Chapter 12
CHAPTER TWELVE
The morning sun glinted off the frost-covered grounds, making everything sparkle as though dusted with diamonds. For the first time since Isobel's arrival at Gramfield Manor, the sky was clear, the air crisp but not bitterly cold.
It seemed as though she was not the only one who had thought to take advantage of the weather, because after breakfast, Gregory had risen from his seat and had captured the attention of the guests by repeatedly tapping his teaspoon against his teacup.
“As we have been blessed with a day of calm weather for once, I think it would be a wonderful idea to ride around the property. There is a wonderful meadow not too far, and it looks just as splendid in winter as it does in spring. It is not a mandatory exercise – I am not a warden and you are not my prisoners –” that earned him a few half-hearted chuckles.
“But I do want to encourage everyone to take advantage of the good weather however they see fit.”
Isobel was very excited at the prospect of riding ever since she spotted a stable boy returning a beautiful thoroughbred to the stables.
She loved riding with her father and brother in Scotland, and her brother had taught her how to be a fierce, brave rider – if not a bit reckless.
But she was particularly grateful for this activity suggestion because she was in desperate need of a distraction.
Ever since yesterday – since she’d had the duke’s hands tracing every dip and curve of her body, his mouth ravishing hers, the devastating pleasure he had shown her…
Isobel had found it nearly impossible to think of anything else.
Even now, as she made her way to the stables with the other guests, her skin seemed to tingle, as though the memory of every place he had touched her had been branded to that spot.
She had lain awake for hours last night, replaying every moment, every sensation. Everything – every ministration, every stroke, and every kiss that eventually led to the pleasure that had crashed over her, so intense it had left her shaking, sent a flush of heat through her.
“I am not particularly fond of these creatures,” Bridget's sneering voice cut through Isobel's thoughts. “However, I will admit that we all needed to leave the house. I was beginning to feel quite trapped by all that snow.”
“Indeed,” Isobel managed, forcing herself to focus on the present. “It will be lovely to see more of the grounds.”
Bridget regarded her with an odd look. “Why do you feel you need to see more of it when you lived here all your life?”
Isobel froze.
This… this had been exactly what Richard had talked about. Little mistakes that would show the cracks in her facade.
Quickly, she cleared her throat and said, “Oh – I meant – this season. It will be nice to see more of the grounds this season, too. I always like to explore the grounds as the seasons change. It fills me with wonder how stunning nature is. I already made my rounds for autumn. Would you like to join me for my winter exploration?”
Bridget regarded her as though she had lost her mind.
“Absolutely not.”
Isobel watched her cousin walk ahead, clearly regretting the decision to speak to her. With a sigh of relief, she focused on the activity coming up instead, knowing that she needed all the focus she could muster to keep an unfortunate accident from occurring.
The stables were bustling with activity as grooms prepared horses for the riding party. Isobel watched as a beautiful chestnut mare was led out, already donning a sidesaddle that was traditionally meant for women.
Of course, she sighed quietly.
She had ridden astride her entire life in Scotland, but here, she would have to navigate the awkward, precarious seat that English ladies were expected to use.
“Your horse, Miss Wightman,” the groom said with a bow.
Isobel approached the mare cautiously, running a hand along her glossy neck. The horse was beautiful, well-bred, and clearly well-cared for. It was obvious that she would make a reliable partner for the company that morning, but it was not the horse that concerned her – it was the saddle.
With the groom's assistance, she mounted as gracefully as she could manage, settling herself into the sidesaddle and arranging her riding habit.
It felt unnatural, and the lack of security made her feel as though she might slide off at any moment.
But she took up the reins and tried to embody confidence, gently urging the mare forward.
To her relief, the horse responded in a lovely manner that spoke greatly about her training, moving into a smooth walk as they joined the other riders. Perhaps this would not be as difficult as she had feared.
Once everyone was mounted, they set off as a group, following a path that wound through the grounds. The winter landscape was breathtaking – bare trees reaching toward the clear blue sky, fields of white stretching as far as the eye could see, broken occasionally by stone walls or hedgerows.
For a moment, Isobel allowed herself to simply enjoy it.
The cold air on her face, the rhythmic movement of the horse beneath her, the sense of freedom that came from being outdoors after days of confinement.
It was especially enjoyable because she had resolved not to bother herself so much about the life she could have had but did not.
It was easier to remind herself that she was technically a guest and therefore, she could simply hold onto the entitlements of one.
She urged her mare into a trot, and the horse obliged eagerly, moving with a fluid grace that made Isobel smile.
This – this she could do. Riding felt natural, even with the awkward saddle.
However, Isobel found herself unable to fully focus on the thrill of the ride, consistently distracted by the uncomfortable saddle and her need to investigate things a tad more directly now.
She was so preoccupied that she barely noticed when another horse drew alongside hers.
“Valerie,” Arnold's voice made her start slightly. “Forgive me, cousin. I did not mean to startle you.”
“Oh, no. Not at all,” Isobel replied, forcing a smile. “I was merely... lost in thought.”
Arnold smiled in return. Now that she had gotten over her initial anxiety of knowing everyone and their names, she wanted to study this young man who seemed pleasantly unaware that his mother might have a hand in the poisoning of his cousin.
Arnold was a pleasant-looking man, perhaps a few years older than her, with light brown hair and kind eyes. He looked reliable and trustworthy, and so Isobel hoped that he would have a great sense of justice and provide her with enough clues to catch Deborah before she hurt anyone else.
“I could not help but notice your posture on the saddle. If you do not mind my saying so, I believe you might find it more comfortable – hand more secure – if you would just adjust yourself a tad.”
Heat crept into Isobel's cheeks. Of course, someone would notice her awkwardness. “I... yes, of course. What would you suggest?”
Arnold gave sound advice, and Isobel did as he had instructed, willing to admit that his methods provided much more stable riding balance. “Thank you. I confess, I am more accustomed to... to a different style of riding.”
“In your youth, perhaps?” Arnold asked pleasantly. “I understand many young ladies learn to ride astride before they are old enough for proper side saddles.”
“Yes, exactly,” Isobel agreed, grateful for the ready excuse.
They rode in comfortable silence for a few moments before Isobel decided to take advantage of the opportunity. Arnold seemed friendly and open. Perhaps she could learn something useful about Deborah through him.
“I wanted to thank you for being so patient with me during this visit,” Isobel began carefully. “I know my... illness... has caused some disruption. I hope your mother has not been too inconvenienced by the delays to the wedding festivities.”
Something flickered across Arnold's face – too quick for Isobel to identify.
“Mother is remarkably resilient. I am sure she had adapted well enough to every change in plans, so I am sure you have nothing to worry about.” He reassured her kindly.
Isobel pushed, looking for something that would betray the true identity of her aunt.
“Still, I suppose she was quite eager for my wedding. She and my father have relied on each other over the years, and I am sure my father has shared this burdensome delay with her. But she must have been looking forward to the wedding. She and my father are quite close, are they not?”
Arnold's expression tightened almost imperceptibly. “They are siblings. I suppose that creates a certain... bond.”
There was something in his tone, something that suggested the relationship between Gregory and Deborah was perhaps more complicated than it appeared. Isobel filed that away for later consideration.
“She speaks very highly of you,” Isobel went on, watching his reaction carefully.
To her surprise, Arnold laughed – but it did not sound particularly happy.. “Does she? How very... unexpected.”
“You do not believe her praise is genuine?”
Arnold was quiet for a long moment, his gaze fixed on the path ahead.
When he finally spoke, his voice was lower, more guarded.
Gone was the carefree cousin who had initially approached her to assist with her riding posture.
There was something rather sour about his expression, about the way his gaze flittered about, watching everyone discuss for a moment before he shifted his attention back to Isobel.
“My mother and I have... a complicated relationship, as you well know. She is rather strict – especially when it comes to the idea of how certain people are told how to behave. She had many expectations and hopes for me, all of which were according to her design of a perfect life, and nothing about the connections I had forged while I slaved to bring our family prosperity. When one does not live up to her expectations...” He trailed off, shaking his head.
“I am sorry,” Isobel said softly, and meant it. “That must be difficult.”
“Do not be, Cousin. I have already accepted my fate,” Arnold replied with a shrug that seemed to carry years of resignation. “I learned long ago that seeking her approval was a fool's errand. I was far closer to your father, actually. He was always more... understanding of my shortcomings.”
Isobel blinked in surprise.
Her father, Gregory Wightman, understanding?
It seemed at odds with the cold, dismissive, and manipulative man she had come to know.
But then, he had apparently been different with Valerie and had managed to raise other children who seemed to care for him.
Perhaps he simply had nothing to give to the daughter he had abandoned.
“That is good to know,” she murmured. “Family is important.”
“Indeed.” Arnold's expression softened slightly. “Though I confess, I envy you sometimes. The relationship you have with your father, the way he clearly dotes on you. It must be comforting.”
Isobel nodded, although she could not say for certain that she would ever experience that, likely not from the baron Gramfield. But the Laird Lennox had treated her like a princess, all the years he had cared for her, and that was the feeling she held in her chest and wore over her like a cloak.
They rode in silence after that, and Isobel found herself lost in thought. If truly Arnold’s relationship with his mother was as strained as he implied, would he have known about any plan Deborah might have had? What were the odds she might have let him be privy to details about poisoning Valerie?
Rather slim, Isobel decided eventually. Based on what Arnold had revealed, it is unlikely that Deborah would have trusted him with such information. This suggested either that Arnold was genuinely innocent or that he was a far better actor than she gave him credit for.
As she began to ponder the results of her investigation, the sound of commotion caught her attention. She turned to Arnold, who seemed as surprised about the situation, and together, they both pressed forward to the edge of the crowd.
They arrived in time to see Richard rise off the ground, quickly dust off himself, and assure everyone that he was just fine. Seeing him in the dirt had caused Isobel’s heart to sink with worry, but as onlookers fussed over the duke, he remained audibly.
“I am quite all right. Please do not worry. I only lost my concentration for a bit.” He assured in a tight voice.
As he ensured he gave his coat a once-over to make sure he was once more flawless, he reached for the reins of his horse, still giving assurances that all was well.
But Isobel’s eyes had noticed a slight tremor in his hand as he gripped the leather strap the reins were made of, and how he winced when he reached for his right side.
She noticed, too, the tightness around his eyes, the set of his jaw that suggested he was in more pain than he was letting on.
Worry flooded through her, and she wanted to go to him and tell him to go and rest right away.
But she couldn’t act so rashly before she gave their partnership – and more.
Half the group expressed their concern and worry, but he stubbornly insisted that he was fine, settling in his saddle stably before resuming his stroll at the front of the riding party.
The carefree nature of the walk had dampened slightly due to the minor accident, but Isobel was not too concerned with that; still worried about Richard.
Now and then, her eyes would find him, sitting upright and perfect in the saddle, but she could see the tension in his frame and the careful way he moved.
Something twisted in her chest at the sight, and she told herself that it should not matter what they had shared the day before. She should not feel compelled to care about whether or not he had gotten hurt. There were likely bigger issues to concern herself with than to worry about him.
And so, Isobel spent the rest of the ride pretending that she was not particularly concerned with him, but the weight in her chest said otherwise.