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Chapter 21
Mac pierced the shovel into the soft, damp earth and released it, careful to make sure it would remain upright before stepping away and hitting his hands against his pant legs.
“Calling it a day?” Wright asked, tossing his own shovel aside. Had no one ever taught the man that leaving a shovel lying in the grass was foolish? Anyone could step on it unawares, ending up with a wooden handle in the face.
Mac crossed the roped-off perimeter of the cottage they were leveling the ground for and picked up the shovel, striking it into the earth as Wright walked away. It was too bad Captain Sheffield faced the trees now. He really had a knack for missing Wright’s more idiotic moves.
“Are you looking forward to the ball?” Charles asked, coming behind Mac and slapping him on the back.
Mac watched Wright’s distinctive swagger as he crossed the torn-up vale, saying something to the captain and then throwing his head back in laughter.
“Mac?” Charles said again.
He scrubbed a hand over his face. The ball. He’d forgotten. He hadn’t spared a thought for anything that day beyond the house they were building, or visions would creep into his mind of Mabel, lying in her bed with her leg bandaged and paining her. She had told him last night she expected to be recovered after a much-needed rest, but he was unable to cease his worrying.
He cared about Mabel, that was certain. He always had, even when they were children and the stakes of life were so much lower. But now? Now his body ached at the thought of her discomfort, his mind worried over the prospect of her pain.
Charles took his contemplation as an answer, evidently, and chuckled. “The things we do for our family, eh?” His voice sounded strained, uneven.
“What bothers you?”
Charles looked over abruptly, holding Mac’s gaze. “It is nothing, really. Childish worries. I held a long-time fondness for Amelia Mason, you might recall? She is Amelia Fawn now.”
Mac remembered. Charles had fallen madly in love with Amelia—Mrs. Fawn—when they were young, and she had written him off immediately, marrying another man instead. Charles had been gutted. But he’d rallied and done his best to move on.
The other men in their party had all found their horses and were leaving for the day when Mac finally reached Orion. “Do you expect to see Mrs. Fawn this evening?”
“Yes,” Charles said. “But I have every hope of believing Miss Pemberton is about to make me a very, very happy man. So it matters not what Mrs. Fawn thinks, does it?”
“I suppose not.” Mac obtained the saddle, turning Orion about to face the path through the woods. “That cannot make it any easier to face the woman, however. Or so I would imagine.”
Charles blew through his lips. “No. To be honest, I am more concerned over seeing her again than I gather I ought to be.” He shook his head, disgust bubbling from his throat. “Miss Pemberton deserves better than the likes of me.”
“Is that why you have not offered for her yet?”
He glanced up quickly, eyes widened. “I hadn’t considered that before. But maybe there is some truth to what you say, and I have yet to allow myself to think too much on it.”
“Well,” Mac said, offering his friend a smile, “let us return home quickly, dress in our dratted britches and go dance with our women.”
Charles’s head tilted back, and he shot Mac a considering look. “Our women? Who do you have your eye on?”
Mabel’s name danced on the end of his tongue. Would it be unwise to share his feelings with the man who felt very much like her brother? If any person had a right to learn of Mac’s intentions, it was Mabel’s father. But Charles was a close second.
A small scream pierced the waning afternoon and both men turned toward the sound, Charles’s question forgotten in an instant as Mac spurred Orion on. Another scream followed the first and he urged his horse to go faster, darting through the trees until he approached the clearing where he had skipped rocks with Pippa and Mabel a few days before.
Pippa stood on the edge of the pond, her hands fisted by her sides and an angry red mark on one cheek. “I told you to come down here and fight me!” she hollered. “Stop hiding in the trees like a coward!”
“I’m no coward!” a voice yelled back.
“Yes you are!”
A high voice said, “Pippa, maybe—”
Pippa turned toward the soft voice and Mac followed the sound as well to find two young girls standing on the other side of the path, huddled close together, uncertainty lacing their features. They looked familiar, their blonde curls swaying in the breeze as he searched his mind to place them.
Ah. The young girls who had been playing with Pippa in the schoolroom that day when Mabel and Mac had interrupted their play practice. He swung down from Orion, looping his reins over a nearby branch.
Pippa’s head whipped around and she caught Mac’s gaze, a triumphant smile stretching over her lips. Charles dismounted behind Mac and came up beside him, his eyebrows drawn together. “What is this about?”
