Ella glimpsed Gabriel at the table’s far end and found him engaged in lively conversation with two of the older Society members. She could only imagine what his thoughts on this display would be. They’d not spoken privately since the morning, but how many times had he caught her eye throughout the day? How many times had she glanced up to see him looking her direction?
Mr. Abernathy’s uncomfortably near voice interrupted her musings as he bounced his animated attention back from Mrs. Shiveley to her. “You must be very pleased with yourself, Ella. Today was a resounding success.”
She winced at his use of her Christian name, alarmed and hoping no one else heard the intimate exchange. How could it be so charming when Gabriel said it but on Mr. Abernathy’s tongue sound so offensive?
Her appetite, which was already waning, fled completely. She lowered her soup spoon back to the table. “Do you think so?”
He wiped his mouth with his linen napkin and reached for his glass. “I overheard Mr. Parker say that he would like his granddaughter to attend your girls school. That should please you.”
Was she imagining the patronizing edge to his tone? “It does please me. I’ll be happier, though, when all twelve spots are spoken for.”
He chuckled, sipped his wine, and placed it back on the table. “It will be a lovely hobby for you.”
Her spine stiffened. A hobby? Did he deem her commitment to a girls school a hobby?
“I assure you, Mr. Abernathy,” she responded firmly, “my participation in this endeavor is much more than a mere hobby.”
He laughed heartily, his face reddening in amusement.
She shifted to face him fully. “I don’t see why that is humorous.”
He raised his hands and widened his eyes, as if innocent. “It’s not humorous. It’s that I admire your passion. It’s quite a charming quality, and not many women possess it. But I do wonder: Do you feel that the natural order of things will happen? That one day you will be a mother and your interests will be more . . . domestic?”
She clamped her teeth over her lower lip until she was certain she could control the words coming out of her mouth. “I don’t see why there couldn’t be a mix of them.”
He leaned back in his chair comfortably, as if oblivious to her mounting ire and reliving a great memory. “I remember your father commenting on that very thing. Your mother, if I recall, had difficulty balancing them. Your father spoke of it—the challenges it brought between them.”
Heat rose up her neck. No doubt her cheeks had grown pink. He’d crossed a line. “I do not appreciate you speaking of my mother. In fact, I insist you refrain from it.”
“I meant nothing by it, my dear,” he countered, “only that I know your father had some, well,regrets.”
Ella’s retort was silenced when a footman entered and interrupted the dinner, approaching Gabriel and whispering something to him. Gabriel placed his napkin on the table, said something to the lady sitting next to him, and stepped out into the corridor.
Mr. Abernathy sniffed at the interruption. “I wonder what that was all about.”
“I dare not speculate.”
Mr. Abernathy gave his head a shake and retrieved his fork. “He’s one to watch, that’s for certain. Mr. Hawthorne said they had quite the interesting conversation.”
Ella begrudged having to engage in more conversation than necessary, but curiosity prevailed. “How so?”
Mr. Abernathy smirked. “I know you’re fond of the gentleman, and I would never presume to tell you what to do, but if I were you, I’d stay as far away from him as possible. I think his interest in Keatley Hall has less to do with phrenology and more to do with what he can gain.”
Throughout dinner Gabriel was keenly aware of the conversation at the end of the table. He couldn’t hear what was being said between Ella and Abernathy, but he didn’t need to. Ella’s face was pinched, her cheeks vibrant red.
Gabriel had been so proud of her earlier when she shared her vision for the school, when she spoke freely and confidently. Now she was shrinking away from whatever it was Abernathy was saying. Gabriel knew she would handle any conversation deftly, but he still desired to put a stop to it.
He was so focused on it that he didn’t notice the footman approaching until he was at his elbow. “A visitor is here for you, sir.”
Surprised at the unexpected interruption, Gabriel excused himself from his dinner partners and followed the footman to the corridor.
“A gentleman is waiting in the forecourt,” the footman explained. “He would not give his name, nor would he come in. He said he preferred to wait for you outside.”
With his mind reeling, Gabriel thanked him and made his way through Keatley Hall and into the evening air. He tensed as he spied his clerk, Edmund Clark, dressed in an oilskin coat and wide-brimmed hat, standing with his bay horse next to the east garden’s gates.
Clark would never travel to him unless absolutely necessary.
Gabriel jogged toward him, and once he was close enough, Clark retrieved a missive from his coat. “This arrived earlier today in response to the inquiries we sent out. I knew you’d want it as soon as possible.”
