The Secret of Pembrooke Park(115)

Footsteps paused outside her room, and Louisa appeared. “Oh. Mr. Pembrooke.”

Miles stepped back from the door. “Another fair cousin. How delightful. I was only checking on your dear sister. When she retired so early I feared she might be ill.”

“I wondered the same.” Louisa looked at her, something sparking in her eyes that Abigail hadn’t seen in years—that old conspiratorial gleam when they had teamed up as sisters, covering for each other with their parents. She feared Louisa would suspect a liaison, finding their houseguest at her door at night, Abigail in her nightclothes, no less. But that wasn’t what that look said. It told her she understood.

Louisa said, “Excuse me, Mr. Pembrooke. But I simply must speak to my sister alone. Girl talk. You understand.”

He nodded amiably. “Oh yes, yes, perfectly. Well, no, not at all, really. But I shall go just the same and bid you both good night.” He bowed and swept down the passage.

With a relieved sigh, Abigail ushered her sister inside and closed the door behind her.

“Thank you.”

“Are you quite all right, Abby? You were thoroughly distracted at dinner. I doubt you heard half of what we said. And barely reacted at all when I told you we met the Morgans and saw Gilbert when we stopped at Hunts Hall.”

“Sorry. I’ve been . . . preoccupied.”

“Not with our dear cousin, I hope.”

“No.”

Louisa patted the bed. “Good. Well, I saved you from that man, so now you need to repay me by listening.”

“Very well.” Abigail climbed back in bed, and Louisa sat beside her.

“I wasn’t eager to visit Hunts Hall when Papa suggested it,” Louisa began, “for I met Andrew Morgan in London you see, a few weeks ago. And I . . . Well, he was quite rude to me, truth be told. I hate to say something so unneighborly, but there it is.”

“Really? I am surprised,” Abigail said. “I have only met him a few times, but he was quite kind and perfectly polite. And a friend of Mr. Chapman’s.”

“Yes, well. I am ready to forgive him everything, now I’ve seen his house.” Louisa winked. “Don’t look so scandalized. I am only teasing. I will say that once Papa formally introduced me as his daughter and your sister, his demeanor changed toward me. So perhaps things in London were all a simple . . . misunderstanding. Or he feels quite mortified by his treatment of me, now he knows who I am. That we are to be neighbors, I mean.”

“What do you mean by ‘his treatment’ of you? What did he do?”

Louisa shrugged. “Since he seems determined to put it behind us, I shall endeavor to do the same. Give him the benefit of the doubt.”

Abigail narrowed her eyes, studying her sister’s averted face. Wondering what she wasn’t telling her. She must own a share in the wrong, if wrong it was, to be so reticent to repeat it.

Louisa added, “I will say Gilbert was more polite as well. I was quite shocked at how cold he was the first time I saw him here.”

Abigail asked gently, “What happened between the two of you?”

“Oh . . . well. I think he felt snubbed when he returned from Italy. But what was I to do? So many gentlemen wishing to dance with me and pay calls . . . I couldn’t spend all my time with Gilbert. Even if he is a family friend.”

“Family friend?” Abigail asked. “Are you sure he wasn’t more than that?” Her sister’s memory seemed to be shifting to suit her own purposes.

Louisa looked down, pulling at a loose thread of her frock. “I thought he might be before he left for Italy. That’s why I gave him a lock of my hair. But apparently I was wrong.”

“If you gave him a lock of your hair but then couldn’t be bothered to give him a dance or the time of day, is it any wonder if he is cool toward you now?”

“Oh, he’ll forgive me. Men always do. Just look at Andrew Morgan.”

Wariness pinched Abigail’s stomach. She said gently, “Louisa, I think you should know. Mr. Morgan admires someone else.”

“Does he? Who?”

Abigail thought it wiser not to mention Miss Chapman. She knew too well how much her sister liked a challenge. And she didn’t want to give Louisa any reason to dislike Mr. Chapman’s dear sister.

“Just . . . be careful, Louisa. Men aren’t playthings, you know.”

She smiled coyly. “No? Then why do I so enjoy playing with them?”

“Louisa! Do you know how wanton that sounds?”

Her sister nudged her. “Don’t be such a prude. I am only teasing my sister. Not talking to a man—or your clergyman.” Louisa’s eyes sparkled with interest. “Is he your clergyman?” she asked.

Had her little sister not noticed the clergyman’s reaction to her?

Abigail’s cheeks heated. “No. He is no such thing.” Did she even want him to be? After the way he had reacted to the sight of her sister? And especially now that Gilbert was in the neighborhood, and seeking her out, and declaring how blind he’d been?

They talked for a long time, and Abigail felt her heart begin to thaw toward her younger sister. When Louisa finally yawned and rose to go to her own bed, it was late, and Abigail was tired. She decided not to open the door again that night and risk someone hearing her rummaging about and becoming suspicious. She could imagine Miles at the door, or loitering in the passage, listening to her every move.