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He held her gaze, his eyes bent and sorrowful.
Understanding hit her before Mac uttered the words aloud. When Papa had explained his plans to bring families to Graton to farm the neglected, untouched fields on Gram’s land, Mabel hadn’t realized that he’d lumped Larkspur Vale in with the rest of the barren fields.
Because this field wasn’t barren. This field was lovely, useful. It had been a haven for Mabel for much of her life; she had only recently avoided it for the unpleasant memories it brought to the surface. Her sights fixed on Mac. Unpleasant memories involving him.
He cleared his throat. “This is where they plan to build the cottages.”
“But, the larkspur…”
“I tried to convince them of the merits of using a different field for the cottages, but they would not be deterred.”
“You?” she asked, stricken. “What do you care for this place?”
“I don’t—I mean, I just know what it means to you.”
That was true. He’d caught her here enough times to know what it meant to her. The memories she held close to her heart were of being alone in this vale, reading a book or taking a nap, far away from the realities and responsibilities that consumed her at home. The time following Pippa’s birth and their mother’s death had been so lonely for Mabel, needing to be the adult while she was still hardly older than a child herself, and she had found solace here.
A month after her mother’s death, Mabel had wandered to this vale, this place that was an oasis within the woods, and had seen more flowers than had ever before covered the ground—a veritable sea of violet-blue larkspur the color of Pippa’s and Mabel’s eyes. Papa had an explanation for it—he always did. The wind, he’d said, had carried the flowers to cover more ground than usual. It had been a particularly windy season, of course, but Mabel had known better. She’d known that her mother was responsible—the flowers a gift from heaven.
And now they were destroying them.
Mabel squeezed her eyes closed. Was her mother full of sorrow up in heaven, too?
Large, warm hands came around her arms, and her breath fled when Mac pulled her against his chest. She gripped his shirt, fisting it in her hands and measuring the steadily increasing beat of his heart against her own. Papa was so absent that she couldn’t expect him to know what this place meant to her, but Charles? Was her cousin so caught up in himself that he had not thought of her?
Grief clawed up her throat, threatening to break free. Mabel focused on her breathing, forcing herself to remain calm as her cheek rested against Mac’s firm chest. It was a leveling thought that the only person who considered what this vale meant to Mabel was the man who had once broken her heart there.
He’d ruined this place for her. After that incident, Mabel had not been able to return. She’d tried to visit it once after he left, but it had been uncomfortable, tainted. It’d no longer held the magic—only memories of the uncomfortable.
So she’d begun looking for her mother in other ways. In Pippa’s face, in the looking glass, in the painting in Papa’s room. She did not need the vale. It would always mean something to her, but it was no longer her special place. Yet even with the tainted memory, she’d always known it was here, that she could come back if she chose to. Just like she had that morning.
Mabel released a shuddering breath, gripping Mac’s shirt tighter. He tightened his arms around her, his embrace both soothing and protective.
But this was how he always had been. Kind, attentive, flirtatious. A man with a teasing glint always dancing in his eyes and a playful smile on his lips. A man who made her feel special, petite, appreciated. She would never forget the shock in his eyes, the playful grin slipping from his lips when she had confessed her feelings for him. His cheerful nature had been erased, replaced with panic, and he’d stammered his refusal of her lock of hair, telling her she’d been mistaken, that she was too tall, that he had never thought of her in that way.
If she tilted her head back now, confessed her feelings, would Mac’s face distort once again into panic and disgust?
She released his shirt, pushing against his chest and stepping back away from the circle of warmth and contentment he created for her.
“Mabel, are you—”
“It means nothing to me now,” she said, feeling the bitterness of the lie on her tongue. She wiped away the moisture lingering on her lower lashes, careful to suppress the emotion hovering at the edge of her composure.
Mac stared at her, his confusion quickly melting away, his eyes growing hard and unyielding. He could see through her, undoubtedly. “Nothing? It means nothing at all?”
Tearing her gaze from his, Mabel stepped back, taking in the entire expanse of open, wild land. The vale was large enough for a multitude of small cottages, and the new tenants would likely enjoy the odd larkspur here or there as long as the men did not uproot each flower. Now that the shock of the discovery wore off, she could see how it would be an idyllic place to raise a family for these displaced sailors. She knew intrinsically that her mother would have sacrificed it without hesitation.
She ignored Mac’s question. “If I must give it up, this is a worthy cause.”
“You mean it,” he said, his voice soft. “And here I was worried you would be sad to sacrifice this place.”
“I am sad that things must change. When is change ever easy? But at least I can find solace in the fact that it is a worthy reason to destroy the vale. It will change these families’ lives for the better, will it not?”
“Indeed.” Mac dropped his head to the side, his mouth set in a firm line. “I only wish we could accomplish that without needing to ruin this place.”
Mabel shrugged, hoping she appeared at ease when instead her body tingled, the feel of being in Mac’s arms impossible to shake. “I’d best be getting back.” She glanced over her shoulder to find Wagner resting on his horse beside Star. He looked away as though affording them privacy, and Mabel’s cheeks grew warm.
“Mabel, wait.”
