AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Giulia smiled. “You need my room.” She pointed a finger right at Mabel as she continued, “Do not say you don’t need it, for I heard there are two ladies on their way with a companion, and you know it would not be proper to place them next to the men’s rooms.”
Mabel groaned and dropped her head into her hands. “Have I ever told you how much I dislike entertaining? Particularly those who I do not know?” She heard a thump on the planked floor as Giulia dropped her valise and two arms snaked around her waist.
“I can come back every day if you would like. I will bring reinforcements with me as well. Just write, and we will be here straight away. You do not have to ever do any of this alone.”
Tears gathered in Mabel’s eyes as she nodded her silent acceptance. Giulia was right. If she needed them, Giulia, Hattie, and Amelia would be at her door without hesitation. And she always had Pippa and Charles. She would not be alone. There would be people around her that loved her and cared for her and did not judge or mock her enormous height or odd limp. She took a sustaining breath and released a hesitant-looking Giulia.
“I really can stay,” Giulia offered.
“No, go and be with your uncle. I know you are still building a relationship, and this time will be good for you both. Besides,” she added with a halfhearted laugh, “you have done quite enough for me this last year. You deserve a break.”
“Don’t be silly. Pippa is not getting off so easily. I have left her a list of tasks to complete every day until I return.”
Her heart swelled with gratitude as she pulled Giulia in for a final hug. The woman was a blessing in more ways than one, and Mabel was grateful for the addition to her life Giulia had become.
“Now be off with you.” Mabel laughed as she watched her friend walk away.
She took in a deep breath and let out another, repeating the process to calm her pulse and remind herself that she was going to be fine. This was simply…a house party. The thought gave her pause. Charles had sprung a house party on her. Still, if there was one thing that Mabel was good at, it was playing the hostess and running her house like a fine-tuned ship. Besides, they couldn’t possibly be staying that long, right? House parties lasted one, maybe two weeks at the most.
And this particular house party was going to fly by.
* * *
“Charles, you didn’t,” Desmond Pemberton said in his high-brow manner, swirling his brandy in the glass before throwing it back in one gulp. The amusement on his face was opposite the chagrin on Charles’s, and Mac glanced back and forth between the two before rising and crossing to the open window.
Mac cast his eyes to the ceiling before glancing across the open expanse of land.
Land. Sand filled his throat at the thought, and he returned to his goblet before gulping down the refreshing liquid in an attempt to quench his insatiable thirst for water.
It did not work. It was saltwater he craved, and he had no particular wish to drink that.
“You could have written to her. Warned her.” Mac interrupted their banter, his deep voice echoing in the small library.
“Come on, Mac. I’ve got enough guilt,” Charles said, tilting his head like a small puppy and beseeching his friends to cease berating him. “I hadn’t expected to bring anyone home with me, and you aren’t even my guest, Mac. Not when you’ve come at the request of my uncle. Besides, if anyone can receive guests with little warning, it's my cousin. She’s…dynamic.”
Desmond laughed as he poured a refill, spilling some of the amber liquid on the sidebar and leaving it there when he sauntered back to his chair. “Is that a compliment?”
Charles let out a low whistle. “With her it is. She’s…productive. Practical. She was made to be a hostess. Literally made for it.”
Mac shook his head. He was half-tempted to pick up his still-packed bag and hit the road. No one deserved to have three men shoved on them unannounced. Especially since these men were planning on remaining for the whole summer.
“Productive? Practical?” Desmond chuckled. “You make her sound terrifying, Charles. Is she also prudish?”
“It is possible for a woman to be possessed of both a sound mind and a degree of beauty.” Mac did his best not to remember the last time he saw Mabel, all those years ago, tear-streaked cheeks and eyes burning with hurt. But if she was the same now as she was then, she embodied dignity, grace, and beauty.
“The ladies should be arriving soon and that should help smooth things over,” Desmond said, shooting Mac an odd look before taking another gulp. Mac walked over and took the glass from his friend, ignoring his protests, and returned the glass to the sideboard.
“You’ll thank me when you can still sit up straight in an hour,” Mac said, irritation feathering his words. He halted by the sideboard and spun around. “Wait, Des, did you say the ladies were coming?”
Charles sat up and shot a look of surprise to Mac. “Don’t tell me you didn’t know?”
“How would I? I came here at the behest of Captain Sheffield, not in anticipation of a blasted house party,” Mac said, his voice as cold as the empty hearth. Fury bloomed in his center and began seeping into his limbs. He stood, shaking his arms, hoping to dispel the itch to hit something. Someone. Anyone.
Pacing before the window, he stopped when a tiny person walked across the gravel driveway, skirted the fountain in the center, and continued on as if it—no, she—was heading for the stables. He watched her walk and found himself cooling considerably, his attention distracted. He pressed his forehead to the glass and got a good look at the girl. She had to be a young girl, for she was just a mere slip of a thing, with dark hair circled on her head in a crown-like style.
He found it interesting that the anger dissipated so easily at times. But at others, he felt like he was going to explode until he had released himself of every ounce of anger or passion built up in his body. He took a calming breath and turned to face his friends, not surprised by the slight looks of caution they each held. He leaned against the window sill, crossing his ankles and casually folding his arms. “Who?”
“My sister, Lydia,” Desmond offered enthusiastically. Too much enthusiasm, to be frank. Enough that the next name was not going to be one that Mac wanted to hear.
