The Secret of Pembrooke Park (18 page)

“Yes. Quite sure.”

“Shall I make passionate love to you to make him jealous?”

Abigail felt her cheeks heat, and Mr. Chapman stopped in his tracks, stricken. “Forgive me, Miss Foster. What a cavalier thing to say. Have I shocked you terribly?”

“A bit, yes. Not very parson-like of you, I will say. I admit the
notion is not without appeal, but I shouldn’t like to use you in such a manner.”

“I promise you, Miss Foster, it would take very little acting ability on my part.”

She looked up at him and saw the sincerity shining in his blue eyes, and her heart squeezed. “Thank you, Mr. Chapman. You are very kind to restore my fragile feminine ego.”

“My pleasure.”

The musicians finished their introduction, and around them couples filled in, ladies and gentlemen facing one another in long columns. Across the ballroom, Abigail saw that Gilbert had been partnered with Miss Adah Morgan, Andrew’s younger sister. She forced her attention back to William. Unfortunately, he had noticed the direction of her gaze, but he smiled gamely and took her hand in his as the dance began.

Together they danced their way up the line. As they waited their turn at the top of the dance, Abigail noticed a striking woman in a fine black ball gown looking their way. No mask marred her pretty face, and she appeared remarkably attractive for a woman in mourning. She was a very young widow, perhaps Abigail’s own age or even younger.

“Who is that woman in black?” Abigail asked her partner.

“Hm?” William turned to look and stumbled.

“She is staring at us.” Abigail added, “As I have never met her, I assume she is looking at you.”

“That is Rebek—er, Mrs. Garwood.”

Her eyes flashed to his as he fumbled the words. She saw the sparkle leave his eyes, replaced by stoic acceptance.

“Andrew’s elder sister. Recently married, and even more recently widowed.”

“So young,” Abigail breathed.

“Yes. Completely unexpected. I did not realize she would be attending. In mourning as she is.”

“I see,” Abigail murmured. And with another glance at him, thought,
Oh yes, I do see. . . .

When their dance ended, Mr. Chapman excused himself and went to ask his sister for the next, dutiful brother that he was. His kindness warmed Abigail’s heart. Abigail went to the punch table and accepted a glass from a footman, then found a place along the wall to catch her breath.

A woman joined her in the out-of-the-way corner. Her gaze flickered over Abigail’s hair and mask. “Miss Foster, I presume?”

Abigail turned to the thirtyish woman in a peacock-blue ball gown. She wore no mask, and Abigail easily recognized her thin dark brows, blue-green eyes, and sharp nose. “Yes. It is good to see you again, Mrs. Webb.”

The woman nodded. “My sister-in-law is in quite a pique, I can tell you, over so few of her guests embracing the spirit of the masquerade.”

“And where is
your
mask?” Abigail asked.

Mrs. Webb arched one thin brow. “Oh, disguise of every sort is my abhorrence,”

Abigail grinned. “Ah! That is from
Pride and Prejudice
. Mr. Darcy says it to Elizabeth Bennet.”

Again the woman nodded. “I am impressed, but not surprised. I had already pegged you as a kindred spirit.” She lifted a hand. “Look about you. Most of the guests have already removed their masks. Except that woman dancing with your Mr. Chapman. Who is she? Do you know?”

Abigail turned and saw William Chapman dancing a reel with Leah, still masked.

“That is Leah Chapman, his sister.”

“Ah, the dastardly ‘older woman’ Mrs. Morgan wants Andrew to pass over for young Miss Padgett?”

“Yes. Unfortunately.”

The woman’s keen eyes fastened on hers. “Are you well acquainted with Miss Chapman?”

“Fairly well, though she is a rather private person. Even so, I can say unequivocally that she is a genteel, accomplished woman of good character.”

“Yes, yes. But has she anything more interesting to recommend her? Is she good company, able to laugh at herself, or a witty conversationalist? Has she any intelligence in her pretty head?”

“Yes, definitely. All of the above,” Abigail replied. “And she has read
Pride and Prejudice
three times,
Sense and Sensibility
twice, and
Mansfield Park
only once.”

The woman’s eyes glinted with wry humor. “That is in her favor, indeed. I can tell you are an excellent judge of character, Miss Foster, and I shall put in a good word for her with the Morgans, based on your high opinion.”

“I would be happy to introduce her, if you like, and you may decide for yourself.”

“Perhaps another time. But first, tell me. Does your high regard extend to her brother? Are the two of you . . . ?” She let the question dangle, but her arched brow and her meaning were clear.

Abigail’s cheeks heated. “Oh, I . . . No. We have only recently met.”

“But you admire him,” she suggested, eyes alight.

“Well, yes, I suppose I do. But . . . that is, we are not . . . courting.”

“Pity.” Mrs. Webb turned to look at Mr. Chapman once more. “I would like to see him happy, since my sister-in-law disappointed his hopes once before.”

“Oh? How so?”

“I overheard her talking to one of her cronies. Congratulating herself on putting a stop to a courtship between Mr. Chapman and her daughter Rebekah a few years ago. Olive was very pleased with herself when Rebekah married rich Mr. Garwood instead. And now that he is gone, she fears the lowly curate will try once again to woo the wealthy widow. Her words, mind, not mine.”

Abigail suddenly felt queasy. “And would Mrs. Garwood welcome his attentions?”

“I don’t claim a close acquaintance with my elder niece, living distantly as we do. I gather her previous regard for Mr. Chapman was genuine, but she is only recently widowed, so . . .” She shrugged. “Time will tell.”

“Yes,” Abigail murmured. “I suppose it will.”

Mrs. Webb sent her a sidelong glance. “So, how goes life at Pembrooke Park since I saw you last?”

“Very well. My father has rejoined me from London. I confess I feel more at ease with him there. And we have a houseguest.”

“Oh?”

“He just turned up today, without warning. Used to live there, I gather.”

Her eyes widened. “Good heavens. Who is it?”

“Miles Pembrooke—son of the previous occupant.”

“Miles . . . Pembrooke?” She blinked. “I am surprised.”

“As were we. We feared he’d come to reclaim the house for himself and cut short our lease.”

Mrs. Webb looked into her empty glass. “I thought everyone in that family was long gone from the area.”

“So did I. But he’s recently returned from abroad and says he just wanted to see the old place again. Father invited him to stay.”

Her brows rose again. “Did he indeed? That is . . . unexpectedly gracious of your father, isn’t it? To invite a stranger to stay? With an unmarried daughter under the same roof?”

Abigail shrugged. “He is family, after all. Though granted, we are only distantly related.”

“It does not . . . worry you?”

Abigail inhaled thoughtfully. “I confess the timing does give me pause. That he should happen to return just after we’ve opened up the house again—when it had been shut up for so long. But he seems harmless. Quite polite and charming, really.”

“Be careful, Miss Foster. Appearances can be deceiving.”

Abigail turned to look at the woman, surprised at her somber tone.

Gilbert approached and bowed. “Miss Foster. It is time for our dance, I believe.”

Abigail dragged her gaze from Mrs. Webb’s concerned face to Gilbert’s smiling one.

“Oh, yes.” She lifted a hand and began introductions. “Mr. Scott, have you met Mrs. Webb, Andrew Morgan’s aunt?”

“I have not had that pleasure. How do you do, ma’am?”

“Very well. Thank you,” Mrs. Webb drew herself up, cool distance returning to her expression. “You two enjoy your dance.”

Gilbert and Abigail joined the line of couples as the woman at the top of the set called for a country dance.

“Are you enjoying yourself, Abby?” he asked.

“I am. And you?”

“I hope you weren’t sorry to see me here.”

“Surprised, yes, but not sorry.”

“Good. You seem to have made many friends here already.”

“I have been fortunate in that, yes.”

“Mr. Chapman seems quite taken with you.”

Abigail looked away from Gilbert’s inquisitive gaze. “I don’t know about that.”

“Oh, come. Even a thick-skulled male like me could instantly see he admires you. I would be jealous, if . . . I had any right to be.”

“You, jealous?” Abigail forced a laugh. “Don’t talk foolishness. I’ve never seen you jealous in my life. Let’s talk of something else. I notice you have been quite in demand tonight.”

“Only because there are many ladies in want of partners and Mrs. Morgan is determined to remedy that.”

“I don’t know. . . . She is very exacting, and if she singled you out for the honor of dancing with her young daughter, you must have done something to earn her regard.”

“It’s not
her
regard I’m concerned about.” He looked at her earnestly. “Are we all right, Abby, you and I? Susan boxed my ears after my going-away party. Charged me with being insensitive and selfish. You are very important to me, and I hope we are still . . . friends?”

“Of course we are, Gilbert. Now hush and let’s dance.”

After he danced with his sister, William offered to fetch her some punch, but when he returned with two glasses to where he’d left Leah minutes before, he could not find her. Looking all around the ballroom without success, he then went out to the hall. He finally found her in a quiet corner of the vestibule, still wearing her mask.

“Leah, what are you doing back here? Come in with the others.”

She shook her head. “I need a few minutes alone. So many people staring. Whether because they are trying to figure out who I am, or because they cannot figure out why Leah Chapman has been invited, I don’t know. But . . . I should never have come.”

“Leah, you are too sensitive. You imagine stares and criticism, when there are only looks of curiosity or admiration for a beautiful woman. A moment later everyone has returned to his or her own thoughts—his empty glass, or unpaid bills, or gout . . . Not you, my dear, I promise.”

She tried to chuckle, but it fell flat. “Did you see how Mrs. Morgan greeted me? She could not have expressed her disapproval any more clearly without saying the words aloud. Why did Andrew invite us? Why expose us to such mortification?”

William took her hand. “I don’t think Andrew puts as much stock in birth and rank as others do. I am sure he had no intention of hurting you. He merely wished to spend time in your company.”

Leah nodded and then looked at him with empathetic eyes. “Forgive me, William. Here I am feeling sorry for myself, while you . . .” She winced. “Is it difficult seeing Rebekah again?”

“Not too bad.” He pulled a face, not wanting to talk about the painful past. “Now. Let’s go kick up our heels and show the world how resilient we Chapmans are.”

Leah managed a wobbly grin, then stilled, staring across the hall through the open door beyond. “That woman. I know her, don’t I?”

William turned to look. He saw Mrs. Webb conversing with Andrew’s father, neither of them wearing masks. “That is one of Andrew’s aunts. We met her at his welcome home dinner. But I’m surprised you would know her, as you weren’t there.”

His sister stared at the woman, frowning in concentration. “I’m not certain I do. But there’s something . . . familiar about her.”

“Shall we go over and meet her?”

Leah adamantly shook her head. “No.”

“You could take off your mask now, you know,” William said gently. “Nearly everyone else has by now.”

“That’s all right. I’m more comfortable this way. And we won’t be staying much longer, will we? Shall I see if Miss Foster is ready to leave? After this dance with her old friend?”

After their dance, Gilbert escorted Abigail to the side of the room and excused himself to speak to Mr. Morgan senior, his host.

Leah approached surreptitiously and whispered, “Miss Foster, will you be ready to leave soon?”

Abigail looked at her in surprise and concern. “If you like. Why? What’s the matter?”

“Nothing, I—”

“Miss Chapman, there you are,” Andrew Morgan called, striding over to join them. “Tell me I am not too late to claim a dance. I have been dreadfully occupied with host duties all evening but am free at last. Please say you will dance with me?”

“But . . .” Leah hesitated, looking at Abigail for help. “I think we are leaving. Are we not, Miss Foster?”

Seeing Mr. Morgan’s crestfallen expression, Abigail hurried to say, “That’s all right. I can wait another set if you are engaged. In fact I shall enjoy watching you dance and seeing the fruits of our little lessons at Pembrooke Park.”

Gilbert returned to her side. “No sitting out for you, Miss Abby. If no other man has been wise enough to snap you up, then I insist you dance again with me.”

Abigail glanced quickly around the room and saw William Chapman speaking gravely to Andrew’s widowed sister. At that moment, Mrs. Morgan appeared with young Miss Padgett in tow and presented her to Mr. Chapman as a potential dance partner. She then took her daughter’s arm and led her away.

Abigail returned her gaze to Gilbert. “All right,” she agreed.

Mr. Morgan clapped Gilbert on the back. “Good man, Scott. Knew I liked you.”

“Oranges and Lemons” was called, a square-set dance for four couples. Gilbert offered Abigail his arm and led her onto the floor. Around the ballroom, couples grouped together. Abigail and Gilbert
found themselves with Andrew Morgan and Leah, William Chapman with Miss Padgett, and a fourth couple they did not know.

The music began. Gilbert reached out and took Abigail’s hand, and around the square the other couples joined inside hands as well. She liked the feel of her gloved hand in his, his familiar smile, the comfortable way he held her gaze without awkwardness. As they danced and laughed with the others, she felt a thread of their old camaraderie vibrate to life, tighten, and pull. She had missed it. Missed
him
.