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Mabel’s back straightened as though his words had slid down her spine, bruising her pride. It chastened her as if she had done something she should be ashamed of—which wasn’t the case. Slipping her hand free of Mr. Wright’s arm, she stepped around Mac and continued down the path, leaving both men behind her.
* * *
Mac watched the swish of Mabel’s skirt as she stepped away from him, her tall, elegant form highlighted by the rising sun. He noted a faint hitch in her step. Was she limping? The idea sent a rush of hot anger through him. Why would Mabel agree to so lengthy a walk if she had been injured?
“She is not what I expected,” Wright said.
Mac’s blood heated further. When Mac had glanced over his shoulder and noticed the missing pair at the back of the group, his hair had stood on end. If Wright’s record at every port of call was to prove consistent, the man had spent his free time on land in the company of less-than-respectable ladies. And Mac was not about to allow Wright to add Mabel to his list of conquests. And now he spoke as though he’d had expectations prior to arriving? There was something afoot, and Mac wouldn’t rest until he knew what it was. Wright wasn’t here for a social visit—that was certain. “What did you expect?”
Wright’s dark eyes glittered, and he fell in step beside Mac, traveling down the path toward the group. “The way her father described her, one would have expected an Amazonian.” He lifted a hand. “She is tall, I’ll give him that. But there is something pleasing about her manner of walking. She is the picture of grace, is she not?”
Wright was correct, and the observation was both disheartening and humbling. The man could not be entirely foolish if he found such value in Mabel. But appreciating the woman did not mean he deserved her.
“Are you intending to remain long?” Mac asked.
Wright shot him a side-long glance. “I do not plan to intrude upon your goals with the barley fields and tenant houses, if that is what you mean. But I will stay as long as she’ll have me.”
A weight settled upon his shoulders, pressing on Mac and slowing his pace. “As long as she’ll have you? You speak as though there is an agreement in place already.”
They were fast approaching the rest of the party and Wright cast Mac a look before stepping ahead of him. If he was trying to irritate Mac, he was doing a capital job of it. But if he expected Mac to sit by silently and allow Wright to weasel his way into the Sheffield family, he had another thing coming.
Charles crouched, searching the ground for something as Desmond skipped a rock over the glassy surface of the pond.
“Thrice!” he called.
Charles rose and clapped Desmond on the back. “I’m certain I can make four.”
Wright approached them, passing the women who stood behind, watching the men skip rocks. “Shall we place a wager on that surety? A shilling you can’t make four.”
Charles grinned. He turned toward the women. “Might I have your good luck wishes?”
Miss Pemberton stepped forward. “Good luck, Mr. Fremont.”
Charles lifted the flat, round pebble. “Might you touch it for good luck?”
Her cheeks pinked quite becomingly, and she stretched her glove-clad finger out, brushing it over the top of the gray stone.
Charles turned and prepared his stance before sending the rock flying over the surface of the pond.
“One, two, three…four!” Miss Pemberton laughed, clapping her hands together. “You did it!”
Charles bowed to the group at large before taking Miss Pemberton’s hand in his own and bringing her knuckles to his lips, bestowing a kiss on them. Mac glanced over the couple and caught Mabel’s gaze. She refused to hold it, however, and looked toward her cousin, a troubled line forming between her eyebrows.
Mac longed to cross the distance and speak to her, to ask if she might unburden her troubles on his willing ears and do his best to soothe her worries. But the other guests of this haphazard house party stood between them.
“Shall we go again?” Charles asked, his grin widening as he turned back toward Wright. “I’m certain Mac could skip five. He was always the best of us.”
Wright shifted, turning irritated eyes on Mac. “Oh? Shall we have another go?”
“I am rusty,” Mac said. “There is no place to skip rocks on a ship.”
“That merely levels the competition, does it not?” Miss Sophy asked.
Wright nodded. “What do you say, MacKenzie? A shilling to the man who skips the most.”
Mac nodded before turning his attention to the hard-packed dirt in search of a good skipping rock. Would it be entirely ridiculous to ask Mabel to touch it for good luck? He located one that would do well enough, removed his gloves, and dug the stone from the earth.
He stood to find Wright proffering his open palm toward Mabel, and an amused glint in her eyes as she touched the stone there. The image soured Mac’s stomach, and he pivoted toward the pond, doing his best to remove from his mind the picture of Mabel with Wright. The competition was set, and Mac was determined to beat Wright in every regard.
