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Mabel stilled. Miss Pemberton had not wished for a moment of Pippa’s time since her arrival in Devon, and the sudden change could not be genuine. In fact, Mabel could not recall one moment when Miss Pemberton and Pippa had interacted before now. The woman would have requested Pippa’s company when they arrived in the drawing room an hour since if she’d desired it for Pippa’s sake.
“My dear, I am certain Miss Pippa has retired already,” Miss Sophy said. “Surely she could not be awake at this hour.”
Charles glanced to Mabel, his eyebrows high. The man would do anything to please Miss Pemberton, and it was growing tiresome. What had the young woman done to earn his affection? Of course, she did lay claim to every good quality befitting a young gentlewoman, but she was so very dull besides. She was pretty, yes, but tedious. And the manner of screeching which had torn from her throat when the bird had seen fit to dirty her hair was enough to ruin her good image in Mabel’s mind completely.
Just the same, the way Charles watched Miss Pemberton, his eyes alight, was enough to force Mabel to swallow her tongue. “I am certain she is asleep. Perhaps tomorrow evening.”
“Yes,” Charles agreed, his smile never resting for long on anything other than Miss Pemberton. “Tomorrow she shall join us directly after dinner. Perhaps we can play a round of spillikins then. Does she still favor the game, Mabel?”
Mac stepped around the sofa, Mr. Wright on his heels, and paused behind the Pembertons. His hazel eyes seemed to bore into Mabel from across the rug, so intently did he watch her.
She swallowed. “Indeed, she dearly loves the game. She is quite good at it, too.”
“You are quite good at it, from what I recall,” Charles said, sparing a pleased look for Mabel before turning his attention back to Miss Pemberton.
The man was clearly besotted. Mabel could not choose his bride, but neither would she wish to be in the way of his happiness. She ought to do her part to help him, she supposed. “I am not sure—”
“Why wait for tomorrow?” Mac asked, the deep timbre of his voice forcing the breath from Mabel’s lungs. “Shall we not play tonight?”
