The Secret of Pembrooke Park(46)
“Mr. Morgan. Nice to see you again.”
“I am out today issuing more invitations. Do you think I shall have better luck this time?”
With Leah Chapman, she guessed he meant. “I don’t know, but one can always hope.”
“Precisely. That is exactly what I am doing. How is Miss Chapman, by the way? Have you seen her?”
“I have. And she seems quite . . . recovered.”
“Excellent. I am just on my way over to pay a call. In the flush of success from her little dinner party, Mother has decided to outdo herself by hosting a masquerade ball at Hunts Hall, just as we used to do back home. You are invited, of course. I do hope you will join us.”
“Thank you. When is it to be?”
“The tenth of June. She is planning to invite friends from Town as well.” Parroting his mother, he said with exaggerated hauteur, “‘It is to be Easton’s social event of the year.’”
“Of the decade, by the sound of it,” Abigail amended.
“I shall tell her you said so. It will give her something to crow about to all her friends.”
Abigail grinned.
“Good day, Miss Foster.” Mr. Morgan tipped his hat.
“Good day, Mr. Morgan.”
Before Abigail could continue her study of the exterior, a carriage and horses rumbled over the bridge. Goodness. Today was her day for receiving callers, apparently. She waited near the door while the yellow post chaise crunched across the drive and halted in front of the house.
A groom hopped down, opened the door, and let down the step. Her father alighted—he had returned at long last! Abigail felt unaccustomed tears prick her eyes. She had not realized how lonely she had been until that moment. She blinked the tears away, put on a smile, and walked forward to greet him.
“Hello, Papa. Welcome back.”
She hesitated, not sure she should expect an embrace considering the rift between them, especially when he had spent the last several weeks dealing with tedious bankruptcy proceedings she might have prevented.
He gave her a weary smile and kissed her cheek. “Abigail. Good to see you looking so well. I have been worried about you, here all alone.”
Her heart squeezed. “I am well, Papa, as you see.”
“You weren’t too lonely without us?”
“I . . . no, I managed just fine. Though I am of course glad you’re here now.”
“Well. Good. Good.”
“Come inside, Papa. I shall call for tea.”
“I confess I could drink a whole pot and eat half a loaf after that journey.”
“That I can manage as well.” She took his arm, and together they walked inside, Pembrooke Park immediately feeling more like home.
Her study of the house and building plans would wait.
William sat sipping tea with his mother and sister in their cottage when Andrew Morgan stopped by to invite him and Leah to a ball. His sister received his friend’s invitation with cool reserve, saying only that she would think about it. William had not pressed her at the time, not wishing to embarrass her in front of his friend. Though he didn’t miss their mother’s look of concern.
Once Andrew left, Kate Chapman said gently, “You might have at least thanked Mr. Morgan for the invitation.”
“But I don’t wish to go,” Leah said.
Their mother’s face clouded. “My dear, you’ve had so little entertainment in your life, enjoyed such limited society.”
“By design,” Leah said, then added quickly, “and by preference.”
“Whose preference?” William asked. “Yours or Papa’s?”
“William . . .” His mother frowned.
“I mean no disrespect, Mamma,” he said. “But Leah is not a little girl any longer. I don’t know why Papa insists on sheltering her so.”
His father entered the house at that moment, pulling off his hat. He paused in the doorway, looking from one guilty face to the next. “What’s all this, then?”
“Mac,” his mother began, choosing each word carefully, “Mr. Morgan called to invite Leah . . . and William . . . to attend a ball at Hunts Hall. Isn’t that nice? Wouldn’t it be nice for our Leah, who’s never had the opportunity to attend anything so grand?”
“I don’t want to go, Papa,” Leah said quickly. “It’s all right.”
“But, Leah,” his mother insisted, “you ought to go to a ball. Every girl should, at least once in her life.”
His father dropped his hat on the sideboard. “She doesn’t want to go, Kate. Why push her?”
“Why don’t you want to go, Leah?” William asked. “What are you afraid of?”
His sister did not deny the charge. She ducked her head, twisting her hands before her.
“Leave your sister alone, Will. You don’t understand—that’s all.”
“Nor have I ever understood why you are so overprotective.”
His father’s eyes flashed. “That’s right. You don’t understand. So keep out of it.”
“Mac . . .” Kate breathed.
William, too, was taken aback by his father’s sharp reprimand. He prayed for wisdom, took a deep breath, and tried again. “The Morgans are a perfectly respectable family.”