this is my first time having my own guests here.”
“We are honored!” Kirsty smiled.
Annabelle laughed and walked to a sideboard where drinks were cooling in silver pitchers. “I thought we might sit on the sofa before we sit down for our luncheon. Lemonade? Coffee? Tea?”
They were seated, and Kirsty and Annabelle talked about the latest fashions. Elspeth was content to listen and contribute occasionally as she could not quite stop herself from imagining Mr. Pendergast at home here. Where he’d eaten so many of his meals and most likely read a book and taken a nap, maybe right here on this beautiful sofa, with the birds trilling loud enough to hear. She was being ridiculous and was also very thankful that no one could read her thoughts.
An older woman opened the door. “Miss Annabelle? Are you ready for luncheon?”
“Oh yes, Mrs. Nelson,” she said and turned to her guests. “Let’s be seated, ladies.”
The vegetable consommé was served, and Elspeth had just spread her napkin on her lap and picked up her soup spoon when the door opened. An older woman swept in with a broad smile on her face. She leaned down and kissed Annabelle on the cheek.
“Ah, your friends have arrived. I’m sorry to interrupt, but won’t you introduce me?” she said.
“These are the friends I was telling you about, Mother,” Annabelle said and introduced each of them.
Mrs. Pendergast was everything any woman with two children grown would want to be. Tall and beautiful with an open, smiling countenance. Her daughter looked up at her with affection.
Mrs. Pendergast shook hands with Kirsty and then turned to Elspeth. She held Elspeth’s hand in both of hers. “What lovely hair you have, Miss Thompson. Annabelle said you were both beautiful young ladies and accomplished businesswomen! We’re so glad you’ve come to see us.”
Elspeth smiled up at the woman, comfortable in her warm glow and how she regarded her with attention and approval.
“Mother? Mother?” they heard from the hallway.
“In here, Alexander.”
And then there he was, staring down at a paper in his hand, not bothering to look up until he was almost upon them. Elspeth jumped up from her seat and took an uneasy breath. He’d made clear he had more important persons in his life, and here she was, in his parents’ home, tittering on about hats and gloves and other nonsense. It was then she noticed that neither her sister nor her hostess had risen from their chairs.
“Miss Thompson!” he said. “Whatever are you doing here?”
“Oh, oh,” she said, knowing her words were breathy and jumbled. “We must be going. Come, Kirsty! Where are our coats?”
“We’ve not eaten yet, Elspeth!” her sister exclaimed.
“Alexander!” his mother hissed. “These are your sister’s guests.”
What had he just said to her? He couldn’t for his life remember what he’d spoken and what was only in his mind. He did know that he’d embarrassed her and that they were staring at each other.
“Miss Thompson,” he hurried around the table to where she stood, “I’m so terribly sorry. Please don’t leave.”
“I don’t want to be where I’m not wanted, sir,” she whispered and looked at him steadily.
He reached for her hand, now trembling and cold. “I spoke without thinking. Please accept my apologies.”
They stood, her small hand in his, staring at each other until she turned her head with a shaky jerk to Annabelle, his mother, and her sister. He stepped away and looked down at his sister.
“I’m sorry to have interrupted your luncheon, Annabelle.”
“And insulted my guests,” she said and arched her brow to Kirsty Thompson.
His mother was watching him closely and glancing at Elspeth. She’d always had a way of knowing what was going through her children’s heads, especially when they were planning mischief or not quite telling the entire truth.
“Mother, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be so abrupt. I’ll be going,” he said and turned to the door. He hurried down the hallway but stopped when he heard his mother’s voice.
“Alexander,” his mother said as she walked up beside him. He kept a steady gaze on the doors. “You’ve met Miss Thompson before, I gather.”
He nodded. “I have.”
“Alexander,” she said and waited until he looked at her. “What is going on?”
“I met her a few weeks ago when Schmitt was causing a scene in front of a . . . a house of ill repute.”
“A brothel?”
“Yes.”
“You met Miss Thompson at a brothel?”
“No! No, Mother. I was dragging Schmitt out of one and the wh . . . woman said he refused to