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Chapter 10
Hiding from one’s guests was the very lowest of ladylike decorum, but Mabel flattened herself against the wall and prayed silently that the women walking down the corridor would turn for the stairs instead of continuing her direction. They had been in Mabel’s home for nearly a fortnight now and their company had grown increasingly wearisome.
If Mabel was forced to endure their company for another fortnight, she was liable to burst. But her governess had taught her to conduct herself better than that. So instead of making herself known to the Pemberton sisters, she hid from them.
“But what of his cousin?” a soft, high voice said.
Mabel’s ears perked up and she straightened, further pressing her back into the wall. Were they speaking of her?
“What of her?” the other voice said, sounding very much like Miss Pemberton.
“If you marry him, you’ll have her to contend with. You know he will never force Miss Sheffield out of the house.”
“You speak as though you believe the woman to be a permanent fixture. Do you think she is past marrying age?” Miss Pemberton asked, a slight panic lacing her tone. “I am not sure I could become mistress of this house if Miss Sheffield remained. There’s already the grandmother and the little girl to manage.” Her voice lowered, growing gravelly. “It is positively overrun with women.”
A beat of silence passed, raising the tide of anxiety in Mabel’s heart. Now she really could not be found listening to the Pemberton sisters’ conversation. She glanced over her shoulder, calculating the length of time it would take for her to sneak down to the end and around another corner. She could take the servants’ stairs down—
“I have an idea,” Miss Sophy said. “But do not speak until you have properly heard me out.”
The end of the corridor, the freedom from eavesdropping, beckoned Mabel. But she could not move. Frozen in place, she pressed her shoulders further against the wall, silently pushing her head back as she strained to listen.
“Desmond.”
“What of him?” the sister asked.
Mabel could very well imagine the sly smile taking over Miss Sophy’s face as she explained. “He needs to settle down, and he could do far worse than a woman predisposed to care for others.”
“You are suggesting we devise a scheme so that our brother might marry Miss Sheffield? Sophy, really, that is too much.”
Affront reached up and clenched Mabel’s chest. Did Miss Pemberton believe her to not be good enough for their brother? A tad tall, she might agree, for she could very nearly look into the man’s eyes when they stood toe to toe.
“I don’t see the harm in trying to make a match of Desmond and Miss Sheffield. We are not forcing them to post the banns, darling, merely helping them to see the benefit of this pairing.”
“And why can we not do the same thing with Mr. MacKenzie?”
Mabel’s heart constricted.
“You know very well why not,” Miss Sophy snapped. Had her sister been goading her? “He nearly proposed marriage to me just last month. And after the way he spoke to me this morning, I am certain he intends to ask for my hand within a fortnight.”
Mabel drew in a quick breath, her heart pulsing.
“Now,” Miss Sophy continued, her voice drawing quieter as though she was walking away, “cut the foolishness and help me contrive a way to force Desmond and Miss Sheffield into prolonged, private exposure.”
By the time Miss Pemberton responded, if she indeed did so, the women had fallen out of earshot. Shoulders slumping forward, Mabel blew a breath through her teeth. The very nerve! To attempt to contrive a match between herself and Mr. Pemberton, indeed. She was neither a young lady in the blush of youth nor a dainty, attractive female ripe for courting. Mr. Pemberton would not entertain illusions of the benefits of such a match, she was certain, and the idea of his sisters presenting the idea to him brought a blush swiftly to Mabel’s cheeks.
Footsteps sounded on the staircase around the corner, and Mabel pressed herself against the wall once more, her eyelids drifting closed. Given her luck, it would be Mr. Pemberton coming next and he was sure to run directly into her. His face was bound to flood her cheeks scarlet. But all was not lost. He did not know the ridiculousness his sisters were planning.
“Miss Sheffield.” Mac’s voice came through the darkness, and Mabel felt it in her soul. Why was she so unlucky? Seeing Mr. Pemberton after overhearing his sisters’ troubling plans would have been uncomfortable—seeing Mac was infinitely worse. They needed to discuss their situation at some point, but she was not ready for it to be now. If she kept her eyes closed, would Mac simply walk away?
A faint pattering of little feet could be heard overhead—Pippa playing in her schoolroom, no doubt—as silence sat between Mabel and Mac in the corridor, her eyes shut against the large man. Had he slipped away? Tempted to check, Mabel slowly lifted one eyelid, and immediately caught Mac’s steady gaze.
Flushing, a wry smile found its way onto her lips.
“Were you trying to hide?” he asked, amusement clear in his voice, playing on his lips.
“Not exactly. I was hoping you would read the situation and slip away quietly.”
“Do forgive me, madam. I was unaware of your thoughts.”
