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“Are they serving anything stronger than lemonade? I must have something. I’m parched.”
“Allow me to fetch you something,” a deep voice said behind her. Mabel turned to find Mr. Wright smiling broadly down at them. She introduced him to Amelia and thanked him for the offer, and he left to procure something stronger to appease Gram.
“And who is he?” Amelia asked. “There was no mistaking the way he looked at you, either.”
“That,” Mabel said, drawing in a sustaining breath, “is the man my father would like me to marry.”
* * *
Mac downed the remainder of his drink in one gulp. He watched Mabel from across the ballroom, Wright dancing attendance on her. The idiot had been hovering around the Sheffield women for the last hour, and Mac wanted to march across the polished wooden floor and demand to know why Mabel allowed Wright to linger near her. But that would be odd, so instead, he glowered from afar.
“You are bound to burn a hole in the man if you keep watching him that way,” Charles said, swirling his own glass.
They leaned against the wall, Mac watching Mabel, and Charles gazing in the same general direction.
“Miss Pemberton looks lovely this evening,” Mac said.
Charles’s reply was noncommittal. “Hmm.”
“You disagree?”
“No. She does look lovely.” Charles took a sip, his voice lowering. “And it is entirely unfair. I should be ecstatic to have such an amazing creature interested in sharing a life with me, and yet, I cannot fathom asking anyone but Amelia Fawn to fill the role.”
“You cannot force her to love you,” Mac said, doing his best to be gentle.
“What shall I do, then?” Charles turned, folding his arms over his chest, and looked at Mac. “Is it fair to Miss Pemberton to marry her when my heart belongs to another woman? I have tried to forget Amelia, to replace her, to distance myself…nothing has worked.”
“I cannot answer that, Charles. Only you and Miss Pemberton can decide for yourselves if it is fair. But if the arrangement is satisfactory to both you and Miss Pemberton, then I see no reason why you cannot still marry her.”
Charles did not reply. His brow furrowed, and he nodded absently.
“Where is your uncle this evening?” Mac asked.
“You didn’t hear? He was called to London. An urgent missive arrived.”
“What was the nature of the missive?”
Charles shrugged. “He plans to be home by the end of the week, so it could not have been too extensive.”
Mrs. Boucher crossed the perimeter of the ballroom, selecting the empty seat beside Mrs. Sheffield and lowering herself into the chair. Miss Pemberton and Miss Sophy remained on the dance floor in the midst of a country dance, and Mac watched their companion strike up a conversation with Mabel’s grandmother. The two had become friends if Mac took their measure correctly.
“What do you plan to do once the houses are finished?” Charles asked, pulling Mac from his trance.
He straightened, shooting his friend a half-smile. “I need to free my father at the first possible moment, and then set to finding an estate we can afford with whatever I have left. I’ve often wondered…”
“What?”
Mac shook his head. “I should be horsewhipped for allowing the thought a moment’s time.”
“You cannot say such things, for now I must know what you were about to say.”
The dance came to its conclusion and the Pemberton sisters were led toward the Sheffield party and their companion. Amelia Fawn still sat beside Mabel—the woman had not left her post all evening—but other women came and went, and that side of the room appeared a veritable hotbed of company.
“Of course if it is truly of a sensitive nature,” Charles said, lifting a shoulder, “then forget I pressed you at all.”
“No, it is merely uncharitable. I would prefer not to help my father, but it is the lowest of filth who would leave their parent to rot in prison when they have the means to free him.”
“Perhaps, but you are human. No one expects perfection of you, Mac.”
