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“You know,” Charles said, his mouth pursing in consideration. “What a splendid idea. We ought to bring the ladies to the vale to enjoy a picnic or some such thing before it is dug up. It is only too bad the flowers aren’t in bloom.”
“No,” Mac said, his curt reply startling his friend. “What use will it be to show them the vale if we are to ruin it with cottages shortly thereafter?”
Charles studied his friend. “Why do I feel as though you are withholding information?”
Because I am, Mac thought. He merely shrugged, directing his horse back toward the house.
“You may not wish to share with me yet, but I will get it out of you. You’ve acted strangely since arriving in Graton.”
“It is odd being back,” Mac said. “The last time I was in Graton, I still had a home.”
“Your mother is not unwell?” Charles asked.
Mac shook his head. “No, she is content in Bath. She writes that her sister is a tolerable companion.”
“Is it the memories from your childhood that bother you?”
Mac was becoming dangerously close to lying to his closest friend. “Yes, of course,” he finally said, opting for honesty. “This will never feel like home as long as my father is in the Marshalsea and my mother is living out her days in only tolerable contentment with her sister, no house of her own to manage.”
“You could pay your father’s debts,” Charles said softly.
Mac clenched his teeth, his hands flexing over the thin, leather reins. He planned to, of course. It was left to him to get his father from the clutches of the debtor’s prison. But he needed to wait until he had the funds to support his parents once again. If only he could convince his mother…but no. She would never return to the town where she had felt such acute embarrassment.
Shaking his head, Mac turned his horse from the field. “Shall we return?” His voice sounded strained even to his own ears.
“I wish I could help.” Charles pulled his horse alongside Mac’s as they cantered toward the house. “If I had the money at my disposal—”
“This is my burden and mine alone,” Mac said crisply. He had intended to bring enough prize money home from the war to both help his father and purchase an estate of his own, but so far, things had not gone the way he had planned.
What ever did?
* * *
Mabel stood in the dim corridor, her ear pressed against the door as she listened to the girls playing in the schoolroom. Once they’d had their fill of climbing trees and the subsequent tea Cook had prepared for them, they had disappeared into the schoolroom and spent the better part of an hour quietly ensconced in the room, the charming sound of young voices intermixed with giggles floating into the corridor.
It was rather a shame the Traynor family did not live closer, but that was not going to deter Mabel from furthering their acquaintance with the family. Her papa had never been one with snobbish airs, and even if he had, nothing would stop Mabel from pursuing a friendship with a family of two perfectly lovely girls for Pippa to play with. The poor thing needed friends that would be kind—anyone to replace the dreadful animosity between Pippa and Jacob Tucker.
It had felt like watching history repeat itself to hear Pippa complain of Jacob, to watch the boy tease her from up in his tree when they had gone to deliver the apology basket of muffins. Mabel had acted very much the same way when she was younger, when Mac and Charles had been younger, as well. She had longed to play with them, to be included in their adventures, but the boys had been so bent on refusing to allow her to join their games.
She needed to interrupt the girls now—it was time to return the Traynor girls to their house—but couldn’t bring herself to do so yet. Mabel pressed her ear to the door, laying her palm flat against the solid oak as she strained to hear what the girls were saying.
“Does Pippa realize you are spying?” a deep voice said just behind her.
Startling, Mabel straightened, her cheeks growing warm as she caught Mac’s gaze. He took up the majority of the narrow corridor, his head nearly reaching the top of the doorway behind him.
“I am not spying,” Mabel defended, her voice barely a whisper. “I am merely listening.”
“Perhaps traitors to the Crown might give that same defense. Do you think it would work in their favor?” he returned, his low voice quietly matching hers.
Duly chastised, Mabel shot him a wry smile. “It is different when I am the sole person in charge of both Pippa’s happiness and wellbeing, do you not agree? I am merely doing my duty to ensure my charge is being treated well, and that she is treating her guests with the same courtesy.”
“Touché, Miss Sheffield.”
The name sounded strange on his lips—too formal—from this man who had been used to calling her Mabel.
“Was your outing with Charles a success?”
Mac looked at her sharply, his eyes flashing before his gaze flicked away. What else was he trying to hide?
