t seen an actual butterfly in a long while, and I had certainly never been close enough to memorize the shape of its wings.
I bit my lower lip in concentration. Was there any purpose in continuing to lie to Mr. Campbell? He didn’t seem interested in a ‘neat and orderly’ woman as Kate had expected. He seemed only to care to know the truth.
I released a sigh. “The list was a little exaggerated.”
“A little?” He scoffed.
“Do you wish to know the truth?” I stepped back with my brush and gestured at my canvas.
“Just as I am terrible at watercolor, I am also terrible at most creative skills. I do not enjoy the opera, I am indifferent to rubies and emeralds, I do like large estates, of course, but I cannot tell the difference between a well-tuned pianoforte and a poorly tuned one. And I have never tasted pineapple.”
Mr. Campbell seemed to be drinking up every last drop of my words, a triumphant smile on his face. “I have been dreaming of such a confession.”
I scowled at him. “Did you not believe me?”
“Of course not.”
Frustration bubbled up in my chest. “Do I not seem like the sort of lady who would be talented at watercolor or the pianoforte?”
He hesitated, his eyes settling on my canvas. His lips twitched. “I can’t say for certain…not with such glaring evidence before me.”
I wanted to be angry, but the sight of my painting was so horrendous that I laughed instead.
One wing was much larger than the other, and both were far too triangular.
Mr. Campbell laughed too, and the sound only intensified my amusement.
His laugh was oddly contagious, and the knots in my stomach eased at the sound.
His smile lit up his entire face, and he somehow managed to look even more handsome than before.
When his laughter subsided, he regarded me seriously. “I did find it a bit contradictory that you claimed to be so refined, yet comfortably allowed a bee to crawl across your hand.”
I glanced at the rose bushes, a wave of nostalgia passing through my heart.
“My father kept bees on our estate in Dorset.” My voice softened as it always did when I spoke of my father.
It was still difficult to do so, even though it had been years since we had lost him.
Every memory caused an ache in my heart, but it was accompanied by a sense of fleeting joy for days that had passed.
It was confusing. That was why I usually avoided the feeling.
Mr. Campbell’s face was sincere, a gentle curiosity in his eyes. “Does he still?”
“No.” I looked down. “He died years ago.”
“I’m sorry. That must have been quite difficult for you.”
I studied the grief in his own features, reflecting my own. Having already inherited, he must have lost his father as well. “Surely you understand.”
He nodded. “My father died when I was eighteen. I was quite lost without him. We all were.”
“It must have been difficult to endure his loss and learn to manage an estate all at the same time.”
A crease appeared in his brow as he looked down at the grass. If he confirmed my words at all, it was with nothing more than a nearly imperceptible nod. Then he changed the subject. “Tell me more about the bees.”
I dipped my head with a laugh. “What would you like to know?”
“Anything.”
“Well, I liked to help my father plant wildflowers for the bees in the fields beyond our house.” I smiled.
“I spent all day spreading seeds, and when the flowers bloomed, I watched the bees fly from flower to flower. I grew quite comfortable with them. I even helped my father and the groundskeeper harvest the honey, and then I learned to make honey cake in the kitchen with our cook and my mother.”
Mr. Campbell smiled softly. “That sounds like a fond memory.”
“It is.” I swallowed. Perhaps I should have stopped talking, but now the memories were all spilling out from their hiding places.
“I did grow perhaps too comfortable with the bees.” I lowered my voice to whisper.
“I would never tell my aunt, but I was stung on one occasion. I was resolved to despise the little creatures after that, but my father taught me that being hurt by one bee didn’t mean I had to hate them all. ”
Mr. Campbell’s smile grew. “Your aunt might benefit from the same advice.”
I shared his smile, leaning closer. “She would never listen.”
The air was calm between us, yet I felt an unmistakable pull toward him.
The warmth in his eyes caused my stomach to flutter, and I had to look away.
I had never shared so many details of my past with anyone.
I kept all my memories of my father locked away like little treasures, only to be reflected on and never spoken aloud.
But sharing such hidden stories with Mr. Campbell was surprisingly easy, and I seemed unable to stop.
His curious look returned. “Is Freddy the heir to the estate?”
I shook my head and looked away, snapping the invisible string between us.
“We have an elder brother. He lives there with our mother.” I didn’t enjoy speaking of John and all he had done to ruin what my father had built.
Betrayal and anger snaked through my stomach as I pictured his face.
I didn’t think Mr. Campbell would notice the shift in my tone, but it seemed that I wasn’t as stoic as I thought.
“Are you close with him?”
I took a deep breath, searching for the correct words.
“Not particularly. I disapprove of many of his beliefs and behaviors. Even my father did not entirely trust him to care for the estate properly. He was ill for a long while before he died, and there were times I thought he might change his will.”
Mr. Campbell’s brow furrowed. “But he didn’t?”
“No. Freddy was too young to inherit, and John was the eldest. My father worried that John would come to hate Freddy if he were given what he felt entitled to. John is not forgiving.” I swallowed. “He is quite selfish and unfeeling. I have never understood him.”
I had also never understood why my father hadn’t left anything to me.
I believed I was trustworthy and well-loved by him, but at times I was pained to think that he hadn’t left me with more than a small allowance of pin money.
Without a dowry, I had been constantly overlooked.
I always knew I would have to marry, but I had always been content with the idea of a humble life as a clergyman’s wife or something of the sort.
I knew John’s hospitality wouldn’t last forever.
Mr. Campbell’s concern seemed to deepen, his jaw tightening. “And John is your current guardian?”
I nodded, my heart pounding. I hadn’t meant to worry Mr. Campbell, but I couldn’t deny that his concern was leaving me rather flustered.
“I keep my distance from him at home. He respects our mother and ensures her needs and comforts are met. He has always been rather hard on Freddy, and I have felt a responsibility to defend him.”
“That should not be your responsibility.” Mr. Campbell’s soft voice undid my emotions just enough to make my eyes sting with sudden tears. I blinked fast, focusing on my hideous painting once again.
“I don’t mind.” I swallowed against the tightness in my throat.