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Chapter 6
It was a dream, wasn’t it? Mabel sat up in bed as the faint beginnings of day crept between her drapes and pooled on the floor. Stretching her arms high above her head, she yawned, glad she had chosen early retirement the evening before, for she felt rejuvenated and rested now.
She glanced around her room, noting the additional meal plans Mrs. Henderson had left on her table the night before when she had come to inform Mabel of the late arrivals.
No, it was not a dream. Three additional guests who were scheduled to arrive today had, indeed, arrived late last night.
Groaning, Mabel pressed her fingertips to her eyelids before rising and tying her wrapper around her waist. She opened the drapes—grateful she had gotten to keep them since Giulia didn’t need them now—and stood at the window for a moment, soaking in the fresh morning light. She noticed two figures climbing into the boat on the pond. Squinting her eyes, she leaned forward until the tip of her nose rested on the cool glass, and she recognized the men. One of the men was most certainly Charles, made known by the old, ratty fishing garb he deemed good luck and refused to replace.
The other was that monstrously tall man she’d met in the corridor the day before. There was something about him that again struck her as familiar, but she could not place what it was. She was certain she had not met him before, for she would have remembered someone of that magnitude. In fact, she only knew one man who had ever towered over her in that way, and his memory did nothing but stir her stomach in an unpleasant manner and raise bile to her throat.
No, this man was different. Aside from his breadth and lack of a brain, Liam had darker hair. No, he was nothing like Liam MacKenzie.
Heat flooded her cheeks as the giant man down in the boat lifted a hand in greeting, shortly followed by Charles. She raised her hand back and left the window immediately, depositing herself at her writing desk with the menus Mrs. Henderson had delivered and the food orders which would need to be subsequently altered. She pulled a sheet of paper from her desk and began a list, scrawling at the top a reminder to speak with Mr. Akkerman about cutting tulips for the guests’ rooms.
Mabel worked on the menu until she felt satisfied that it would please both Gram and Charles’s guests, which took quite a bit longer than she would have liked. Ringing the bell, Mabel waited for Payne to come help her dress, anxiety mounting as her list of things to accomplish steadily grew. Moving to the desk, she added to the list, Convince Charles to buy new fishing equipment. If he had a pole that was not so outdated, surely he would catch a few fish and they could add trout to their menu. Perhaps she could just gift him with new supplies? No, that would never work. It would only offend the man.
Payne entered the room with a breakfast tray, pleasing Mabel’s growling stomach. She took her time eating and dressing, reveling in the few quiet moments she would get before welcoming her guests and playing hostess. She was dawdling and found herself wishing she could escape to Halstead with Giulia as well and wait out the duration of this blasted house party.
Why she disliked being around people when she was rather talented at hosting was a mystery in itself, and one that she did not care to delve into solving. If only she had been blessed with other gifts, more practical gifts, like patience with Pippa, or a strong talent at hunting, riding, or even fishing, then she could at least be useful in a pleasant way. She could supply the house with an endless stream of trout from the pond.
But no, she had to be blessed with the ability to easily manage the house and its odd occupants, and the ability to take on a decent-sized house party with absolutely no notice. Mabel laughed to herself. Very well, so her skills were rather practical. But that was beside the point.
The thing was, Mabel detested people. She could not stand the way they made her feel monstrous and large and awkward and…ugly. There, she admitted it. Maybe she could get through this next week or two. Even though her insecurities were real and valid and based on true experiences, they did not stop her from being the mistress of this house—at least in theory—and in complete charge of herself and all of the Sheffield home, if nothing else. At least Charles valued her opinion above all else. She could always count on him to see her and value her contribution.
* * *
Mabel descended the stairs after checking Pippa’s room, which she had found empty, and her teeth grated together as musical laughter floated from the drawing room. Steeling her nerves, she put on her most regal air and stepped into the room, stopping abruptly at the scene that lay before her.
Two women were seated at the card table playing a game with Charles and another man. The man had the same dark blonde hair as the woman he was seated beside and bore such a strong resemblance to her in the pointy chin and arched eyebrows that Mabel was positive they must be related in some way. Opposite from the dark blonde was another young lady who’s rich, brown hair in no way resembled that of her tablemates. Both of the ladies’ gowns were fit for London’s elite drawing rooms, and the stark contrast made the Sheffield home shabby in comparison.
The men at the table stood upon her entrance, along with the one who was seated on the sofa facing the card table: the half-witted giant.
“Mabel, welcome!” Charles crossed to her and pulled her further into the room.
Her heart beat rapidly at the four sets of strange eyes peering at her, and she tried to smile and walk with grace and poise.
“Please let me introduce you to my dear friends,” Charles began, placing a reassuring hand on her back before gesturing to the golden-blonde lady. “This is Miss Pemberton, her sister, Miss Sophy Pemberton, and their brother, Desmond Pemberton. You remember my mentioning Des from school? We met up in Italy and have been traveling together ever since.”
Mabel nodded, smiling to the siblings who gave her conciliatory nods. Desmond Pemberton was a dandy, to be sure, if his bright purple waistcoat and dashingly tied cravat were any indication. A chain hung from his vest, replete with fobs of all sorts, and no sooner had Mabel noticed it than the man pulled the eyeglass from his pocket and secured it to his eye to get a full look at her. Pink tinged her cheeks, and she was grateful when Charles turned her away from that table.
He clutched her shoulders, directing her gaze to the man on the couch. The man she had met in the shadows of the corridor, whom she had not recognized until this moment. No, it couldn’t be, could it? Her chest swelled with indignation that she did her best to conceal.
Charles swept a hand to indicate his friend. “And of course you know—”
“Mac!” the giant shouted, a slight panic coloring his words. Did he think he was fooling her? His gaze shifted between Mabel and her cousin. “Everyone calls me Mac.”
“But surely in company you’d prefer Mr. Mac—”
“No,” Mac said, his mouth turning down as he gave a small shake to his head. “Mr. Mac would be fine, but I’m so used to being called Mac, anything else feels quite uncomfortable.”
Charles nodded slowly, a crimp to his brow. “Mac,” he repeated, as if it was unknown and the taste confusing on his tongue. “Everyone”—Charles beamed, gesturing to his cousin as if she was someone to be proud to announce—“this is my cousin, the closest thing I have to a sister, Miss Mabel Sheffield.”
“Pleased.”
“Charmed.”
“Pleasure.”
