The Secret of Pembrooke Park(47)

“That may be,” his father allowed, “but we don’t have any idea who else might be attending this soiree of theirs.” He spit out the word as if it were burnt gristle.

“I am sure they are inviting other respectable people. What are you worried about?”

“It’s all right,” Leah repeated. “I haven’t a proper gown anyway, and would no doubt make a fool of myself.”

“But you love to dance, Leah,” William insisted. “And so rarely have opportunity, beyond our little family Christmas parties. You learnt at school, I remember. And forced me to master every dance you knew.”

“That was a long time ago.”

“Perhaps Miss Foster might give us a refresher course. She no doubt knows the newer dances. And I’m sure Andrew Morgan would be happy to assist.” He attempted a teasing grin, but Leah did not return it.

He added, “And if we embarrass ourselves by turning left when we are supposed to turn right, we shall have our masks on, remember, so no one shall know who we are.”

“Masks?” their father asked.

“Yes, it’s to be a masquerade ball.”

“Is it?” Their father considered, chewing his lip. “And you would be there with her all the while?”

“I would,” William assured him. “I would make certain no man made inappropriate advances to Leah, if that is what you are worried about.”

Leah reddened, protesting, “I hardly think we need worry about that—at my age.”

Their father looked at Leah. “Perhaps they are right, my dear. Perhaps it is time you enjoyed yourself. Started living.”

She threw up her hands. “And what do you call what I’ve been doing?”

“Waiting.” He flicked a look at William and said no more.

Leah sighed and excused herself, saying she would consider what her family had said.



After they taught Sunday school the following Sabbath, Abigail led the children in two hymns, then helped Leah pick up supplies and tidy the church.

Adding another slate to the stack in her arms, Abigail asked quietly, “So, are you going to the masquerade ball?”

“I don’t know. I told my family I would think about it. But I am not familiar with the new dances and haven’t a proper costume, so . . .” She allowed her words to trail off on a shrug.

“The invitation simply read, ‘Masks required.’ So I think we may wear traditional ball gowns and masks. You are welcome to one of my gowns. And I would be happy to teach you the popular dances, though I’m no dancing master.”

“William suggested you might be willing to do so. But I couldn’t ask that of you.”

“You are not asking; I am offering. And I have several ball gowns. Not this year’s style, but you might find one to suit you. We are not so different in size. If not, I shan’t be offended.”

“I am sure they’re lovely, but—”

“Please. Come over and at least look. All right?”

“Go to Pembrooke Park . . . ?”

“It isn’t haunted, I promise. And my father is back, so we shan’t be alone in the house. Or I could bring a few gowns over to your house, if you prefer.”

“No, it isn’t right for me to ask that of you.” Leah lifted her chin. “I shall come.” She bit her lip. “May I bring someone from my family along?”

“Of course. Bring Kitty. I’ve been meaning to ask her over again in any case.”

“Very well. I shall.”



They had agreed to a time for the following afternoon. When the hour neared, Abigail began listening for the door, and when she heard the bell, hurried eagerly from her room. Descending the stairs, she glanced down into the hall and saw Duncan opening the door to their visitors, the Miss Chapmans. Even from that distance, Abigail could see his posture tense.

For a moment, he stood there not saying a word. Not ushering them inside.

Leah, she noticed, dipped her head and murmured an awkward hello.

Kitty showed no such reticence. “We’re here to see Miss Foster,” she announced. “We’ve been invited.”

Abigail crossed the hall. “That’s right. You are very welcome. I’ve been expecting you.”

At this, Duncan turned stiffly and stalked away. She watched him go, then turned a questioning look toward Leah, but she merely shrugged with an apologetic little smile.

One of these days, she would ask about Duncan’s history with the Chapmans. But not today, when Leah had finally agreed to her first visit.

“Come in, come in,” Abigail urged.

Kitty beamed and walked in eagerly, but Leah hovered on the threshold, glancing warily around the hall and up to its soaring ceiling. Mr. Foster came out of the library for a moment to greet their guests before retreating back to his books and newspapers once more.

Abigail asked Miss Chapman, “Do you want to tour the house first, or proceed directly to the gowns?”

Leah’s gaze strayed from one formal portrait to the next. “So much to see . . .”

“Have you been in the house before?” Abigail asked.

“Years ago. With my father.”

“Ah. Back when he worked here.”

She nodded vaguely. “How strange to walk through that front door. After all these years. . . .”