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Chapter 22
Mabel stepped into the bustling ballroom, Gram on her arm, and glanced about for a place to settle. An abundance of candles lit the room from the enormous chandelier overhead with extra candles set before mirrors against the walls. It appeared as though every person who lived in or around Graton was in attendance, their laughter and conversation filling the room with more light than the candles could muster on their own.
Mabel, having left Giulia in the corridor to steal a quiet moment alone with her betrothed, did not need to greet her hostess and sought out a good place to plant herself and Gram for the duration of the evening.
“Come, Gram,” she said, leading her grandmother around a group of women toward a set of empty chairs against the back wall and then helping her to sit.
“Do you feel that draught?” Gram asked, looking about as though she would see it, her mouth bent into a frown. “I don’t wish to catch cold.”
Mabel found the culprit—a nearby window cracked open just a smidge. “I will correct it for you.”
“You aren’t leaving me, are you?” Gram asked, her feeble hand clasping Mabel’s wrist.
Shaking her head, Mabel laid a hand over Gram’s and squeezed. “I am only going to shut the window, and then I will return.”
Gram nodded and Mabel slipped her hand free, encircling her wrist where Gram had clutched her. If she was to follow her father’s plan and marry Mr. Wright, what would become of Gram? Would she accompany them to Warwickshire, or refuse to leave Sheffield House? The woman did not truly need Mabel the way she thought she did. Any number of young, responsible women could take Mabel’s place in caring for Gram. But that did not mean Gram didn’t rely on Mabel, to say nothing of how Mabel relied on Gram.
Had Papa considered his own mother when he had made the plan to wed Mabel to his lieutenant?
Clasping the wooden casing to the window, Mabel shoved downward, but it would not budge. Setting her fan on the ledge, she got a better grip on the window and gave it another push. But still, the thing would not move.
“May I be of some assistance?” a soft, masculine voice said behind her. Mac.
Mabel’s heart thumped in her chest, beating so loudly she could feel it hammering against her breastbone. Mac’s quiet voice was enough to send her into the vapors. She needed to get a handle on her feelings, or she was bound to say something she shouldn’t.
She turned, and words failed her. Why was he looking at her in that way? His eyes glittered, so serious and unwavering, and she swallowed. “I was hoping to cut off a draught, but this dratted window won’t close.”
“Allow me?”
She stepped aside and Mac gripped the window, giving it a push. Even with his effort, it would not move. He shot her a rueful glance. “I would have been far more obliged to the window had it done my bidding.”
“Perhaps you need to try again,” Mabel suggested.
Mac stilled, holding her gaze. “I had that same thought. Sometimes when something does not go the way we planned the first time, we merely ought to try again.”
Her breath caught, and Mabel longed to tear her eyes away from the tall, handsome man before her. He held her captive within his gaze and she couldn’t look away. He wanted to say something—she could feel it.
Giulia’s and Nick Pepper’s entrance was announced, gathering the attention from the room and slicing the cord that had bound Mabel to Mac. She drew in a breath, turning to join the occupants of the ball in congratulating the happy couple.
A thunk sounded behind her and she turned to see the window closed, Mac standing triumphantly beside it. “I only needed to try again.”
“So it would seem.”
He picked up the fan that she’d left on the windowsill. She reached for it, and he hesitated before placing it in her hand.
She gestured to her grandmother and he nodded, clasping his hands behind his back before stepping beside her. “How is your injury?”
“Better,” she said. Biting her lip, she gave him an apologetic smile. “But I cannot dance tonight. I fear one day of rest was not enough, as I had hoped it would be.”
“Never mind that,” he said with a dismissive wave. “I would be happy to have your company for the duration of the set instead. Might I sit beside you?”
Her body warmed at the question, her pulse quickening. “Of course.” Her voice was unsteady, and she busied her fingers arranging her shawl about her shoulders.
Gram’s craggy voice startled her. “What did that man say to you?”
Mabel’s cheeks warmed. Hadn’t Gram just recognized him earlier that evening? Leaning close to Gram, she said, “That man is Mr. MacKenzie, Gram. He has requested the next set, but I am unable to dance. So he will join us here.”
Gram gave Mac a shrewd side-glance and he smiled at her. She had mentioned him by name just an hour before; her mind must really be leaving if she could forget Mac so quickly.
