The Secret of Pembrooke Park(59)

“I see. I was glad to hear you had returned from Italy safely.”

“Thank you, yes. It was an excellent experience, but I’m glad to be back in England.”

His eyes lingered on her face, masked though it was. “And I must say I am relieved to see you looking so well. I feared the move would be difficult for you.”

“It has been a great deal of work, but I’ve enjoyed it. It’s a wonderful old house. You should come by and see it while you’re here. In fact I was thinking of you only last week, wishing you were here to help me decipher some old house plans I’d found.” She suddenly realized how forward she might sound. “Forgive me, I’m prattling on. I’m sure you shall be much too busy. . . .”

“I would enjoy seeing your new home, Abby,” he quickly assured her. “In fact, I wouldn’t miss it. Susan would never forgive me if I came all this way without seeing our old neighbors.”

“Susan . . .” The memory of his sister and her old friend squeezed her heart. “How is she?”

“Excellent, last I saw her. And your father? He is in good health, I trust?”

“He is—and will be glad to see you.”

Gilbert reached out and gently lifted her mask from her eyes to her hairline, his touch sending nerves and warmth through her. Again his gaze roved her face—her eyes, her mouth, her hair. “I can’t get over how well you look.” He smiled. “I’ve missed you, Abby.”

She lowered her gaze from his admiring one. “Thank you,” she murmured, and an awkward silence followed. She forced herself to ask casually, “And how was Louisa when you saw her last?”

It was his turn to look away self-consciously. “Oh . . . well. She seemed in good spirits at the Albrights’ ball. You and I danced at that a few years ago, you may recall.”

“I do,” she managed in a choked little voice.

He continued, “Louisa was sorry, but all her dances were spoken for save the final Boulanger by the time I arrived. She was greatly in demand and generally admired by the gentlemen, if not their mammas. But she seemed happy enough to see me. Full of apologies for not writing more often. You had all been quite busy with selling the house and the move and all, I understand.”

“Ah . . .” Abigail murmured noncommittally, for in truth Louisa had done very little. She said gently, “Louisa is young and has had her head turned by all the attention. I’m sure when the fanfare has faded and the invitations dwindle, she’ll come back down to earth and remember her . . . friends.”

He slowly shook his head. “I hope she does come back down to earth, as you say. And the sooner the better, for her sake. But I . . . But never mind that. I am so glad to see you. I—”

Mr. Chapman appeared. “There you are, Miss Foster. I’ve come to claim you for our dance.”

He looked from her to Gilbert and hesitated. “But if you are . . . otherwise engaged . . .”

“Mr. Chapman, allow me to introduce an old friend from London, Mr. Scott. Mr. Scott, this is Mr. Chapman, our parson and neighbor.”

“How do you do, Mr. Chapman?”

“Well, I thank you.” The two men shook hands. “A pleasure to meet any friend of the Fosters.” Mr. Chapman sent Abigail a raised-brow look of question.

Abigail said, “I had no idea Mr. Scott would be here tonight.”

“A pleasant surprise, I hope,” Gilbert put in.

“Of course.”

Mr. Chapman smiled. “Well, if you wish to visit with your old friend, I shall release you from your obligation and leave the two of you to talk.”

“Not at all, Mr. Chapman,” Abigail assured him. “I am looking forward to our dance. If you will excuse us, Gilbert?”

Gilbert bowed. “Of course. Perhaps I may have the pleasure of a later dance?”

“If you like.”

Mr. Chapman offered his arm, but she noticed a subtle stiffness in his bearing.

He looked down at her in concern and asked quietly, “Are you all right?”

“I . . . think so. It was quite a shock seeing him here.”

“Is he the architect who disappointed you in favor of your sister?”

She pressed her eyes closed. “I wish now I’d never mentioned it.”

He laid his free hand over hers. “Any man who would let you go for another woman isn’t worthy of you, Miss Foster.”

“You have never met my sister.” And I wish you never would, she added wistfully to herself.

He pursed his lip. “When I came upon the two of you, I was certain I saw admiration in his eyes. Nearly challenged him to a duel on the spot.”

She managed a grin. “What you saw was fond affection between two old friends. That’s all.”

He looked at her, eyes wide in compassion. “You are not very convincing. Are you sure you wish to dance?”

“Yes. Quite sure.”

“Shall I make passionate love to you to make him jealous?”

Abigail felt her cheeks heat, and Mr. Chapman stopped in his tracks, stricken. “Forgive me, Miss Foster. What a cavalier thing to say. Have I shocked you terribly?”

“A bit, yes. Not very parson-like of you, I will say. I admit the notion is not without appeal, but I shouldn’t like to use you in such a manner.”