The Secret of Pembrooke Park(127)
Was he talking about Louisa? Surely not! Even so, Abigail’s stomach sickened as he spoke and her cheeks heated. Oh, the mortification! What a crude and cruel thing to say, if unsubstantiated. If true, well, heaven help them all.
“I left soon after, much to Andrew’s disappointment. I confess I thought very little about it, or about the girl, not praying for her or her family as I should have done. But when I saw her here, I recognized her instantly. And to learn she is your sister . . . Well, I was stunned speechless.
“I still don’t know what I said at the time, hopefully something polite and coherent. And I hope you will forgive me for repeating the scurrilous accusations now, to you. But if Louisa has acted in a manner to expose herself to such talk, it could very well damage her reputation and yours, so perhaps it is better that you know.
“She did seek me out in the churchyard once, and I tried to offer a word of counsel, but I don’t think I got through to her. I suppose I should have gone right to your father with the report and offered a gentle warning. But I would hate to rouse his wrath against Louisa or the men in question if it might be addressed another way, with less damage to . . . everyone.”
For several moments, Abigail said nothing, her mind struggling to reconfigure what she thought she had seen, with this new information. She was relieved and upset all at once. Her heart felt sick and exalted in turns. Oh, Louisa! Foolish, foolish girl. Abigail could very well believe her sister capable of such flirtatious behavior, thinking her beauty and charm made her immune to the normal rules of propriety.
William looked at her in concern, and grimaced. “Apparently I judged wrong in telling you. Please believe my motives good even if my decision poor.”
She turned to face him. “No. You were right to tell me. It explains several things . . . things she has said about Andrew Morgan and her reluctance to visit Hunts Hall, so apparently some unpleasantness along these lines passed between them. I will speak to her. Perhaps she is unaware of the extent of her breach of propriety. Hopefully her reputation is not damaged beyond repair.”
“Likely she didn’t realize,” William agreed kindly. “She is very young, after all.”
“Yes. She did write in one of her letters that all the attention from gentlemen had gone quite to her head.”
“Understandable. And you were not there to guide her. Along with your mother, of course.”
“I don’t know that I would have been an effective guide, even had I been there. I am no great expert in deflecting the admiration of multiple suitors.”
He lifted one auburn eyebrow. “Are you not? For I can count at least three admirers at present. And that is only here in tiny Easton.”
Abigail ducked her head, her cheeks now heating for a far different reason. “Careful, Parson, you don’t want all that flattery to go to my head.”
“I don’t fear that for a moment, Abigail Foster. You are far too modest for that, sensible, lovely girl.”
Pleasure and relief washed over her.
Even as concern for her sister nipped at her breastbone, Abigail’s thoughts whirled now on a far happier axis. William Chapman did not admire Louisa. And even if he thought her sister pretty, which was undeniable, he was not smitten with her. In fact he saw her as a wayward young girl to be set upon the right course, not as a woman to court or love or marry. Thank you, God! Abigail thought, not bothering to stifle the smile that curved her lips.
“What’s made you smile, Miss Foster? I am relieved you are not angry with me, but what have I said to so amuse you?”
Dare she tell him the truth? Would his respect for her dim if she revealed her insecurity? Besides, it didn’t change the fact that she had no dowry and didn’t deserve an educated, devoted, handsome clergyman paid far less than he was worth.
He sat up straight and looked at her in bewilderment. “Wait a minute . . . Don’t tell me you feared I’d fallen under her spell?”
Abigail shrugged. “It had crossed my mind. You should have seen your face when you saw her! Gaping like a hooked fish, all wide-eyed and tongue-tied.”
He shook his head. “And here I thought you’d guessed the truth of my dismay, or had somehow wrongly heard that I had been among those speaking ill of her.”
Abigail was embarrassed to recall her earlier words about how obvious his reaction had been when he’d laid eyes on Louisa. She had been completely wrong! She had seen what she’d feared—no, what she’d expected to see.
“So that’s why you’ve been, shall we say, chilly of late,” he said. “I was afraid it had something to do with Mr. Scott. I saw him embrace you in the library and assumed, well . . .” His sentence trailed away on a shrug.
Mr. Scott. Odd that she had barely thought of him during their entire conversation. No wonder Gilbert had been irritated with and cold toward Louisa—if she had acted the wanton flirt with multiple gentlemen at every event of the season.
“And here all along you assumed I admired your sister.” He tsked and took her hand in his. “My dear Abigail, I thought you knew me better than that.”
She managed a wobbly smile and said quietly, “I once thought I knew Gilbert Scott better than that as well.”
He looked at her, suddenly serious. “I thought the scales had fallen from his eyes at last where you and Louisa were concerned. That he had become disillusioned with Louisa and . . . enamored with you.”