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“That is increasingly clear to me, sir.”
Mac studied Mabel. The air felt charged, heavy. He stepped closer. “Do you think we could talk—”
“No, thank you.” Mabel turned away, walking down the hall toward the stairs. She would find solace in the schoolroom with Pippa.
“Mabel—”
She glanced over her shoulder, her eyebrow lifting.
“Miss Sheffield,” he corrected. “I called you Mabel for years and I have been trying to be more formal, but the habit will be difficult to break.”
“I called you Liam for my entire childhood, and yet I haven’t slipped once.” She exhaled. “You haven’t called me anything for years. I should think it wouldn’t be a very difficult habit to break at all.” Sliding her fingers along the bannister, Mabel lifted the hem of her gown and took the narrow stairs toward the top floor.
“Perhaps that is something we ought to rectify,” he said, following, but pausing at the bottom of the stairs.
There was the flirt she remembered from before. Mabel paused mid-step, turning back. She was taller than him when standing this way, a few steps above him, though not by much. Looking down at him—however slight—she narrowed her eyes. “What is the use? You will be gone again rather soon, I should think, and I do not scruple to tell you that I have no pleasant memories of our time spent together before you left Graton.”
Mac held her gaze, his mouth pinched into a firm line. Expelling a long, slow breath, he shook his head ever so slightly. “Has Charles not informed you of his plans, then?”
She stilled. “What plans?”
The bend of Mac’s shoulders and his shifty gaze revealed just how uncomfortable he was with this situation. “This really ought to come from him.”
“He isn’t here now,” Mabel said, unrelenting. She lifted an arm to sweep the staircase, pointing out just how alone they were. “What is it I should know?”
“Your father has invited me to remain here for the duration of the summer, and perhaps longer. We’ve developed a plan and he’s asked for my help to see it through.”
The entire summer? Her chin dropped. “You mean to tell me your presence here isn’t due to a house party?”
“The Pembertons may certainly be, but I will not be returning to London when they choose to leave. I have committed to helping the captain with this project.”
Mabel’s breathing grew short, stilted. She had prepared herself to manage her discomfort in Mac’s presence for the duration of a fortnight, but the entire summer was too long to bear. It was unfair of Charles to hoist this upon her with no warning. Her papa may have orchestrated the scheme, but Charles could have informed her of it, at the very least.
“And your own house is not good enough shelter?”
* * *
Mac stared up into Mabel’s beautiful, stone face, and his stomach clenched. “My house is not an option.”
Was Mabel unaware of the debts? The Marshalsea?
She clenched her teeth—he could see it in her jaw.
Reaching forward, Mac laid his hand atop hers on the bannister and heard her breath catch. “I didn’t realize you were unaware of the situation. I can promise you that from the very beginning, I vowed I would not make you uncomfortable. Whatever you ask, I will obey. This is your home and the last thing I wish to do is drive you from it.”
“You could not,” she said. Of course, he could trust Mabel to take a gesture of goodwill and trample on it with that dratted Sheffield pride.
“I am happy to hear it.”
“Oh, hush,” she said, removing her hand from underneath his. Mac felt the lack immediately and gripped the bannister instead. Lowering her voice, Mabel spoke in a harsh whisper. “You cannot return here six years later and force me to believe you are so very changed. I remember what happened that day in the—” she glanced away, blinking far too quickly for Mac’s comfort. When she returned her gaze to meet his, he read resolve in their depths. And something far more vulnerable. Hurt, perhaps? It nearly killed him.
“Allow me to make amends,” he pleaded.
“How do you propose you might make amends for something which happened all those years ago? It is childish of me to hold on to my anger, but I have never pretended to be a perfect person.”
“It is not childish. I’ve never apologized for saying those things to you, for rejecting your offer. Please, allow me—”
“Can you not see how this might be difficult for me? Please, forget I ever said anything about it.”
