The Secret of Pembrooke Park (14 page)

“Leave your sister alone, Will. You don’t understand—that’s all.”

“Nor have I ever understood why you are so overprotective.”

His father’s eyes flashed. “That’s right. You don’t understand. So keep out of it.”

“Mac . . .” Kate breathed.

William, too, was taken aback by his father’s sharp reprimand. He prayed for wisdom, took a deep breath, and tried again. “The Morgans are a perfectly respectable family.”

“That may be,” his father allowed, “but we don’t have any idea who else might be attending this
soiree
of theirs.” He spit out the word as if it were burnt gristle.

“I am sure they are inviting other respectable people. What are you worried about?”

“It’s all right,” Leah repeated. “I haven’t a proper gown anyway, and would no doubt make a fool of myself.”

“But you love to dance, Leah,” William insisted. “And so rarely have opportunity, beyond our little family Christmas parties. You learnt at school, I remember. And forced me to master every dance you knew.”

“That was a long time ago.”

“Perhaps Miss Foster might give us a refresher course. She no doubt knows the newer dances. And I’m sure Andrew Morgan would be happy to assist.” He attempted a teasing grin, but Leah did not return it.

He added, “And if we embarrass ourselves by turning left when we are supposed to turn right, we shall have our masks on, remember, so no one shall know who we are.”

“Masks?” their father asked.

“Yes, it’s to be a masquerade ball.”

“Is it?” Their father considered, chewing his lip. “And you would be there with her all the while?”

“I would,” William assured him. “I would make certain no man
made inappropriate advances to Leah, if that is what you are worried about.”

Leah reddened, protesting, “I hardly think we need worry about that—at my age.”

Their father looked at Leah. “Perhaps they are right, my dear. Perhaps it is time you enjoyed yourself. Started living.”

She threw up her hands. “And what do you call what I’ve been doing?”

“Waiting.” He flicked a look at William and said no more.

Leah sighed and excused herself, saying she would consider what her family had said.

After they taught Sunday school the following Sabbath, Abigail led the children in two hymns, then helped Leah pick up supplies and tidy the church.

Adding another slate to the stack in her arms, Abigail asked quietly, “So, are you going to the masquerade ball?”

“I don’t know. I told my family I would think about it. But I am not familiar with the new dances and haven’t a proper costume, so . . .” She allowed her words to trail off on a shrug.

“The invitation simply read, ‘Masks required.’ So I think we may wear traditional ball gowns and masks. You are welcome to one of my gowns. And I would be happy to teach you the popular dances, though I’m no dancing master.”

“William suggested you might be willing to do so. But I couldn’t ask that of you.”

“You are not asking; I am offering. And I have several ball gowns. Not this year’s style, but you might find one to suit you. We are not so different in size. If not, I shan’t be offended.”

“I am sure they’re lovely, but—”

“Please. Come over and at least look. All right?”

“Go to Pembrooke Park . . . ?”

“It isn’t haunted, I promise. And my father is back, so we shan’t
be alone in the house. Or I could bring a few gowns over to your house, if you prefer.”

“No, it isn’t right for me to ask that of you.” Leah lifted her chin. “I shall come.” She bit her lip. “May I bring someone from my family along?”

“Of course. Bring Kitty. I’ve been meaning to ask her over again in any case.”

“Very well. I shall.”

They had agreed to a time for the following afternoon. When the hour neared, Abigail began listening for the door, and when she heard the bell, hurried eagerly from her room. Descending the stairs, she glanced down into the hall and saw Duncan opening the door to their visitors, the Miss Chapmans. Even from that distance, Abigail could see his posture tense.

For a moment, he stood there not saying a word. Not ushering them inside.

Leah, she noticed, dipped her head and murmured an awkward hello.

Kitty showed no such reticence. “We’re here to see Miss Foster,” she announced. “We’ve been invited.”

Abigail crossed the hall. “That’s right. You are very welcome. I’ve been expecting you.”

At this, Duncan turned stiffly and stalked away. She watched him go, then turned a questioning look toward Leah, but she merely shrugged with an apologetic little smile.

One of these days, she would ask about Duncan’s history with the Chapmans. But not today, when Leah had finally agreed to her first visit.

“Come in, come in,” Abigail urged.

Kitty beamed and walked in eagerly, but Leah hovered on the threshold, glancing warily around the hall and up to its soaring ceiling. Mr. Foster came out of the library for a moment to greet
their guests before retreating back to his books and newspapers once more.

Abigail asked Miss Chapman, “Do you want to tour the house first, or proceed directly to the gowns?”

Leah’s gaze strayed from one formal portrait to the next. “So much to see . . .”

“Have you been in the house before?” Abigail asked.

“Years ago. With my father.”

“Ah. Back when he worked here.”

She nodded vaguely. “How strange to walk through that front door. After all these years. . . .”

“I can imagine,” Abigail agreed.

Kitty grabbed her sister’s arm. “Come on, Leah. Let’s go upstairs.”

Leah resisted the younger girl’s tug, her wide-eyed gaze following the stairway up to the first landing.

Abigail wondered why she was so nervous. Was it more than the rumors? Did she have some bad experience with one of the former occupants? Had one of the Pembrooke brothers she’d heard about been cruel to the neighbor girl—the steward’s daughter?

Giving up, Leah allowed her sister to pull her toward the stairs. Leah looked ruefully over her shoulder at Abigail. “Sorry. Perhaps I ought to have come alone.”

“That’s all right. I can guess where she’s headed.”

They ascended the stairs, Leah’s head swiveling back and forth, taking in the framed portraits, tapestries, and intricately carved panels. Abigail followed, oddly proud of the house and its ability to awe, though she was only a tenant.

At the top of the stairs, Leah paused before a glass display table filled with framed miniature portraits and silhouettes, but again Kitty tugged her along. Abigail knew the girl’s goal—the dolls’ house.

As they approached her bedchamber, Leah hesitated again, staring at the door.

“Come on, Leah. I want you to see the dolls’ house,” Kitty insisted.

“It’s all right,” Abigail assured Leah.

Leah formed an unconvincing smile and allowed Kitty to lead her into the room, Abigail trailing behind.

Kitty went at once to the dolls’ house on its stand and knelt before it. Leah followed more slowly, turning in a slow circle to take in the canopied bed, the window seat, the wardrobe. She reached out a hand and touched the bed-curtains. Then the smooth oak surface of the dressing table.

“It’s lovely, isn’t it?” Abigail asked gently.

“Yes, it is,” Leah breathed. “You have a charming room.”

“It isn’t mine,” Abigail said with a shrug. “But I am glad I have the use of it for a while.”

“So am I.”

Leah gave her a genuine smile, and Abigail’s heart warmed. Maybe they’d become good friends yet.

“Come and see,” Kitty urged, and Leah went over to stand at her sister’s shoulder. “Isn’t it wonderful?”

“It is indeed.”

“Have you ever seen anything like it?”

“Not in ages, no.”

Abigail wondered if Leah had ever played with the daughter of the house. They’d been neighbors, after all.

Abigail turned to open the trunk she’d asked Duncan to bring in earlier. But for several minutes, Leah remained where she was, her gaze fastened on her little sister so enthralled with the dolls’ house.

Abigail returned to Leah’s side, watching as Kitty moved a small doll up the stairs and laid her on a canopied bed. Abigail glanced at Leah’s profile, expecting to see an indulgent smile there. Instead, she was surprised to see tears in the woman’s eyes.

Leah must have sensed her gaze. She glanced over and self-consciously wiped at her eyes. “I’m fine. It’s just . . . good to see her so happy.”

Abigail awkwardly reached out and squeezed Leah’s hand. “She is more than welcome to come here and play any time she likes.”

Leah blinked away the tears, then looked at Abigail with a distracted smile. “You are very kind. She would enjoy that, obviously.”

“Come, let’s look at the gowns. I was never a diamond of the first water, I’m afraid. I hope you aren’t disappointed.”

“I’m sure I won’t be.”

Abigail removed a protective layer of tissue and began lifting gowns from the trunk and laying them on her bed. She smoothed her hand over an elegant off-white muslin with an embroidered bodice and sheer lace over-sleeves. Its full skirt had a slightly shorter hem to allow for freedom of movement in dancing.

“I was thinking this one might look well with your coloring. But you are welcome to any that suit your fancy.”

“It’s lovely,” Leah breathed.

“Would you like to try it on? See how it fits you? We have time to make a few alterations if needed.”

A girlish smile dimpled Leah’s cheeks. “Very well. If you’ll help me.”

Abigail happily did so, unfastening the back of Leah’s day dress and then helping her on with the ball gown and lacing up the back.

Leah looked down at her neckline, pressing a self-conscious hand to her décolletage. “It’s a little low, isn’t it? I feel as though all is on display.”

“Not at all. It’s the fashion for evening wear. Though we could always tuck a little lace, if you prefer.”

Abigail turned Leah toward the long cheval looking glass in the corner. “It’s very becoming on you.”

Leah looked at herself, unable to suppress the smile that sprung to her face.

“You’re right—the dress is beautiful.”

“
You’re
beautiful, Leah,” Kitty said in breathless awe, her attention lured away from the dolls’ house at last. “You look like a duchess.”

“I feel like one in this,” she allowed, holding out the skirt and swaying side to side.

Abigail smiled. “Then you’ll wear it?”

“But it’s yours.”

“I’ve had my joy of it. It is your turn. I hope you don’t mind that I’ve worn it before you.”

“Not at all. I haven’t a mask, but I am sure I can fashion one. . . .”

Abigail dug once more in the trunk. “I have several from masquerades I attended in past seasons.” She held up three. “If you’d like to wear one of them.”

Leah selected the largest of them. “Perfect. Thank you. But what shall you wear?”

“I think this one.” She held up a small oriental mask ornamented with glass beads. “And this dress.”

Abigail set aside the mask and lifted a ball gown of white-on-white striped muslin with a low square neckline, a high belt of green, and matching green ribbon trim on its short, puffed sleeves. “What do you think?”

“It’s lovely. When did you last wear it?”

Abigail thought. “At the Albrights’ May ball.” She had danced with Gilbert that night, she recalled, with a wistful little sigh. “And here I thought my dancing days were over.”

“Yours, Miss Foster? Then what about mine? I am several years older than you are.”

Abigail cocked her head to the side and regarded her new friend. “Oh, I think your dancing days are just beginning.”

Later, as they left Abigail’s room, gown folded over Leah’s arm, Kitty pointed across the gallery. “We think that was Mr. Pembrooke’s room.” She gestured to the right. “And that was his wife’s.”

Leah’s eyes lingered on the closed doorways. She looked over at Abigail. “Would you mind terribly if I peeked in?”

“Not at all. Go ahead.”

Abigail followed as the Miss Chapmans crossed the gallery. Leah slowly opened the door and entered the mistress’s bedroom—the room they assumed had been occupied by Mrs. Pembrooke—and the Mrs. Pembrooke before that.