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He rode onto the gravel drive in front of the house and pulled Orion to a stop, his gaze riveted by the woman standing in the doorway, her hand resting lightly on the frame. Mabel. She was beautiful. Her hair swept behind her and her ball gown billowing in the slight breeze.
Their eyes locked and Mac had to work to swallow. He was inordinately pleased that she was dressed for the ball, that there was a chance he’d have the opportunity to dance with the woman he loved.
His heart jumped, the truth of that statement spreading warmth through his body. It felt good to acknowledge how he felt. Now he just had to make sure he had something to offer her before Wright swooped in.
Pippa reached her, barreling into Mabel and nearly knocking her over. The smile that lit her face transformed her from a woman of dignity and poise to something far lovelier. How could Mac have refused the lock of hair she had offered him in the vale all those years ago? He hadn’t loved her then, not in the way she’d wanted him to. He could kick his younger self for not recognizing her value as he did now.
Still, his mind had been so consumed; the grief he’d felt, little more than a boy himself, over his father’s carelessness and the way it had torn his family apart and forced him into a life at sea had blocked all other feelings and emotions. When Mabel had presented him with a lock of her hair, he’d been angry, revolting against the situation that had forced him to leave his beloved Devon. Her offered token had pained him, and he had lashed out.
Mabel had not deserved that. Not then, and never again. He watched her shoo Pippa and her friends into the house, glancing up with a questioning look. Did he look a fool hovering on his horse in the middle of her gravel drive? He didn’t care. His heart was brimming with regret and love. Love for such a strong, incredible woman.
Forget Wright and Desmond. Mac had known her first, and he was just as eligible now with his career behind him and the prizes hopefully heading his way. He could—but no, he could not offer for her, could he? Not until he had taken care of his obligations first.
But he would. He would free his father from the shameful bond of the Marshalsea, set up a home for his mother, and then offer for Mabel.
He just needed to ensure that another man did not win her heart first.
* * *
Mabel led Katie and June Traynor into the parlor where their mother sat waiting for them and saw the women off before returning to her bedchamber. She had spent the entire day abed and boredom had gnawed at her for sitting so idly, but her leg appreciated the rest. She could now walk with minimal aching, though dancing would certainly be out of the question that evening.
A lowering thought, considering the promise she had made to Mac to possibly partner him in the first set. She had spent many afternoons as a girl dreaming of dancing with Mac in a glittering ballroom like the one in Halstead Manor, and her dreams would almost become a reality that night.
Lifting her mother’s garnets from the dressing table, Mabel noted the stark contrast the deep red made against her milky throat, and she lowered them back to the table. This was not the sort of attention she wished to draw to herself. Pulling the single strand of white pearls from her mother’s jewelry box, she fastened them around her neck and stepped back. They contrasted her mauve silk gown nicely and were the right amount of elegance to help her feel made up without overdoing it. A woman who planned to sit out the entire evening did not need to glitter on the dance floor, anyway.
At least she would have Amelia to sit beside—the woman wore her widow’s weeds like a badge of honor and hadn’t danced a set since her third wedding if Mabel remembered correctly.
A tiny sob in the doorway drew her attention and Mabel shot a rueful glance over her shoulder. “Pippa, I told you that you are too young to come to the ball.”
“But I dearly wish to come! Does that mean nothing?”
“It means that you will be much disappointed, and ought to recall that you are only seven. When you are fifteen, you can attend every ball your heart desires.”
“But fifteen is so far away,” she said, popping out her lower lip. “It is unfair of you to leave me here alone.”
“You won’t be alone. You will have Hope in the schoolroom, as you always do, to watch over and keep you safe.”
Pippa scoffed, and Mabel turned back for the looking glass so she might hide her mirth from her sister. But the glint of longing in Pippa’s eyes tugged at her heart, and Mabel held out her arms, which her sister ran into.
“You know, I have an idea,” Mabel said, drawing out the words, her chin resting on top of Pippa’s head.
“What is it?” the small voice replied.
“An outing to the seaside has been proposed,” she said, feeling Pippa’s body stiffen in her arms. “And if you are very good for Hope and complete all of the tasks Giulia has asked you to do, I see no reason why you cannot accompany us.”
Pippa lifted her head, her eyes sparkling. “Oh, yes, Mabel. Please let me come. I will be so good!”
“I am certain you will,” she said ruefully. It was easy to be good when such a tantalizing treat was on the line. “Now run upstairs and eat your dinner. I must see to our guests.”
Pippa nodded, jumping up and skipping from the room.
Mabel shot one last glance in the looking glass before rising and smoothing out the skirt of her gown. She lifted her mother’s ivory lace shawl from where it rested on the end of the bed and draped it over her shoulders, tugging it close as though the length of fabric was actually her mother’s arms coming around her in a comforting embrace.
Rubbing her hand down her leg, she massaged as she moved, hoping to keep the throbbing at bay for the evening. While resting for most of the day had done much to allow her use of her leg once again, it was far from healed. If only she had never broken the dratted thing to begin with. But she could not change the past; she could only do her best to manage it better in the future.
Their guests were all gathered in the foyer and Mabel searched the group for Giulia but came up empty. Gram sat on a chair against the wall, both hands wrapped in lace gloves and resting on the top of her walking stick. She looked positively gloomy and it brought a smile to Mabel’s lips. The woman was so crotchety, but Mabel didn’t blame her. She would be irritable too if she could not hear half of what was being said to her.
Miss Pemberton hung from Charles’s arm, resplendent in a gown of pale blue silk, her hair done up and strung with beads of pearls. Beside her, her sister fanned herself with one gloved hand while the other smoothed out her thin gown.
