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Chapter 29
The fortnight following the trip to the seaside was miserably, dreadfully slow. Despite her rejection of Wright’s suit, the man had remained at the house to help finish the cottages. They’d brought on more men from Graton to complete the project quickly, and the houses had been finished two days past.
Giulia and Nick’s wedding, the Sunday before, had been a lovely affair. Giulia wore a gown of pale ivory with ornate navy stitching, white and blue flowers tucked in her crown braid. She hadn’t ceased grinning from the beginning of the church service to the end of the wedding ceremony, and they had sent her and her new husband away on a wedding trip to visit his home estate directly following the service. Giulia’s uncle, Lord Hart, had appeared suspiciously teary-eyed, and Mabel had nudged Hattie to point out the crotchety old earl’s sentimentality.
Mabel’s heart had been full watching the wedding of her dear friend, but it had hurt all the same. She suppressed the bitterness of wishing for the same thing for herself until she’d been alone later that night, and she missed having Giulia’s presence in her house to lean on. The pattern of her life was going to change, and she would do well to conform to it.
Mabel stood in the kitchen doorway now with Mrs. Henderson, going over the list of foods to be prepared for the celebration on the morrow to welcome the new families. Pippa intended to put on her play at the celebration—Mrs. Traynor had agreed to attend and bring her daughters—but refused to do so without Mac. According to the young girl, Mac’s role was vital, which only served to anger Mabel more.
Pippa insisted he would return before the celebration, and Mabel didn’t have the heart to argue further.
The last time he had left, he hadn’t returned for six years. Mabel had foolishly allowed history to repeat itself. She’d fallen for the man again, and then he’d left with no goodbye and no sign of returning. She had done her best to write him off and had begged Pippa to do the same. It was too bad the Sheffield women had such a weakness for Mac.
“It will all be set up in the vale,” Mabel finally said. “And we’d like the food and tables there before four.” She had not returned to the area since that day she’d accidentally seen Mac there, when they had begun digging up the field of her mother’s precious flowers.
Mrs. Henderson nodded. “Cook will be ready, ma’am. It should go off without a hitch.”
Mabel trudged back up the servants’ stairs. Her leg hadn’t so much as twinged in pain since the day at the sea. Her slower pace since returning—mainly due to many evenings spent with Gram, Giulia and Pippa in Gram’s private parlor—had given her leg the rest it needed.
Though she hated to admit it, a slower pace was precisely what she required, and it suited her just fine.
Mabel’s hand paused just before making contact with the door handle that led to the corridor, and she stilled at the sound of a deep voice just on the other side of it.
“I leave in the morning.” Was that Mr. Wright? She quietly stepped back into the shadows of the stairwell, leaning against the wall. He had been cordial since her father had explained that Mabel was not interested in pursuing a connection with him, but still, he remained in Devon for reasons unbeknownst to her.
“And then you will travel to Warwickshire?” a feminine voice asked, little more than a whisper.
Mabel leaned closer. She could not tell who spoke but imagined it to be Sophy Pemberton, her voice sickly sweet and low, as though she feared being overheard.
“Come with me,” Mr. Wright said.
“You know I cannot. Not yet. You go and then send word to me here. I refuse an elopement.”
A low growl preceded a feminine giggle and Mabel’s cheeks heated when she realized they must have been kissing. Turning silently on the stair, she decided to escape down through the kitchen when Mr. Wright made a sudden sound.
“I have a plan. If all goes well, we’ll be able to leave together.”
“What is it?” she asked him.
“Go, darling. Someone is coming.”
Quiet footsteps rang down the corridor and Mabel held her breath, hoping they weren’t planning to come down these stairs. If they did, she would be caught. Mr. Wright cleared his throat and she imagined him straightening his cravat and running his fingers over smoothed hair.
“Wright,” a familiar voice called, utterly guileless. Charles.
“I was just coming to find you,” Mr. Wright lied. “Well met, Charles. Is everything ready for tomorrow?”
“I believe so. Though I heard you are leaving us in the morning. I wanted to thank you for your help with the cottages. Building those was entirely out of my realm of comprehension and I’m grateful for your assistance.”
“Of course. We could have finished earlier, perhaps, had not MacKenzie shirked his duty like a lazy—”
“Mac was taking care of an important family matter,” Charles said at once, his tone brooking no argument.
A beat of silence passed, marred only by Mabel’s ragged breathing.
“Of course,” Wright said, his voice tight. “I must go speak to the captain. I will see you at dinner.”
Mabel shut her eyes, leaning her head back against the wall. Mr. Wright’s indiscretions forgotten, she wondered what exactly had occurred in Mac’s family to tear him away so suddenly. And if his family troubles were ever resolved…would he then return to Devon?
