Page 21 of Wouldn’t it Be Scottish?

The rain meant some of the activities had to be abandoned, but Miriam didn’t mind. The pavilion was large, and there was plenty of room for dancing. Whoever had organized the picnic had thought ahead, and there was an orchestra as well as servants busily carrying food in and setting it up on tables. Certainly no one today would go hungry.

Archie twirled her about with a laugh, and she spun obligingly. He was an enthusiastic dancer. She might have been able to pretend there was nothing different about him, but in her heart she knew their conversation the other night had made him wary of her. He knew that she had secrets she didn’t want to share with him, and he was furtively considering his next move.

Miriam hoped he would think better of whatever he was planning and set aside his need to interrogate her. Perhaps they could enjoy an affair? She wouldn’t be averse to that. Marriage was out of the question now, which was a pity. If he had been an incurious sort of gentleman, everything would have been all right, but he was curious. It was part of his nature, his need to know exactly what made her the woman she was. He wanted to turn her inside out and unwrap all of her mysteries.

She couldn’t let him do that. It would not end well for her, and Archie would discover she was not the woman he had thought her. Better for her to end their friendship before that happened. She didn’t want to see the expression in his eyes turn from warm and friendly to cold and unapproachable. Miriam wasn’t sure she could bear it. When she had first met him, he had charmed her into taking supper with him and she had felt the first spark of hope in a long time. Perhaps her life was about to change? Here was a wealthy man, a widower, someone who might lighten her dark days, for a while at least. She had never planned for him to fall in love with her, or for her to fall in love with him.

They were too old for those sorts of entanglements, surely?

Evidently not. When she did not see him for a day or two, she missed him with an ache in her heart there was no denying. And when she thought of walking away from him—as she knew she must—that ache got even more excruciating.

There were times when she woke up in the night, struggling for breath and heart pounding, wondering if she could feel any worse if she did tell him the truth. But then she imagined his expression, the disappointment, the easing himself away from her with apologies, because he was a kind man. But for certain he would end it once and for all.

Why, oh why, she asked herself, had she fallen in love now, at the age of forty? When she had been at the point of accepting that her life was lived and over? It made no sense.

It’s a gift, a voice whispered in her head. Would you turn your back on a gift?

Archie was watching her, reading the expressions flitting across her face and reading them with frightening precision. “Miriam,” he murmured. It was a plea and a question.

She stepped back. She should tell him right now. Walk away. Cut off all ties with him. She should . . .

Archie was looking about him. The rain was still hammering on the pavilion roof and the world outside looked smeary as sheets of water fell. He turned back to her, his eyes wide and fearful.

“Where is Agatha?” he said.

After they had looked all over the pavilion, and then asked Richard, who seemed as confused as them, they went outside. The rain had slowed now, but it still felt cold against Miriam’s cheeks. The river was steel gray and unfriendly.

“I saw them take out one of the row boats,” Richard said.

“Did you see them again?” Archie sounded unusually curt with worry.

“No.” Richard’s expression turned bleak as he gazed out over the water. “She has drowned.”

There was a soft shriek behind him, and when Miriam turned she saw Mary Davidson, eyes wide in her pale face. “Donal has drowned?” the girl gasped. “I do not believe it! He can swim like a fish!”

That gave them pause, because if Agatha had fallen into the water, then Donal would certainly have gone in after her and saved her. Anything else was impossible to imagine. Archie took a breath, seeming to calm himself, and Miriam clasped his hand comfortingly in hers.

“Who saw them in the rowboat?” she asked, taking charge.

Richard said it was him, but he had gone into the pavilion without seeing them return. One of their hosts arrived, all concern, and counting the boats, assured them they were all there. That was when they discovered the countess’s carriage was missing.

Miriam cast Richard an irritable look. The foolish boy had had them all worried, especially Archie, and she could not have Archie worried. She would fight tooth and nail to save him a moment’s distress, which in the circumstances seemed ironic and very foolish.

“Thank goodness you are here,” he said, wrapping his arm about her and tugging her close.

Miriam should have eased herself away. People were giving them knowing looks, and that would make leaving him even more difficult. But she didn’t—she leaned into him, only wanting to melt into his warmth and stay there forever.

“I wonder where they went?” she said, clearing her throat and forcing back her over-wrought emotions.

Archie grimaced. “I expect we will find out soon enough.”

Chapter Thirteen

The weather had decided it was done raining, at least for now, and a hint of late sunshine spilled through the clearing clouds as they set off through the wet slicked streets. They didn’t have much to say. At one point Donal said in a soothing voice, “Dinna worry. It will be all right.”

Agatha murmured agreement, but she didn’t believe him, and she couldn’t help but worry. She had an ominous feeling that everything was about to go very wrong indeed.

Donal took Agatha home first, saying he would leave again immediately for Aunt Jennie’s. But as they drew up at the front of the Kilsyth house, Agatha’s fears were proven correct. Donal had barely helped her down to the footpath when the front door was thrown dramatically open and her father came rushing toward them. Behind him trailed the butler and behind them . . . Sir Richard Leslie.