The Secret of Pembrooke Park(107)

I have thought of you so often, always hoping you were well and happy. I imagined you with children of your own, perhaps even playing in our secret place. Having now visited Easton on a few recent occasions, I must say I was disquieted to discover you were still unmarried and, if I may say so, looking ill at ease and even afraid of your own shadow. Or perhaps . . . of someone else’s shadow?

When we met as girls, you likely knew my real name and where I lived. But I wanted to thank you for overlooking it back then, when no one else would. Those hours we shared between the potting shed and garden wall were the happiest I spent in Pembrooke Park. Nay, they were the only happy memories I have of those years.

I did not like seeing you looking troubled. Or to hear Mrs. Morgan speak to you in such a horrid manner. You have a good heart, and deserve better than that. If there is anything I can ever do for you, please don’t hesitate to let me know. Miss Foster will know how to contact me.

Fondly,

“Jane”

Abigail called on Leah after dinner and asked to speak to her alone. The two women sat outside on the garden bench in the fading sunlight. Abigail handed her the letter and waited quietly while she read it.

Leah looked up at her with tear-bright eyes. “Please don’t tell my parents. Especially Papa. He forbade me to have anything to do with her.”

“But certainly now, after all these years . . . What can it matter?”

“It can. It does. You’ll have to take my word for it.”

“Very well. Do you want to see her again?”

“I’m not sure. You have talked with her, I take it? What is she like now?”

“You spoke with her as well. The woman in the veil?”

Leah’s brows rose. “That was her? I thought her voice was familiar.”

“You may have met her too. I know William has. She is Mrs. Webb now, Andrew Morgan’s aunt by marriage.”

“That’s who she was!” Leah stared off thoughtfully. “Andrew’s aunt . . . I only saw her from a distance. I told William she looked familiar at the ball, but it never crossed my mind she could be my Jane.”

“Yes. She married Nicholas Webb when she was quite young. By then, she and her mother had begun going by her mother’s maiden name.”

“Which explains why we never heard of a marriage with anyone of the Pembrooke family.”

“Yes. She was eager to cut all ties to this place and to the Pembrooke name.”

Leah’s face dimmed. “How sad. To lose all ties to one’s family. To her home. Her name . . .” Pain shone in her eyes.

“Harriet said she was glad to take a new name. It was like a second chance at life for her. A new beginning.”

“Born again . . .” Leah murmured. Her gaze remained distant, and her thoughts seemed very far away.

Abigail sat quietly, not wanting to hurry Leah or pressure her. She felt comfortable in the companionable silence between them, glad their friendship seemed on better ground at last.

Finally, Leah said, “I will meet her. But only if you will go with me.”





Chapter 23


Abigail’s parents invited Gilbert to Pembrooke Park for dinner to celebrate his first major building project. They decided to limit the party to family and old friends: themselves, Miles, and Gilbert. But Louisa took it upon herself to invite William Chapman to join them.

She justified, “After all, he is our nearest neighbor and our parson and all alone in that forlorn, damaged parsonage just across the drive.”

“Very neighborly gesture,” their father said approvingly.

Their mother looked less convinced, perhaps concerned her pretty daughter might form an ill-advised attachment with a poor curate. Abigail had mixed feelings about him being there as well.

At the last minute, Miles bowed out—to even their numbers, he said. Father tried to convince him to stay. “Don’t leave on that account. We don’t care about that—not at an informal family dinner.”

Miles thanked him but said he was going to again see his sister, who was visiting the area. Abigail wondered if Harriet would tell him about their meetings, but somehow she doubted it.

The dinner passed pleasantly, with much teasing and laughter and toasts to Gilbert’s success, and to friends old and new.

After dinner, Mr. Foster lit his pipe and the others strolled toward the drawing room for coffee.

Gilbert said, “Abby, I’ve been thinking about those renovation plans you showed me. May I see them again?”

She looked at him quickly, and knew he had something else in mind. “Very well.”

Abigail glanced over her shoulder as they walked away. Louisa barely seemed to notice their departure, but William hesitated at the door of the drawing room, watching them go with apparent resignation. Louisa linked her arm through his and led him into the room. No doubt she would soon put a smile on his melancholy face.

Inside the library, Abigail walked over to the map table and pulled out a random drawer. Even if he really had no interest in seeing the plans, they would provide an excuse if someone looked in the open library door and saw them alone together. The act also gave her nervous hands something to do.

Coming up behind her, he touched her arm. His voice was low and warm and somehow made her hands tremble all the more.

“Abby, dear girl, I . . . wanted to talk to you. I—”