The Secret of Pembrooke Park(19)

“Yours, yes, but not mine. At any rate, it’s nothing you need be concerned about, Miss Foster. It’s all in the past.”

He drew himself up. “Now, enough of that. Here I am, ready for our tour. I’ve brought Kitty along. I hope you don’t mind. I knew she would enjoy seeing the place.”

“Not at all. She is most welcome.”

His sister looked up at her words, and Abigail greeted her. “Hello.”

“Kitty, this is Miss Foster,” William said. “Miss Foster, my younger sister, Katherine.”

The adolescent wrinkled her nose. “But I am only called Katherine when Mamma’s vexed, so Kitty will do nicely, thank you.”

Abigail smiled. “Kitty it is. Now, what would you like to see first?”

The girl rose eagerly. “Everything! You can’t imagine how I’ve wondered about every room, walking by this place my entire life and never seeing inside.”

“Then every room you shall see.” Abigail squeezed her hand. And for a moment it was as if she were looking into Louisa’s face at Kitty’s age. A Louisa who had often looked up at her with fond affection, trust, and even admiration. Abigail’s heart ached a little. Sometimes she missed those days. Missed their formerly close relationship. Missed her.

Abigail gave the two Chapmans the grandest of grand tours. Using information gleaned from the book of Pembrooke’s history she’d found in the library, she described the house, its style, and the approximate ages of various additions with enthusiasm, incorporating architectural details she’d learned from Gilbert.

In the salon, Abigail noticed Kitty’s attention stray. She cut short her monologue and instead gestured toward the old pianoforte, inviting Kitty to play the neglected instrument. The girl sat down and plunked out a few tentative notes.

Abigail became aware of Mr. Chapman’s curious look. “Sorry,” she said. “I got a little carried away.”

“Not at all. I am only surprised by how much you know about architecture. Most impressive.”

She shrugged, self-conscious under his admiring gaze. “It’s nothing, really. I have always been fascinated by the subject.”

“May I ask why?”

“I had a neighbor growing up, a boy named Gilbert. His father made his fortune in the building trade, and Gilbert planned to follow in his footsteps by becoming an architect. His enthusiasm was contagious, I suppose. I found myself borrowing his books, going with him to observe construction sites and the like.”

“I see . . .” He studied her with measuring interest. “And where, may I ask, is this Gilbert now?”

She darted a glance at him, feeling her neck heat. She hoped she hadn’t revealed her feelings—embarrassing feelings better kept hidden.

“In Italy. Studying with a master architect.”

“Ah. And do you wish you were with him?”

“Me? Studying in Italy? Women don’t do that sort of thing, as you know.”

“I didn’t mean studying,” he clarified. “Though it’s a shame you could not. I meant, do you wish you were with him?”

The burning flush crept from her neck into her cheeks, and she could not meet the man’s blue eyes.

“I . . .” She hesitated. “Actually, I think it may be my sister he admires now.” Agitated, she rushed on, “I don’t know why we are talking about this. We are to be talking about Pembrooke Park.” Abigail redirected her attention toward Kitty, walking closer to the pianoforte while the girl played a simple piece by rote.

Moving to stand at her elbow, Mr. Chapman said quietly, “Forgive me, Miss Foster. I should not have asked so personal a question. A professional tendency, I’m afraid.”

She formed a vague smile but avoided his eyes. “I understand. Now . . . shall we continue?”

Kitty rose and asked to see her bedchamber. “You were given the pick of all the rooms, William told me. I want to see the one you chose.”

“Then you shall. But I hope you won’t be disappointed. I did not pick the grandest room.”

“No?”

Abigail looked at the adolescent’s wide, shining eyes. It wouldn’t be long until Kitty raced toward womanhood, but for now, she was still in large part a little girl. “No. But when you see what’s inside, I think you will approve my choice.”

Abigail led the way upstairs.

At her door, William hesitated. “You two go ahead. I shall . . . wait here.”

Another nod toward propriety, Abigail guessed. But as soon as she gestured Kitty into the room, she wished he had been there to witness his sister’s delight.

“Oh, my goodness!” Kitty enthused over the dolls’ house. “Look at this! It’s wonderful.”

“Yes, someone worked very hard on it and collected a great many pieces.”

Kitty knelt before the open rooms, then looked back at Abigail over her shoulder. “I suppose I shouldn’t touch anything?”

“You may touch whatever you like, but I would ask that you return everything to where you found it.”

“I shall. I promise.”

“There are dolls in the drawer below,” Abigail offered.

Kitty eagerly opened the drawer. Her smile changed to a questioning frown as she slowly drew forth the headless doll.