The Secret of Pembrooke Park(102)

Leah chuckled.

“We discussed how many bedchambers we would need for our children,” Abigail went on, her face heating again. “You see, even when Gilbert was an awkward adolescent, even when I thought he was proud and hardheaded because he failed to see the superiority of my ideas, even then I admired him. Long before he turned anybody else’s head he had turned mine, and I thought the feeling mutual.”

Again she sighed. “But before he left for Italy last year, he told me he didn’t think we ought to shackle ourselves with promises. Shackle. That’s the word he used.”

Leah winced, then said, “Perhaps he thought it wouldn’t be fair to you to enter into an official engagement before he left the country. In case he should become ill or . . . something.”

Abigail nodded. “He said something along those lines to me, and I wanted to believe him. But later that same evening, I came upon him and my sister in a private tête-à-tête. She gave him something—a lock of her hair I found out later—and he accepted it.”

“That doesn’t necessarily mean anything,” Leah said as they turned and headed back through the wood. “You don’t know that he asked her for the lock of hair or wore it in a ring.”

“That’s true.”

“Then perhaps he was simply too polite to refuse it.”

“That’s what I tried to tell myself. But if you had seen how he looked at her . . .” Abigail shook her head. “Before then, I thought he still saw her as a pesky little sister. That he was blind to the fact that she had grown more and more beautiful with each passing year. But finally even Gilbert couldn’t keep his eyes off of her.”

Leah pressed her hand. “Miss Foster, I am very sorry.”

Abigail continued, “But that isn’t the worst of it. When Gilbert returned to London, suddenly fashionable and invited to some of the same routs and balls Louisa attended, he apparently sought her out. Mamma mentioned it to me in her letters, that he had turned Louisa’s head. Even called on her several times.”

“Ohhh . . .” Leah had no rebuttal for that one, Abigail noticed.

Abigail shook her head again. “But now I don’t know what to think. Today he told me he was here to see me, specifically. That he had decided not to call on Louisa again. He certainly seems interested in me. But I wonder if he is only angry with her.”

“Why would he be angry?”

“Louisa met several gentlemen during the season—men of wealth and connection. My mother has certainly encouraged her to consider her options and not to settle too quickly on any one man. Gilbert has felt the sting of this. I gather Louisa views him as her if-all-else-fails plan, if a better match does not materialize.”

“Surely you don’t think he’s only interested in you because your sister snubbed him—not with your long history.”

“I hope not. But I know Louisa is far more beautiful and charming. Men always think so. Even—” She bit back the words “Even your brother is not immune.” It was too painful to say it aloud, especially to his sister. Instead she said, “Even so, I had always been content in the knowledge that Gilbert Scott admired me.”

“Poor William,” Leah murmured.

Abigail sent her a quick glance. Leah did not know that William was following in Gilbert’s footsteps, already dazzled by the beautiful Louisa.

“And now”—Abigail drew herself up—“enough about me. Your turn.”

“Very well,” Leah said. “There isn’t much to tell about Duncan, but I will tell you about someone far more important from my past.” She gathered her thoughts and began. “When I returned from a year away at school, I found a place I liked to go on the very edge of the Pembrooke property. A place in the garden, behind the potting shed. Hidden by trees on one side, and the garden wall on the other.” She gestured into the clearing ahead. “Come, I’ll show you.”

Ah . . . Abigail thought, realization dawning.

Together they walked past the old gamekeeper’s lodge and onto the nearby grounds. They paused behind the potting shed and surveyed the jumble of pallets and planks.

“In those days, there were also a few sticks of cast-off furniture, even an old mirror,” Leah said. “A mother cat had a litter of kittens beneath a lean-to I built of old boards, and throughout that summer I tamed them one by one. I came here every afternoon when the weather was fine and Mamma didn’t need me at home. I played here for hours. One day this was a house, the next a ship sailing the high seas with me at the helm and the kittens as my crew. I played church and school and house and pirate. It was diverting for a lonely, imaginative girl.

“But one day,” Leah went on, “when I came to what I considered my play area, I was surprised to find that someone had left fresh flowers in my favorite green jar. I knew little William had not done so, and feared one of the Pembrooke boys had found my hiding place. But the flowers were neatly cut and arranged. I looked around and noticed a few other changes as well. Someone had fashioned a table out of a plank and two large blocks. And set the flowers upon them. It had to be another girl. I was irritated and yet secretly hopeful. I had become accustomed to the company of girls when I’d been away at school, and I longed for a friend.

“Then I found a letter left for me, signed by Your secret friend, asking to play with me here. Suddenly I felt self-conscious to play where I had played without second thought only the day before.