Chapter 7
“This is a terrible idea, Kirsty,” Elspeth said. She jostled around on the bench in the horse-driven trolley she and her sister were on, angry with herself for accepting the invitation. Kirsty was looking out the window at the scenery, oohing and aahing at the fancy homes and shops they were passing.
“So much money,” Kirsty whispered.
“Let’s go home,” Elspeth said.
Kirsty looked at her. “You do whatever you would like to do. We’ve both been invited for a luncheon, and I intend to enjoy myself.”
“I refuse to be a social climber. The Thompsons are fine being who and what they are. There is no need to put on airs.”
“Oh, fiddle on that. We are just going to have a meal with a new friend. Would you be happier if this person was some poor soul without food?”
“Don’t be ridiculous, and I can hardly call Annabelle Pendergast a friend. I didn’t talk to her past an introductory hello.”
“Of course you didn’t. You were too busy talking to her brother,” Kirsty responded with a smug smile.
Elspeth leaned her head back against the glass and stopped listening to her sister’s chatter. She’d not been able to understand herself lately, which rarely happened. Even though she was quiet with others, she’d always been confident of herself and her decisions, but this person, this man, side-tracked her thinking, making her wonder if her long-held claims about herself were true. Could one be independent in thought and action if one could not stop thinking about another person? For two consecutive weeks? Especially the looks of that person. She could not stop thinking of those broad shoulders and those blue, blue eyes. Looks said nothing about the character of a person, but that did not seem to matter in this case.
“We’re here.” Kirsty stood as the trolley slowed to a stop. “It should only be a short walk to the Pendergasts’.”
Elspeth followed her sister down the steps of the trolley to a tree-lined street. Every home seemed larger than the last.
“We’ve got to stop gawking. We’ll look as though we don’t belong here.”
“We don’t belong here,” Elspeth said. “I can’t believe I let you talk me into this. Muireall will be furious.”
“Why would she be furious? She’s never discouraged us from having friends.”
“She doesn’t trust Mr. Pendergast. She made that very clear.”
“Well, it’s too late now. I’ve already told Aunt Murdoch, and she will be happy to tell Muireall when it is most convenient for her and most inconvenient for us.”
“You told Aunt?”
Kirsty shrugged. “Here it is.”
Elspeth turned and stared. The Pendergast home was a massive three-story tan stone structure behind an ivy-covered gated brick wall with what looked like formal gardens to one side and a curved cobblestone drive leading to wide marble steps. A fountain shot water high in the air in the grassy area in the front of the house, surrounded by flower beds blooming the first of the season. It was beautiful and stately and everything Elspeth expected from a family that had set down roots during the Revolution, according to Aunt Murdoch, and done extremely well for themselves since.
She straightened her back, pulled her gloves tight, and stepped through the open gate. Her sister was still staring at the Pendergast mansion. “Come along, Kirsty. We’re here, against my better judgment, and shouldn’t be late.”
The double front door opened before they mounted the last of the marble steps. Annabelle Pendergast rushed outside.
“Heavens, it feels like I’ve been waiting forever for you to arrive,” she said with a smile. “Come in! Come in!”
Elspeth handed her coat and hat to a waiting servant, as did Kirsty. Annabelle slipped a hand through both sisters’ arms and led them down a broad hallway with a shining black-and-white tiled floor and massive flower displays on marble-topped chests under framed and lit artwork, chattering as she did.
“I am so happy you accepted my invitation,” she said as they came to a room with glass-paned doors, soon opened by a servant. “Thank you, Jones.”
Elspeth followed their hostess and her sister into a room with floor-to-ceiling windows completely filling two sides of the room, broken only by double doors leading onto a large brick patio. The opposite walls were painted a soft green and the furniture covered in vibrant flower patterns.
“The Garden Salon. I’ve always loved this room and asked Mrs. Nelson to have our luncheon served here.” She pointed to a small table set for three with gleaming crystal and silver.
“How beautiful,” Kirsty said softly.
Elspeth walked to the doors leading to the patio. “I’m guessing this is even more lovely when all of those roses are blooming.”
“It is,” Annabelle said. “My mother entertains here quite a bit with her reading club and her women’s group, and the two of us sit here in the evenings, especially in the summer, with the doors open. But 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.