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Chapter 17
Mabel’s heart refused to slow. She had heard Papa and Mac prepare to leave the study and lifted her skirts, hoping to make a quick escape, but she was not swift enough. The door closed behind her, and she slowed her pace, hoping her retreat appeared natural.
She hadn’t intended to listen in on the men’s conversation when she’d gone to speak to her father, but their voices were powerful, penetrating the door, and were clearly discernible from her position in the corridor.
When Mac had asked if Papa had heard from the prize court, Mabel had shoved aside all of her governess’s lessons on politely not eavesdropping and leaned in closer. Had she been living under a rock? Mabel had known that Mac’s father had gone away, and his mother had gone to Bath, but the MacKenzie estate remained empty, and Mabel had assumed that was by choice. How had she not heard?
Never would she have imagined the family to be in straitened means, that his father was in the Marshalsea. She yearned to turn now, to close the distance and wrap her arms around his waist. The time surrounding Mac’s leaving Graton and going off to join the navy had been difficult for Mabel—she’d believed she was forever saying farewell to her one true love, a love who had wholly rejected her. But she hadn’t known that he was leaving because his parents had been put in such horrifying circumstances. How difficult it must have been for him to leave his parents at such a trying time.
She scoffed quietly. Mabel had pitied herself because Mac had called her tall. Her mouth bent into a frown, and she lifted her skirts, pretending not to hear the heavy footsteps follow her up the stairs. Would it be too much to wish Mac would simply let her be so she might go to her room and pity him in silence? If she turned about now, Mac would surely see the distress in her eyes.
“Mabel?”
Oh, dear. Perhaps she could continue on, pretending she hadn’t heard him. He had spoken so quietly, her name barely touching his lips.
“Mabel?” he called again.
A chill ran down her neck. She paused at the top of the staircase, her hand resting on the bannister. Glancing over her shoulder, she caught his hazel gaze as he approached her slowly in the dim candlelight, her heart speeding the closer he grew.
“How is Mrs. Sheffield?” he asked, coming to pause on the landing beside her.
“Asleep, I hope.”
“And you?”
“Awake.”
Mac chuckled, and Mabel’s breath caught. This kind, compassionate, dear man had the weight of the world on his shoulders, and she never would have guessed it before. He wore his struggles quietly, and that made her heart ache all the more. She did not know a more even-keeled person, especially one who was so wholly responsible for the welfare of his parents.
“I meant to ask if you are well,” Mac said, his mouth tilting into something of a smile as his eyes bore into hers. “It cannot have been easy for you to take on so many guests with such little notice, and yet you’ve remained perfectly composed. Are we beginning to wear on you?”
“Not beginning to, no.” Mabel couldn’t contain her smile. “You’ve worn on me from the first.”
“Touché, Mabel.”
It was on the tip of her tongue to remind Mac of his place, but the way he said her name made her heart jump in her chest. She was not strong enough to ask him not to repeat it, not when she wanted to hear it again.
“Have you concluded your business with my father?”
He nodded. “There wasn’t much business to attend to. I was merely visiting with him.”
“And was your visit satisfactory?”
Mac searched her face, his own just higher than hers. She enjoyed looking up at him and wondered if her height was as obnoxious to him now as it was when they were younger. “I learned some things which I found utterly distasteful, and others which interested me greatly. So I suppose it was an enlightening visit if nothing else.”
Interesting. She could say the same about what she had overheard. Though she would never admit so aloud. “And what did my father say that was so distasteful?”
He opened his mouth to speak, but then closed it again. Seeming to weigh his words, he leaned closer, eyes sparkling with emotion but lacking levity. “That you are going to marry Wright.”
Her breath caught. “I have agreed to nothing yet.”
“Good.”
“But the idea does not repel me as much as it does you.” She swallowed, unable to refrain from provoking him. “Pray, do you have cause to be so disapproving?”
Mac stepped closer still. “Wright is not the sort of man one wishes to align themselves with.”
“My father would beg to differ.”
