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Chapter 12
The breakfast table was full of steaming food and pregnant looks. Miss Pemberton and Miss Sophy shared meaningful smiles before glancing Mabel’s way, which she ignored, hoping their schemes would die rapid deaths before coming to fruition.
Mr. Pemberton, however, sat beside his sisters with a pleasant smile and appeared to care for little more than the coddled eggs on his plate. Mrs. Boucher, his opposite, appeared to despise the bowl of gruel she rapidly consumed, if the expression on her face was any indication.
Mabel could do no more than push the rasher of bacon about her plate, afraid of glancing up and catching either Mac’s or Mr. Wright’s eye. Her brisk walk about the house the day before had not sufficiently cleared her head, and she was in need of more time away from the men to adequately get her bearings about her.
Gram walked into the room, leaning heavily on her cane, her face fixed in an eternal frown. “Mabel? Mabel?” she called, her gaze darting around the table. “Where are you?”
Pushing her chair back, she rose. “I am here, Gram.” Crossing the room, Mabel took Gram’s bony hand and rested it on her arm before leading her down to the foot of the table. “Are you hungry? Or would you like some tea?”
“Of course I want to eat. That is why I came here, is it not? Who are all of these people? And what are they doing at my table?”
“Some are guests of Charles, and others are guests of Papa,” Mabel said, guiding Gram to her seat and gesturing for a footman to fill her a plate at the sideboard.
Gram scoffed. “You must remind Charles that he doesn’t own the house yet. When did you all cease to ask my permission?”
The room grew silent, awkward. Charles and Mabel were the only ones who knew that Gram’s words were not to be taken seriously when she was in a cantankerous mood. They all likely thought her mad for forgetting the guests; she’d spent the evening before playing piquet with Mrs. Boucher in the drawing room. For finding the Pembertons’ hired companion vexatious, Gram certainly enjoyed partnering the woman in games.
Mac started chuckling halfway down the table, dispelling the thick silence. “Mrs. Sheffield, we are all quite aware that we have you to thank for letting us stay in your home. You have been a very gracious hostess.”
Gram narrowed her eyes. “You will not fool me, young MacKenzie. I know a tricky man when I see one.”
Mac’s smile broadened. “I will not pretend to find issue with that, Mrs. Sheffield. I appreciate a woman who takes my measure.”
Miss Sophy straightened. “Then perhaps you’ll like what I have to say, Mr. MacKenzie, for I believe I know exactly the sort of man you are.”
He shifted, giving her a searching look. “I believe you and I both know the truth to that statement. Let’s refrain from traveling that path further. Miss Sheffield?” he asked, surprising Mabel by the sudden turn of conversation. “Will you do me the pleasure of walking out with me following breakfast? I would like to gather your opinion on a matter.”
Miss Sophy had mentioned that she and Mac were on their way to an understanding. Had she been a victim of his over-flirtatious nature as well?
The entirety of the room seemed to shift their attention to Mabel, and she was grateful when the footman delivered Gram’s plate. She busied herself with situating her grandmother.
“You’ve beat me to it,” Mr. Wright said, while Mabel continued to arrange Gram’s napkin over her lap. “I had a mind to request that very thing.”
“As did we,” Miss Sophy said. “It is too fine a day to remain indoors. My sister and I had hoped to convince Miss Sheffield to come walking with us. With so many like-minded friends, perhaps we ought to make an outing of it?”
“A group walk?” Mr. Wright said, smoothing back his dark hair. “What a splendid notion, Miss Sophy. Perhaps a jaunt around that quaint little pond.”
The younger sister preened under the attention and the party broke into smaller conversations. While the others were distracted, Mabel took the chance to slip from the room.
Only, she didn't quite make it out of the room before hearing her name once more.
“Miss Sheffield?” a voice called, his tone pure and deep. Mac, again? He would not let things go easily, evidently. Rebuilding their friendship as adults was a good deal different from when they were children. Back then, she followed the boys around, wishing they would include her. Now, Mac was doing all of the chasing. It was entirely foreign.
Pausing at the door, she said, “I should like to join you all for a walk. Shall we meet in front of the house in a half-hour?”
General nods met her, and Mabel offered the room a smile before escaping. She had thirty minutes, and she planned to use them wisely.
* * *
Wright was up to no good; Mac could feel it in his bones. He’d never much liked the man, and he was hard-pressed to understand what drove Captain Sheffield to invite him to Graton. Wright was lazy, power-hungry, and greedy. On the ship, if he knew the captain was watching, he was on point, displaying himself to best advantage. Otherwise, Wright would do whatever was in his power to avoid lifting a finger. A man with that poor of a work ethic could only have traveled to Devon with the captain with nefarious goals.
Mac bit down on his bacon and chewed. He’d searched his brain but was at a loss. Discovering Wright’s purpose in being here had thus far proved difficult. They’d only spoken once after dinner the night before, and Wright was affecting his most amicable persona, the one which forced Mac to curtail his irritation and swallow his retorts. Arguing with someone who appeared good-natured did not do anyone favors. No matter how false the good nature was.
“Where shall we walk?” Miss Sophy asked.
“There is a lovely field just past the—”
