A Lady at Willowgrove Hall (14 page)

Not sure what else to do, Cecily curtseyed and waited to be spoken to.

And waited.

The woman did not hide her assessment. She scanned Cecily from head to toe. “Step forward, child. Into the light. I cannot see you if you are lurking in the shadows.”

Cecily obeyed, taking two steps forward until she was in the glow of the evening’s last rays. She felt as if she were on the steps of Rosemere again, uncertain of the future course.

At this closer distance, Mrs. Trent’s features became more defined. Dark, small eyes, a narrow nose set in a long face, thin lips, and skin that reminded Cecily of parchment. Her complexion, although faded and wrinkled, hinted at past beauty. The scent of mint and lavender hung in the air. The woman’s posture carried with it the air of authority, her expression the air of certainty and confidence.

Neither of which Cecily possessed at the moment.

“So you are the girl Mrs. Sterling has sent me from Rosemere, eh? What is your name again?”

“Cecily Faire, ma’am.”

Her eyes narrowed on Cecily. “Miss Faire. You are pale. Are you well?”

Heat rushed to Cecily’s face. “Yes. Very well, thank you.”

“I do hope you do not have a tendency to fall ill. I fail to accept that women have such weak constitutions as men would have us believe.”

The bold statement took Cecily by surprise. “No, ma’am. I am of a sound constitution.”

“Good.” Mrs. Trent held a bony finger in the air, waving it for emphasis. “There are a great many number of men here at Willowgrove who would have you believe that I am weak and am nearing the grave. Ha! I ask, I may be advanced in age, but do I look as if I am at death’s door?”

Cecily could feel her eyes widening. “No, ma’am. Not at all.”

Mrs. Trent continued her assessment. Her pointed gaze landed on Cecily’s hair. “My goodness, but your hair is bright.”

Cecily bit her lip. She felt more like an animal on an auction block than someone taking part in a formal introduction.

“But you are pretty enough, I daresay.” The older woman’s voice cracked as she spoke. “Is your room satisfactory?”

“Yes, ma’am. Very lovely. It is by far the nicest room I have ever had.”

“I am glad to hear it. The gold chamber, I trust?” But before Cecily could respond, the woman’s gaze raked over Cecily’s dress. “This week we will have a dressmaker come by and take your measurements for some new gowns.”

Cecily would have noted that this was not her gown, but thought better of it. “That is kind.”

“Clarkson, do not forget to send for Mrs. Massey, for this ensemble will never do.” She turned her attention back to Cecily. “Are you acquainted with my former companion, Miss Vale?”

“Yes, ma’am. That is to say, I knew her several years ago.”

“I liked her very much, but she is married now, has a husband and is far too busy for me, but then again, I suppose that is best.
Miss Vale was clever. She had a lovely reading voice and was quite attentive.”

Cecily nodded. She did sincerely hope that she would be able to live up to the elevated expectation set by her predecessor.

“I know that it cannot be much fun for a young woman to be tethered to an old lady like me, but I will do my best to make sure you do not find Willowgrove too tiresome. But do know that I like quiet. I do not like to wait, and I expect you to be quick and polite. You will find me to be reasonable. Your evenings after I retire will be your own, but I expect you to be at my disposal during my waking hours. Is that clear?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Mrs. Trent reached for a cane propped against the chair and then motioned for Clarkson to come and help her stand. “Tell me, Miss Faire. What is it that you like to do to fill your hours?”

“I enjoy needlework above all, ma’am. And I am fond of reading.”

“Well then, Clarkson, see to it that our Miss Faire has what she needs for her needlework, and tomorrow someone will help you find your way to the library. My husband was an avid reader, and there are enough volumes to entertain a young mind. You are welcome to any selections you should choose.”

Cecily watched as Mrs. Trent stood, pretending not to notice how the woman’s arm trembled as she leaned on her cane and how unsteady her legs were. “That is most kind. Thank you.”

Mrs. Trent jerked her arm away from Clarkson in a manner that suggested that the lady’s maid was to blame for any difficulties and hissed inaudible words before turning back to Cecily. “I trust that you and I shall get along fine. I rise early, and I retire early as well. I know you are still getting settled. Clarkson here will see to your needs, help you dress and the like, and offer any other assistance that you could need.”

Cecily resisted the urge to look over at Clarkson, for even across the room she could feel the weight of the servant’s gaze.

“And one last thing, perhaps the most important. As my companion, you must show complete discretion. I wish for you to limit your interactions with the servants, except for Clarkson here. They can be a meddlesome lot. It is hard to find anyone a person can wholly trust. You will also be privy to conversations that I have with my family and other business acquaintances. Whatever you should hear is not to be divulged. Are we clear on those two points?”

Cecily could not help but wonder what hush-hush business dealings a lady of Mrs. Trent’s circumstances could possibly be involved in, but then she thought of Andrew. And dread washed over her. “Of course, Mrs. Trent. You have my word.”

After being dismissed, Cecily returned to the gold chamber with Clarkson, who helped Cecily undress. A fire was now glowing in the fireplace, and fresh water was in her basin.

“It appears someone has been here.”

Clarkson stoked the fire. “An oversight, miss. We did not expect your arrival today, so while you were speaking with Mrs. Trent, I had one of the maids set things right. I would have had it done sooner, but when I checked in on you earlier, you were asleep.”

As Cecily turned, she noticed a vase of cut pink roses. Their floral scent reached her from several feet away. It was odd to have an actual servant attend to her, when before it had always been her sister, a classmate, or another teacher.

After helping her out of the gown and stays, Clarkson shook out Cecily’s borrowed dress. “I shall have this washed out for you. Is there anything else you need?”

“As a matter of fact . . .” Cecily moved to the chest and opened it. She retrieved her four soiled gowns. How odd it felt to give someone her dirty things. “These took a tumble from the trunk on
my journey, and I fear they are quite dirty. I am happy to help clean them. I am just not sure where I should go.”

Clarkson held the gowns before her, eyes narrowed. “I will have these cleaned by morning. No need for you to concern yourself with such things anymore.”

The word “anymore” struck Cecily as strange. She paused to look at Clarkson, but the aging lady’s maid was busy situating the gowns over her arm. The word suggested that Cecily should not be accustomed to such help. But how could Clarkson know that?

“Shall I help you unpin your hair, miss?”

Cecily touched her hand to her hair. “No, that is not necessary.”

“Very good, miss. I’ll bring up something to eat.”

The thought of consuming even a morsel of bread made Cecily’s stomach turn. “That is not necessary. I could not eat a bite.”

Clarkson eyed her as she stoked the fire in the grate. “I hope Mrs. Trent’s observations weren’t true. You aren’t ill, are you?”

Cecily shook her head.

“Very well.” The servant straightened and returned the poker to the stand. “I will be by to make sure you are awake in the morning in time for breakfast with Mrs. Trent.”

As the door closed, Cecily blew out her breath and fell onto her bed against the gold-and-ivory striped silk cover. She was eager to be alone with her thoughts. After several moments she retrieved her comb from the trunk, sat next to the fire, and set about removing the pins from her hair and combing her tresses.

So she had met the woman she would be a companion to.

Met the woman to whom she would be tied for the unforeseeable future.

She had met Andrew’s aunt.

Cecily often wondered what—if any—impact their thwarted plans had on Andrew. The result, for her, had changed the direction
of her life. But had he received any reprimand? Did his family even know?

Well, at least for the moment, Mrs. Trent had no idea that she had any connection to the Moreton family. She was fairly certain that Andrew would not speak about their past, and she vowed the same.

The house was quiet. Even the wind was silent outside her window, and she looked to the ground below, noting that the leaves on the trees lining the near garden wall were still. She thought about what an evening would be like back at Rosemere. She had never had a room of her own. The silence, the stillness, made her uncomfortable. This time of night everyone would be busy preparing for bed. There would be happy chatter as they brushed their hair, or they would simply sit quietly, reading.

But then her thoughts went back further, to evenings when she had lived with her family. Leah. How her heart ached for her twin sister. Leah had been her first friend, her first confidante. They had comforted each other when their mother died and shielded each other from their father’s wrath.

At least her allowance would permit her to save, and one day she would personally travel to Manchester and look for Leah.

Cecily turned to her trunk and pulled out the rest of her damp things. She placed what she could on the floor to dry, but when she came across her mother’s coral necklace, she sat back on her heels.

She let the tears fuel her energy. Cecily rose, moved to a bureau, and put the necklace in an ornate porcelain box. She had one clue from the letter—Manchester. Mrs. Trent had forbidden her from fraternizing with the servants, but surely that didn’t include the housekeeper and the steward. She would start with them.

Cecily extinguished her candle lamps and crawled into the bed, which was higher and finer than any she had ever slept in. She watched the shadows play on the canopy’s fine fabric curtains until her eyes finally closed in sleep.

13

T
he evening sun slanted low through the budding birch trees as Nathaniel walked back to Laurel Cottage. He was eager to be free from the cares of the day and to be home among what was calm and peaceful.

At least at home he knew what to expect. With so many women under one roof, it could become quite chaotic, but it was home. As he rounded the bend, his steps slowed. An empty cart was in front of the cottage, a pony tied in place. And by it stood Turner.

Even as Nathaniel lifted his hand in greeting, he knew Turner was not here to visit him. He hadn’t expected to see Turner again so quickly after their morning discussion, but the idea that had become a nagging suspicion was becoming a glaring reality.

Nathaniel first suspected Turner’s intentions earlier that morning. For it was no secret that Turner was infatuated with his sister, and had been for some time. Nathaniel had sensed that it was what Turner had wanted to speak with him about earlier in the day, but
when his sister and Miss Faire had exited the cottage, their conversation had ended.

This was the moment he had loathed since his father died, because as the head of the family, the responsibility now fell to him to make sure that each of his sisters married well and had a significant enough dowry.

Selfishly, he wanted none of his sisters to marry. He wanted his family to stay intact—a tight unit—and then, when he inherited Lockbourne House, they would all travel together.

But the family was changing, and time marched on. Rebecca was no longer a child, but a woman who had attracted the attention of a well-off farmer.

And she was in love.

Nathaniel drew a deep breath and adjusted the bag over his shoulder. He could hear a peal of laughter come from the cottage. A cow lowed from the cowhouse. Gus met him on the path and wove in between his legs.

As he drew closer, Turner stepped away from his cart and walked to meet Nathaniel halfway. His thinning hair fell over his wide forehead, and he adjusted the hat on his head. “Stanton! I trust your day was well.”

“It was. And how is the sheep?” Nathaniel inquired after the sickly sheep Turner had with him earlier that morning.

“She will be fine, I am sure. She has spent the day in the pasture, which is a good sign. We did not have the opportunity to finish our conversation this morning, and I was hoping for a few moments of your time tonight.”

Nathaniel eyed him and then nodded toward the cowhouse. “Come with me while I pen the cow.”

Nathaniel had always liked Turner. He was hardworking. Earnest. Turner was but two years Nathaniel’s junior, and he had fond memories of them chasing the sheep on the stony crags. The
men were cut from the same cloth, really. Both of their futures were predetermined before they were born—Nathaniel to follow in his father’s footsteps as the steward of Willowgrove, and Turner to continue his family’s legacy as proud tenant farmers. Now, with both their fathers dead, they were coming into their birthrights.

Turner’s steps fell in time with Nathaniel’s. “I suppose there can be no doubt what I want to talk with you about,” Turner said, leaning his arms over the stall railing as Nathaniel led the animal in.

“No, I do not suppose there could be.”

Turner looked directly at Nathaniel. “I would be a good husband to her, Stanton.”

“I know you would.” Nathaniel was not ready to hear such words about his sister. In his mind’s eye she was but a girl, with her hair in plaits and playing with dolls. But in truth, she was a woman of twenty, pretty and bright, ready to reach for her future. A future that, if she married Turner, would not involve him. For as soon as he was able, Nathaniel would move north to claim his inheritance. How often would he see his sister then?

Leaving one of them behind, even in the safe arms of a happy marriage, had not been his plan.

“I wanted to ask your permission. To propose.”

Nathaniel looked down as he reached for the pitchfork. He was not a timid man, and yet he found it difficult to look his friend in the eye. “The decision is my sister’s, and hers alone. If she is in agreement, then I will not stand in the way.”