The Scottish Companion Read Free

physician.”
    He turned away.
    “You would use that, Dr. Fenton?” she asked, more calmly than she felt. “You would use Arabella’s…” What did she call it? Obsession? Desperation? Nothing existed for Arabella but medicine. From the moment she woke in the morning until she fell asleep, exhausted, with a book in her hand, she was consumed with the idea of learning everything she could learn about the human body, about the treatment of disease. A broken bone delighted her, an inflammation fascinated her, and pus rendered her ecstatic.
    “I’ve agreed, and as her father I’ve only Arabella’s best interests at heart. You, of all people, Gillian, should know the foolishness of a woman turning against her upbringing.”
    She clasped her hands together so tightly that her knuckles were white.
    “I beg you, Dr. Fenton, please do not insist upon this. Whether or not it’s an advantageous union is of no difference. Arabella will not agree. And if she does, by some miracle, accede to your wishes, she’ll be miserable.”
    “Then you must plant the idea in her head that it is for her greatest good, Gillian. I expect you to be ableto influence her to accept her future. Her very bright future.”
    Since Arabella barely spoke to her, and since she had not once exerted any influence over the young woman since the day she entered Dr. Fenton’s employ nearly two years ago, Gillian could only stare helplessly at him.
    Finally she left the doctor’s study and took the stairs to Arabella’s room. Even though it was already midmorning, the girl would not have left her chamber. Instead she would be at her desk, a lamp lit despite the brightness of the day, poring over yet another text featuring gruesome illustrations and even more hideous descriptions.
    Life was much more pleasant when she controlled her feelings. As Gillian made her way to Arabella’s room, however, she found herself growing more and more disturbed. Perhaps it was anger. At Dr. Fenton, when he’d alluded to her past? Or at his wish to be aligned to an earl? Or was she annoyed at herself for feeling a surge of unexpected grief when he’d mentioned family?
    Nearly three years ago, she’d left her stepmother clutching her lace-trimmed handkerchief, and her father frowning into the bowl of his pipe. They’d said not one word to her as she’d left the manor house that had been her home all her life.
    One last time, she’d turned back, optimist to the end, and said, “Do you hate me so much, then?”
    Time was arthritic, ticking by on bent and crooked hands.
    “Not hate, Gillian,” her father had finally said. “Not hate. But you’ve lost the right to be in the company of decent people.”
    Decent people? A stepmother who could watch her walk away and not say one word? A father who cared more for his new family than his daughter? Was that decent?
    They wouldn’t listen to her words, however. They hadn’t from the beginning. Nothing would sway them, nothing would soften their iron hearts. So she remained mute and almost sullen, feeling a terror so deep and cold that she was stiff with it.
    Perhaps that’s what she felt now. Perhaps it was fear, and not anger. If Arabella married, what would happen to her? Arabella, as the Countess of Straithern, wouldn’t need a companion. In all honesty, she didn’t need her now. Arabella certainly didn’t want Gillian in her room, in her life. Whenever Gillian spoke, it was to silence, and the two women rarely shared a conversation. To converse required the participation of both people.
    The only time Arabella talked to her was if Gillian mentioned some discomfort. She’d stuck herself with her needle when embroidering. Her woman’s time was difficult this month. Then Arabella’s eyes would light up and Gillian could not stem the flow of questions.
    The problem was, Gillian was exceedingly healthy. Nor was she about to imagine ailments in order to converse with Arabella. Therefore, most of their time together