A Lady at Willowgrove Hall (23 page)

Cecily had to smile at Mrs. Trent’s enthusiasm. “How fortunate to have someone whose companionship you enjoy live close by.”

“Yes. Even though her mother has been dead several years now, Mrs. Massey has not forgotten her old friend. In fact, since her mother’s death, we have grown closer. I quite think of her as a daughter. But let’s not dwell on that. I hear her now.”

The sound of a sweet and melodic voice echoed from the hall.

Cecily drew a deep breath, smiled, and waited for Mrs. Massey to enter.

Clarkson entered first, carrying two leather satchels, and hurried to put them down in Mrs. Trent’s dressing room, which was just off the main bedchamber.

And then Mrs. Massey entered. She practically floated into the room.

She was every bit as breathtaking as Cecily could have imagined. In fact, Cecily was unsure if she’d ever seen anyone quite so elegant—not even Andrew’s intended. Mrs. Massey’s hair was the color of jet, straight and glossy, parted on the side and pulled in elegant twists and interwoven with pink ribbons on the back of her head. Her flushed cheeks highlighted her bright eyes. Even though Cecily had read in novels of ladies with violet eyes, she had never actually seen one. Even for the afternoon, her gown was elegant and flattered her small figure. The crepe fabric was the color of the bluebells in spring, embroidered with dainty white flowers and with beads of white and blue embellishing the bodice.

Mrs. Massey brushed past Cecily to get to Mrs. Trent.

“Dear Mrs. Trent!” she said. “I must say I have been looking forward to this visit since the moment your invitation arrived.”

Mrs. Trent reached out to embrace the woman in a loose hug. “Dear child, you were not at church yesterday. I had a notion to send Clarkson to inquire after whether you had fallen prey to an illness.”

Mrs. Massey took Mrs. Trent’s hands in her own gloved ones and kissed her withered cheek. “You are so kind to concern yourself
with me. I had the sniffles, nothing more.” She then turned to Cecily.

Cecily straightened under the scrutiny and smoothed the blue dress she had chosen for the day, and despite the new satin sash under her bodice and a newer white fichu, she was acutely aware of its worn state, especially in comparison to Mrs. Massey’s finely cut gown. She brushed her hair from her face, feeling quite like a doll on display.

She was grateful that Mrs. Massey spoke first. “And this must be the Miss Faire I have heard so much about.”

Mrs. Massey strode forward confidently, as if she owned every stone in Willowgrove’s walls. “Why, you are as lovely as I’ve heard. Look at that complexion! I daresay you will turn every head in our quiet Wiltonshire, and I am honored to be the one to make gowns for you. I shall endeavor to do your loveliness justice.”

Mrs. Massey circled Cecily, placed both hands on Cecily’s shoulders, ushered her into the dressing room, and pivoted her toward the looking glass. “Now, shall we tend to the task at hand?”

Cecily felt odd staring at herself in the broad mirror, and even odder that Mrs. Massey was doing the same.

Mrs. Massey tapped her fingers to her lips. “Ah, look at that stunning hair. Look at the way it glimmers when the light hits it. See?”

Mrs. Trent tapped the crimson rug with her cane. “Did Clarkson not tell you that you would think her lovely? And she will be much improved with proper attire.”

Mrs. Massey paused her assessment, lifted Cecily’s arm, and touched the embroidery on Cecily’s sleeve. “But look at this embroidery!” She appeared shocked. “Do you not see how lovely it is, Mrs. Trent? How even the stitches are? Whoever did this?”

Cecily felt sheepish under the praise, but at the same time, proud that someone had noticed. “It is by my hand.”

Mrs. Massey’s hands fell to her sides and her eyes widened in apparent disbelief. “No!”

Cecily nodded, feeling heat color her cheeks. “My mother was a seamstress. She taught myself and my sister when we were both young.”

“Well then,” Mrs. Massey exclaimed, “that is something we have in common. I had a feeling we would be friends, and see, we share a similar passion.”

Cecily warmed under the praise and grew giddy and interested as Mrs. Massey turned to pull out some fabric swatches from the bag. She held up a lovely piece of green silk. “I have heard reports that your hair was of the loveliest titian hue, and at once I knew that this would be perfect. And see? See how it makes your eyes shine like emeralds?”

Cecily was confident that no one had ever compared her eyes to emeralds before, but before she could say anything, Mrs. Massey held up a piece of coral muslin.

“Ah, lovely.”

Cecily picked up a piece of rust sarcenet from the pile. “Mrs. Trent, this color would look lovely on you.”

At Cecily’s words, the room seemed to chill. Mrs. Trent and Mrs. Massey exchanged glances, and Mrs. Massey took the fabric swatch from Cecily and ran it through her long fingers. “Mrs. Trent only wears black now.”

Cecily pressed her lips together and turned back to the looking glass. How could she have been so thoughtless? She thought of Mrs. Trent and how sad she still was over the loss of her husband. Of course she wore only black.

Mrs. Massey shifted the conversation. “I think that this peach sprigged muslin will do perfectly for the ball, perhaps with the white net overlay. I shall have to hurry if I am to have new gowns to you by next week’s end.”

Mrs. Trent leaned forward, the confused expression on her face matching Cecily’s own confusion. “What ball? I’ve heard of no such plans.”

Mrs. Massey tilted her head to the side, surprised. “The private ball the Turners are holding to celebrate the engagement of their son to Rebecca Stanton. I suppose it is really more of a country dance, nothing as grand as the balls you are accustomed to attending, Mrs. Trent. Still, it is quite a reason for excitement in town. Were you not aware?”

Mrs. Trent tilted her nose to the air. “Humph. Why would I be aware of that sort of celebration? I hardly concern myself with such matters.”

“Come now.” Mrs. Massey turned and smiled, her voice sounding almost like one would use to talk to a child. “This is Mr. Stanton’s sister. The eldest. Surely after all these years you would feel a little interest. The Stantons have long been a part of Willowgrove. Certainly you must be pleased at this news.”

Cecily tried to press her lips together to keep her mouth from falling open. Not since she arrived had she heard someone speak so freely to Mrs. Trent. Not even Mr. Stanton or Clarkson. But there seemed to be a bond between Mrs. Trent and Mrs. Massey, a trust.

Mrs. Trent shook her head. “You know my sentiments about the Stantons.”

“Yes, but you cannot deny that this is an occasion worth celebrating. And with all of the rain and dreary days, we could use a little bit of a celebration, could we not?” She lowered the fabric in her hands. “You will not attend?”

Mrs. Trent jerked her head, her expression incredulous. “Of course I will not attend. The idea! I do not understand your softness toward the Stantons, Mrs. Massey.” She then looked directly at Cecily. “Several times I have tried to advise Mrs. Massey against forming such alliances, and yet she heeds me not.”

“But surely you will allow Miss Faire to attend?” Mrs. Massey said. “Imagine what a message that would portray, for the Stantons are among the most respected families here in Wiltonshire.”

Mrs. Trent extended a shaky finger to touch a piece of pink
brocade lying on the bed. “Miss Faire may make her own decisions. But I, for one, cannot understand why either of you would have any interest in attending such a gathering.”

Mrs. Massey raised her eyebrows in triumph and turned to Cecily. “What do you say, Miss Faire? As for me, I am of a particular situation, being unmarried and unengaged. It is entirely poor form of me to attend events alone, but I will not miss such a celebration. Will you attend with me? I know the Stanton family well, and they will not mind my extending an invitation, especially since I know they think so highly of you.”

At the words “I know the Stanton family well,” Cecily felt a queer jump in her stomach. But at the idea of a ball, a real ball, a thrill of excitement swept over Cecily. For years at Rosemere she had practiced dances, but she had never actually attended a ball or even danced with a man, except for George, the old caretaker at the school, whom they occasionally would talk into taking the gentleman’s part for the sake of practice.

Cecily cast a glance over to Mrs. Trent for her reaction because, like it or not, it was really up to Mrs. Trent to give her permission to do such a thing.

“I can see in your expression that you want to attend.” Mrs. Trent’s tone remained hard.

Cecily found her courage. “It would be nice to meet some of the local people.”

“Of course,” cried Mrs. Massey. “And as my guest, I would make sure she associated with only respectable people. You have my word, Mrs. Trent.”

Mrs. Trent waved a dismissive hand. “The decision rests with Miss Faire.”

Cecily tried to ignore the scowl on Mrs. Trent’s face and turned to Mrs. Massey, her hands clasped before her. “That is kind of you. I would be delighted to accept the invitation.”

Mrs. Massey giggled. “We shall have a lovely time. You will see.” She held the peach fabric up to Cecily’s chin. “Do you care for this selection?”

Cecily looked at her reflection in the mirror. “It is beautiful.”

“I am sure this will catch every young man’s eye, Miss Faire.” Mrs. Massey’s words were soft. “But I suppose you are accustomed to that.”

Cecily remained quiet, only studied her reflection.

“Never you fear, Miss Faire. I shall make it my mission to find you a suitable partner, just you wait and see.”

Nathaniel heard her before he saw her.

“Mr. Stanton! Mr. Stanton!”

Most women Nathaniel knew would never dare call to a man from across the lawn.

But Mrs. Massey was not most women.

He stopped mid-track. He had been on his way to the stable and did not want to take the time to stop. But she was looking at him so intently, and after his questionable behavior the night of her visit, he felt it only polite.

“Mr. Stanton,” she continued, stepping away from the carriage and walking his direction. “I was hoping we would have a moment to speak.”

Nathaniel adjusted his direction and met her halfway. He gave a slight bow.

She curtseyed. “I am so excited to hear about the ball the Turners are hosting in honor of your sister’s engagement. Rebecca told me of the plans for the festivities, and I have not been able to close my eyes in sleep for the excitement of it.”

“Yes, we are all pleased.” His words were controlled. Proper.

“I have just come from meeting Miss Faire, and my goodness, everyone is correct. She is one of the most charming ladies I have ever encountered. I have some lovely emerald silk I wish to fashion into a gown for her. I hope I did not overstep my boundaries, but I invited Miss Faire to attend the celebration as my guest. I-I hope that is all right.”

She looked at him slyly from the corner of her eye.

Mrs. Massey was not a woman who was normally so forthcoming with praise, especially for another woman.

“I do not think Mrs. Trent would allow her to attend,” he said. “You know how closely Mrs. Trent guards her companions.”

“Oh, tosh.” Mrs. Massey waved her delicate, gloved hand in the air. “I have spoken with Mrs. Trent and have already secured her permission.”

Nathaniel blinked. “You did?”

Mrs. Massey nodded. “But of course! Mrs. Trent is a reasonable woman. She knows she cannot keep the girl under lock and key.” She lowered her eyes and cocked her head to the side. “You shall be in attendance, am I correct?”

“Indeed.”

She smiled. Her hand flew to her chest. “Well then, I shall look forward to seeing you there.”

Movement over Mrs. Massey’s shoulder caught Nathaniel’s attention. It was Miss Faire, in her blue gown and a straw bonnet, walking toward the walled south garden.

He’d been hoping to see her. Just that morning he had received a response from his friend in Manchester. It burned in his pocket. He needed to speak with her about it and had been seeking such an opportunity all day. “May I see you to your carriage?” he asked Mrs. Massey. “I must attend to a matter of some urgency. Forgive me.”

A frown tugged at her lips, but she quickly recovered. “My, you are terribly busy, Mr. Stanton.” She cast a quick glance to see what
had caught his attention and then turned back to him, a forced smile on her lips. “I look forward to seeing you at the ball, then.”

“The pleasure will be mine.”

He helped Mrs. Massey into the carriage, and once it was down the path, he jogged around the corner where Miss Faire had been.

The sun was just now peeking out from the earlier storm clouds. It felt warm on his dark coat and soaked through the wool fabric to the linen shirt beneath. How pleasant it was to finally feel warmth instead of dampness. And his spirits were brighter. At least, they became that way when he saw Miss Faire walking outside.

He caught up with her on the path to the south walled garden.