The Secret of Pembrooke Park(50)

“And those eyes . . .” Kitty shuddered.

“All right, you two—that’s enough,” Leah said. “You shall give yourself nightmares.” Leah gave one last glance at the portrait, and admitted, “And I might not be far behind.”



The gowns for the masked ball settled upon, Abigail’s thoughts moved next to the dancing. She spoke to William Chapman about the brush-up class he had suggested, and he in turn paid a call on Andrew Morgan, who eagerly agreed to join them. The dance practice was arranged for Saturday. Mrs. Chapman offered to accompany them on the Pembrooke Park pianoforte. Abigail invited her father to join them, but he declined.

At the appointed hour, Abigail and Leah entered the salon together.

Inside, Mr. Chapman and Mr. Morgan rose as one. Mr. Chapman watched his sister’s face carefully, Abigail noticed, while Mr. Morgan bowed, looking confident and eager.

“Shall we begin?” Abigail suggested. “As there are only four of us, perhaps the Foursome Reel?”

Mrs. Chapman, already seated at the pianoforte, struck a few experimental notes. The old instrument was out of tune but would suffice.

The gentlemen stepped toward the center of the room, while Leah hovered near her mother.

Abigail and Mr. Morgan demonstrated the opening steps, while the Chapmans watched. Then, so that each couple had the benefit of an experienced partner, Abigail suggested Mr. Morgan dance with Miss Chapman, while she danced with Leah’s brother.

Leah reluctantly crossed the room to join them. Together, they walked through the dance the first time, then again up to tempo. Mr. Morgan, Abigail saw, gently whispered or gestured to Leah, or turned her in the right direction when she needed a reminder. Soon both William and Leah had mastered the steps and patterns.

Abigail realized this “class” was a good reminder for her as well, as she had not danced in nearly a year. “All right, Mrs. Chapman, I think we’re ready for music.”

Mrs. Chapman nodded, and Abigail said to the others, “I will call out the steps the first time through to remind you. Watch Mr. Morgan if you forget what to do.”

Mrs. Chapman launched into the jaunty introductory bars. Then Abigail said, “Ready, and . . . set to your partner.”

Leah and Mr. Morgan began the swishing side-to-side step, which Leah performed with lithe grace, looking more like a young debutante than a woman nearing thirty. Andrew Morgan danced with effortless skill, his eyes lingering on her appreciatively.

Leah glanced up and, finding Mr. Morgan looking at her so closely, ducked her head. But not before Abigail saw the blushing smile on her pretty face.

Would a man like Andrew Morgan—eldest son and heir of Hunts Hall—take a respectable interest in a steward’s daughter? Abigail hoped so. She prayed Andrew Morgan’s intentions were honorable—and extended well beyond fondness for a friend’s sister.

Mr. Chapman, meanwhile, danced quite competently beside her, step for step, their hands and sides occasionally brushing, as they moved through the dance. Abigail tentatively met his gaze, as etiquette dictated. In return, he smiled warmly down at her. When the dance called for the joining of hands, his long fingers enveloped hers, and Abigail felt their warmth spread through her.

Abigail realized she had missed dancing, especially with an attentive, handsome partner like William Chapman. She’d forgotten the pleasure of whirling hand in hand, or skipping down a line of friendly faces, and returning smiles of men and women alike. Of good company, good cheer, and good music. Perhaps she was not quite ready to put herself on the shelf after all.

Once more she glanced at Leah, who seemed to be enjoying herself as well. She wanted to say to her new friend, “See? You are here in Pembrooke Park, and nothing bad has happened.” But she made do with catching Leah’s eye and sharing a smile.

William Chapman was enjoying the dance lesson more than he’d imagined he would. He could barely keep his eyes from Miss Foster, noticing the graceful sway of her slender figure in a becoming gown, the pink flush of happy exertion in her cheeks, the dark curls bouncing at her temples.

He enjoyed the feel of her smaller hands in his as they turned around each another, her lovely profile several inches below his. Her skin shone smooth and fair, her dark brows well-defined arches above her lovely brown eyes. She looked up at him and smiled into his face. His chest tightened, and he returned the gesture, though a little unsteadily.

Standing so near her, he smelled rose water and springtime in her hair, and longed to kiss her cheek right then and there. Knowing his mother was in the same room helped him overcome the urge.

He reminded himself that this young woman was a member of his congregation, his flock. But at that moment, he wished she were far more.

They went on to learn two newer country dances and another reel, then finished with a review of the customary last dance of many a ball, the Boulanger. When the final tune ended, everyone clapped for his mother.

She beamed at them. “Well done, one and all.” She glanced at the long-case clock and rose. “Good heavens, I had better get home and check on dinner or it shall be eggs and cold kippers.” She smiled good-naturedly and gathered her shawl.

“Thank you so much for playing for us,” Miss Foster said. “I for one enjoyed every minute of it.”

William and Morgan were quick to agree. Even Leah nodded shyly.

Miss Foster continued, “May I suggest one more class before the ball?”