The Secret of Pembrooke Park(137)

He pulled a face. “Eliza has nothing to do with it. Even if Robert Pembrooke was her father, an illegitimate chit gets nothing, unless he recognized her in his will. Which of course he didn’t.”

“So you decided to work here instead.”

He shrugged. “Why not? I had planned to work here since boyhood, though as independent gamekeeper with my own lodgings, not a house-bound drudge. Those plans were spoiled when Pembrooke Park closed, so I’ve had to make the best of it. It’s up to me to support my mother now my father’s gone. He worked close with Clive Pembrooke, see. Told me how sure the man was that there was a sizeable treasure hidden away. My father half believed him. And so did I.”

“And what have you found so far in your late-night searches? Beyond that pin you gave Eliza?”

“Now, don’t look daggers at me like that,” Duncan said. “It was only a trifle. And it’s not as though you weren’t conducting your own search, ey, miss? I’m not blind, ya know.”

When she made no reply, he smirked and puffed again on his cigar.

“So, yes. I felt ill used by the Chapmans,” he went on. “Robbed for the second time of what might have been my destiny. How it chafed—toting and carrying for your lot, when I might have been lord of the manor myself, with Eleanor as my bride. . . .”

His eyes grew fondly distant for a moment, then hardened once more. “So I figured, if I found the treasure in the course of my work, well, I had it coming, hadn’t I? A little recompense for my heartache.”

Leah appeared in the doorway beside her, and Duncan’s chair tipped forward onto all four legs with a bang.

Leah said, “My father recommended you for this post as all the recompense he felt he ever owed you, even though he had concerns about your character and engaging you went against his better judgment. He felt bad for disappointing you where I’m concerned, but he also did so out of respect for your father, whom he greatly esteemed. He hoped in time, you would follow in his footsteps. Become the honorable, hardworking man Jim Duncan was.”

Duncan’s nostrils flared, but Leah continued resolutely, “I didn’t reject you because you were beneath my station. I rejected you because you are lazy and meanspirited and greedy.”

His lip curled. “And that’s supposed to make me feel better?”

Leah shook her head. “No. It’s the truth. It’s supposed to make you want to become a better man.”

After that, Abigail walked Leah home, leaving Duncan stewing in the lodge. She returned to Pembrooke Park and went belowstairs again, wanting to have the cloak in hand when she next confronted Duncan. She considered giving it to Mac instead and allow him to ask the questions after he recovered from his injuries. . . .

But when she reached the lamp room, the cloak was gone.



The following week, Abigail sat with her family in the drawing room. She and Louisa played a halfhearted game of draughts while their mother embroidered a cushion and their father read his mail.

Abruptly, Papa muttered an oath and tossed down the letter he had received from Uncle Vincent.

“Not again.”

“Now what, my dear?” Concern etched lines across Mamma’s pretty face.

“Your brother asks that I come to London again, as soon as possible. Something about another investment. So help me, if he tries to—”

“There, there, my dear. I am certain he’s learnt his lesson.”

“Are you? That makes one of us. I pray this isn’t to do with more backlash from the last debacle. . . .”

Abigail’s stomach knotted at the thought.

He rubbed an agitated hand over his face. “I suppose I must go. He says it’s important.”

“Why don’t we all go?” Mamma said. “It would only be for a few days, would it not?”

“Yes, let’s do!” Louisa interjected. “I long for London and to see all my friends.”

Abigail spoke up. “I’ll stay, if you don’t mind. There is a lot going on, and I want to be here.”

“A lot going on?” Louisa echoed. “Here? You have been in the rustics too long, Abigail.”

Her parents soon agreed, however, realizing it would be rude to abandon their houseguest, and perhaps unwise to abandon the house.

That night, Louisa took her aside. “Are you certain you should stay here alone? With Miles, I mean?”

“Thank you for worrying about me, but I shall be fine,” Abigail said. She hoped she would be, at any rate. After all, she had nothing he wanted—no treasure.



Two days later, Abigail again bid farewell to her parents and Louisa.

Not long after they had left, she saw Mac riding his horse across the bridge, Brutus bounding alongside. He was on his way home from Hunts Hall, she guessed, surprised he had returned to his duties so quickly after his recent injuries. She waved and hurried across the drive to him. “May I talk with you a moment,” she asked.

He halted and, ignoring her protests, dismounted. “Aye. Do you mind if we walk while we do? I need to stretch my stiff legs.”

“I don’t mind at all,” she said. “But are you sure you should be walking on that ankle?”

“Only a sprain,” he insisted. “It’s bound tight.” He pulled down the stout branch tied to his saddle and used it for support as he walked toward his cottage, leading the horse by its reins.