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Authors: Julie Klassen
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more familiar with the house than you let on?”
“I haven’t been inside since I was a boy.”
She decided to come right out with her suspicion. “Coming upon you just now, I confess I thought you might be one of the treasure hunters your father warned me about, looking for a way to break in.”
He looked at her in astonishment. “Are you serious?” He gave a little bark of laughter. “I assure you, Miss Foster. Had I wanted to get inside Pembrooke Park, I could have done so at any time.”
“Because your father has the key, do you mean?”
“No, that is not what I mean.”
She waited for him to explain, but instead he ran a hand over his jaw and said, “I promise you, Miss Foster, I shall not break in to Pembrooke Park. But . . . if you are willing to give me a tour sometime, I would like to see the old place again. See what all the fuss is about.”
“Would your father approve?”
“Not likely. But I can’t see any harm in it.”
She hesitated. “Very well.”
“Thank you. I can’t now,” he said. “I’m off to read the newspaper to Mr. Sinclair. But perhaps tomorrow?”
“If you like,” Abigail agreed, wondering if she ought to have put him off until her father returned. And propriety was not what most worried her.
Chapter 6
T he next afternoon, Duncan found Abigail in the library and announced that she had callers. “Will Chapman and his sister,” he said, a slight curl to his lip.
She rose. “Oh yes, he mentioned wanting to see the house. Though I am surprised Miss Chapman came along.”
“It’s not Miss Leah. It’s the younger girl.”
“I see.” She supposed Mr. Chapman brought his sister along as a chaperone of sorts and wondered if he was concerned about propriety more for her sake or his. “Will you let them know I shall be there in just a few minutes? I need to get this letter in today’s post.”
He stiffened, then said, “Very well, miss.”
“Where have you put them?” Abigail asked, dipping her quill.
“I left them in the hall. Only a curate, isn’t he? Not so high and mighty, whatever he or his father might think.”
Abigail was taken aback by the servant’s bitter words, but he had already turned on his heel and left the room before she could fashion a suitable reply. She quickly finished her letter, put it with the rest of the day’s outgoing post, and hurried into the hall.
Mr. Chapman and Duncan stood talking in terse tones, while Kitty sat on the sofa beside the door several feet away, idly flippingthrough a magazine. As Abigail neared, Duncan turned and stalked toward the back stairs, avoiding her gaze as he passed.
She looked at William Chapman, her brows raised in question. “Is . . . anything the matter?”
He pulled a regretful face and stepped nearer to speak to her out of earshot of his sister. “Not really. Duncan isn’t fond of me and did not enjoy having to wait on me like a servant.”
“But he is a servant.”
“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
“I haven’t been inside since I was a boy.”
She decided to come right out with her suspicion. “Coming upon you just now, I confess I thought you might be one of the treasure hunters your father warned me about, looking for a way to break in.”
He looked at her in astonishment. “Are you serious?” He gave a little bark of laughter. “I assure you, Miss Foster. Had I wanted to get inside Pembrooke Park, I could have done so at any time.”
“Because your father has the key, do you mean?”
“No, that is not what I mean.”
She waited for him to explain, but instead he ran a hand over his jaw and said, “I promise you, Miss Foster, I shall not break in to Pembrooke Park. But . . . if you are willing to give me a tour sometime, I would like to see the old place again. See what all the fuss is about.”
“Would your father approve?”
“Not likely. But I can’t see any harm in it.”
She hesitated. “Very well.”
“Thank you. I can’t now,” he said. “I’m off to read the newspaper to Mr. Sinclair. But perhaps tomorrow?”
“If you like,” Abigail agreed, wondering if she ought to have put him off until her father returned. And propriety was not what most worried her.
Chapter 6
T he next afternoon, Duncan found Abigail in the library and announced that she had callers. “Will Chapman and his sister,” he said, a slight curl to his lip.
She rose. “Oh yes, he mentioned wanting to see the house. Though I am surprised Miss Chapman came along.”
“It’s not Miss Leah. It’s the younger girl.”
“I see.” She supposed Mr. Chapman brought his sister along as a chaperone of sorts and wondered if he was concerned about propriety more for her sake or his. “Will you let them know I shall be there in just a few minutes? I need to get this letter in today’s post.”
He stiffened, then said, “Very well, miss.”
“Where have you put them?” Abigail asked, dipping her quill.
“I left them in the hall. Only a curate, isn’t he? Not so high and mighty, whatever he or his father might think.”
Abigail was taken aback by the servant’s bitter words, but he had already turned on his heel and left the room before she could fashion a suitable reply. She quickly finished her letter, put it with the rest of the day’s outgoing post, and hurried into the hall.
Mr. Chapman and Duncan stood talking in terse tones, while Kitty sat on the sofa beside the door several feet away, idly flippingthrough a magazine. As Abigail neared, Duncan turned and stalked toward the back stairs, avoiding her gaze as he passed.
She looked at William Chapman, her brows raised in question. “Is . . . anything the matter?”
He pulled a regretful face and stepped nearer to speak to her out of earshot of his sister. “Not really. Duncan isn’t fond of me and did not enjoy having to wait on me like a servant.”
“But he is a servant.”
“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
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