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Mr. Wright was anything but aged. He fell somewhere in age between Mabel and her father, but she wagered it was on the lower end. While he was tanned and his dark hair longer than fashionable, tied in a queue low on his neck, he had a degree of intelligence about his smile. And when he dipped into a bow, it was evident he was trained in the art of propriety. This man, her father’s lieutenant, was clearly a gentleman.
“Mr. Wright,” she said, dipping into a curtsy. “Welcome to our home.”
A commotion in the foyer drew their attention, and Charles entered the room, shortly followed by Mr. Pemberton, the man’s two sisters, each of them wearing broad smiles, and Mrs. Boucher lagging behind.
Mabel’s gaze flitted between the numerous guests, her throat tightening. It was one thing to invite a few people for a short house party, another thing entirely to invite someone to stay for months. Where did Mr. Wright fall on this spectrum?
“Charles,” Papa said, crossing the room and slapping her cousin on the back. He absolutely beamed and Mabel scolded herself. This was just as much Papa’s home as it was hers—Gram had seen to that—regardless of how little time he spent there. He had every right to invite any man to stay for the summer, even her sworn enemy.
But should Mac remain her enemy? He’d as much as said he wanted to strive to create a friendship between them, and she was eager to allow him to. Fear aside, if he was going to remain in her house for the next few months, they would all be more comfortable if they were friends.
Hazarding a look, Mabel caught Mac’s eye and stilled, surprised to find him regarding her closely. She shifted away, the warmth of a blush tingeing her cheeks. He was bound to think her as lovesick as she was the day he had left her in that wretched field if she continued to seek his gaze in a crowded room like this. Though, avoiding him felt all the more pointed.
“Uncle,” Charles said, a wide smile on his lips, “I should love to introduce you to my friends. I hope you will be pleased to meet Desmond Pemberton and his sisters, Miss Pemberton and Miss Sophy Pemberton.”
Papa bowed. “Pleased, of course. I am eager to speak to you, Charles, but I must take care of some business first.”
“Of course, of course,” Charles agreed.
“Mabel?” Papa gestured to the foyer. “Might we meet in the study? I assume my desk is still there.”
“Of course,” she replied, leading the way. She’d expected him to ask for a customary update of the household and its occupants, but not so soon. She’d known he was to return for a few days now and had prepared her report already.
His footsteps followed her down the corridor, and she opened the study door, stepping into the room that forever smelled of leather polish and old books. Papa followed her and she lowered herself into the seat across from the desk, making herself comfortable. When Papa took the seat on the other side, her home would feel complete again.
Papa cleared his throat at the doorway, and she turned to find him hovering there, Mr. Wright standing beside him.
“Perhaps,” Mr. Wright said, holding her gaze steadily, “this might be better done in my absence.”
“Nonsense.” Her father swept his hand into the room, and Mr. Wright sent her an apologetic smile before coming to claim the chair beside her.
But she failed to understand why Mr. Wright was even here at all.
Papa followed, closing the door with a soft thud and crossing the room, his certain, even steps unrelenting. He always called his heavy footsteps his sea-legs, but Mabel had always thought it a tad overdone when on dry land.
“Shall I begin my report?” she asked, training her gaze on her father as he settled into the high-backed leather chair at the desk. She could feel Mr. Wright’s gaze fixed on her person and anxiety began to quicken her heartbeat.
Waving his hand, he stroked his long, white beard. “We can do that later. For now, there is business I’d like to discuss. I’ve been in contact with Charles and he’s assured me you do not have a beau.”
A beau? Mabel wanted the floor to open up and swallow her entire chair whole, herself included. Her face went hot. What was Papa doing asking about such a thing in the presence of a complete stranger?
“That would be correct,” she finally said.
Papa’s smile grew wider beneath the beard. “Capital. Then you will be happy to hear that I’ve brought Mr. Wright home with the intention of creating an alliance between you.”
The room began to spin. Had she heard him correctly? She opened her mouth to argue when it occurred to her that Mr. Wright was sitting beside her—close enough to hear her increased heart rate, no doubt.
She needed to tread lightly. “But Papa, Mr. Wright and I are not acquainted. We only met a few minutes ago.”
“And you will have plenty of time to grow acquainted. I haven’t any intention of having the banns read before the end of July. But that being said, we haven’t much time to waste, and I would like the both of you to make an effort to spend time together.”
“But, I just…to what end?” Mabel asked, her voice one degree shy of snapping at her father. He had been absent for years, save the odd letter here or there, and now he arrives with a man—a stranger, no less—whom he intends for Mabel to marry? He must have caught on to her distress, for his eyes settled firmly on her.
“To what end? Engagement and then marriage, of course.” One could brook no argument with that tone, and it took all of Mabel’s will to remain silent.
Mr. Wright cleared his throat beside her. “If I may?”
Papa nodded, though his eyes never left her.
