“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?
