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Chapter 16
Mac would have given nearly anything to have skipped the portion of the evening sipping port with the likes of Wright and gone straight to the drawing room with the women instead. The man fawned and flattered Captain Sheffield grossly. Mac ought to fetch a mirror so Wright might realize what a cake he was making of himself. But he had a feeling the man wouldn’t catch on to his own ridiculous nature. Perhaps if they were to play spillikins, however, the evening would not be a waste. Not if it meant spending more time with Mabel.
Miss Sophy clasped her hands together. “Oh yes, let’s play!”
“Capital idea, Mac.” Charles turned toward the door. “Carson, send for the spillikins.”
A table was brought forward and chairs set up around it. Mac watched Miss Sophy lead her brother to Mabel’s side and direct him into the chair beside her, shooting him a telling expression with widened eyes. What was the minx playing at? As if Mabel didn’t have enough to contend with, with Wright’s watchful eye. Did Miss Sophy think to make Desmond a possible suitor for Mabel as well?
Charles opened the wooden box containing ivory spillikins sticks and tossed them onto the table in a heap.
“Oh, it is too bad of you,” Miss Pemberton said, leaning closer to Charles as he settled back in his chair. “You’ve made it a difficult round, I do expect.”
“So we might spend more time playing,” he said, sending her a faint wink. She blushed rosily and it took all of Mac’s self-control not to scoff audibly.
“Who shall begin?” Miss Sophy asked.
Mabel sent a glance past Charles’s shoulder. “It should be Miss Pemberton, I believe, since Charles threw the sticks.”
“Is that how you play here?” Miss Sophy asked, her dark eyebrows lifting. “I suppose I have no qualms with it, but in our house, it is always the youngest who begins.”
“Would that make it you, Miss Sophy, to start us off today?” Mac asked, unable to curb his tongue. “If we were to play by the Pemberton rules, I mean.”
“Well, I am not sure it matters since we are in the Sheffields’ home. But yes, now that you say that, I suppose it would be me who chose first, if we were playing by my family’s rules.”
Mabel shifted in her chair, her gaze flicking to Desmond beside her. Clearly her strong sense of proper hosting required that she allowed the game to follow Miss Sophy’s rules, so her guest would be most comfortable. Mac could almost see the dilemma dancing on her eyebrows. “Perhaps we ought to—”
Mac would not allow Miss Sophy to have her way now. It was so paltry a disagreement, but it still mattered to him. “I think we should obey the Sheffield rules.” He sat back in his thin, ladder-back chair and eyed Miss Sophy. “As you said, we are in the Sheffield home, after all.”
She dipped her head in acquiescence. “I wouldn’t dream of anything else.”
Miss Pepper coughed lightly beside Mac and he spared her a glance as Miss Pemberton proceeded to choose a thin, ivory stick from the messy pile.
If he was correct in his assumption, Miss Pepper was doing her utmost to stifle her amusement, and he liked her for it. “I was told that you are soon to be married, Miss Pepper,” he said, hoping to draw her into conversation. The table was so round and the group around it so large that smaller conversations had already broken off.
“Indeed. The wedding is in a fortnight.” She stood in order to reach the spillikins sticks and selected one before sitting back down. “My uncle is to throw us a ball in two days’ time. I hope you might be able to join us.” She leaned back, tucking an errant strand of her wild, dark hair back into her coiffure and then indicated the table at large. “I did mention this to Miss Pemberton and Miss Sophy earlier, but every one of Mabel and Mr. Fremont’s guests are welcome at our ball, of course. It is by no means meant to be a grand affair, but there will be dancing and plenty of delicacies. My cook makes an extraordinary lemon tart.”
“They are delicious,” Mabel agreed, nodding. “I believe I shall attend just for one of those.”
“How do you find reasonably priced lemons here?” Miss Pemberton asked, impressed. “We are so out of the way, are we not?”
“We grow them,” Giulia said, her smile unwavering. If ever there was a woman capable of maintaining the peace, it was this one. It must be an immense relief for Mabel to have such support.
Mac glanced to the hostess in question and paused, finding her in conversation with Desmond. It became Desmond’s turn in the game, and he paused to choose a stick before returning to speak to Mabel, and Mac’s gut clenched. Whatever could they possibly have to speak about so intently?
“I do look forward to it,” Miss Sophy said, her shoulder drawing so close to Mac’s arm that he felt it. Swallowing his irritation, he shifted further away from her. “How glad I am that I thought to pack a ball gown.”
“Indeed,” Giulia said. “Fortunate.”
Wright, seated on Mabel’s other side, chose an ivory stick before sitting back in his chair, his gaze sweeping over the table occupants before settling on Mabel. She failed to notice, however, so rapt was she listening to Desmond.
The remainder of the evening passed with equal frustration. Mac watched Mabel speak to Desmond or Wright, or sometimes both, from the other side of the table, with no way to insert himself into their conversations. Mabel was a perfect hostess, kindly listening and softly speaking to both men as though she actually did care about what they had to say. She was the soul of diplomacy.
“Mabel!” Mrs. Sheffield called from her chair at the card table near the fire. “Where is Mabel?”
Mabel immediately pushed back her chair and rose. “I am here, Gram. Are you ready to go upstairs?”
“I do not need a new chair, Mabel. I want to go to bed.”
