The Time Baroness (The Time Mistress Series) (17 page)

She saw James looking about, probably expecting to find Elizabeth Charles, but soon he fell in with Edward Clarke and his many brothers and sisters, all of them vying for a chance to impress the American. Mrs. Clarke, a pudgy lady with dark curls under a white cap and sparkling dark eyes, threw up her hands at her unruly crew and hurried in Cassandra’s direction. They sat together at one of the rough-hewn tables and were soon joined by some of the other women. One was Sarah Whitstone, a kind but overworked farmer’s wife that Cassandra knew, with a lined face, a few missing teeth, and an abundance of children. There was also Clara MacIntosh, Mary Tottenham, and Marianne Overstreet, all with their myriad offspring in tow. Cassandra could not make out whose children were whose.

She looked upon the farm women with admiration, wondering how it was that they handled the work of the children and the household, the garden, the animals, the cooking, and so much else. She knew that even though they kept some servants, they still worked endless hours keeping up with all their tasks and educating their own children.

The village shopkeepers and their families had it a little easier, this she was sure, though they still worked, long hard hours. But at least their work was confined to the shop that was usually on the first floor of their home, and their income was consistent. The two groups were sitting apart at separate tables. Cassandra didn’t know if it was because they considered themselves on a different social echelon or if it was just because they didn’t have much in common with the farmers.

Mrs. MacIntosh, a tall, solidly built woman with sharp green eyes and a strong jaw, was asking Mrs. Whitstone about her health, and Cassandra listened eagerly, happy for the opportunity to learn about their lives. Mrs. Whitstone complained of nausea, swollen ankles, and another lost tooth, and Cassandra realized that she must be pregnant again, though it was impossible to tell how many months along she was under the many folds of her dress. That makes eight children,
thought Cassandra, at least eight living children. She looked her over thoughtfully, trying to guess her age. Then Mrs. Overstreet, a petite woman with a heart-shaped face and blond, curling hair, commented that she thought Mrs. Whitstone had gone past her childbearing time. Mrs. Whitstone replied that she had thought so too. Although she was only thirty-eight, she had not borne a child for eight years, and she’d assumed she was indeed past her time.

Cassandra did not add much to the conversation. The ladies moved from the subject of childbirth to how best to assure that the chickens kept laying, to the quality of their servants, to the latest caper of one child or another. Cassandra had heard that Mrs. MacIntosh, Mrs. Tottenham, and Mrs. Whitstone had each lost at least one child. Mrs. Overstreet had a son that was considered slow, but no one seemed to think it was much out of the ordinary.

She saw that Ben had arrived, and was making his way around the party, greeting those he knew and chatting amiably. He came by her table to say hello, but then moved on to speak to James and the Merriweathers.

Soon it was time to slice the roast pig. The women helped serve the children and the men, and finally themselves. To Cassandra, the food seemed even more fresh and delicious than ever. She joined her own household to eat, at a table where Ben had also made himself at home.

After everyone ate, Mr. Overstreet tuned up a fiddle, and the dancing began. James did not know the country reels, so he sat on the sidelines, clapping and stomping time. Cassandra thought she could pick up the steps, but was reluctant to join in, even if Ben asked. She saw Mrs. Clarke get up and partner with her husband, the two of them laughing as they cavorted to the music. Ben finally jumped up and offered her his hand, and they were soon whirling about with the rest. It had grown dark, the evening lit only by a bonfire and torches. Cassandra felt freer under the mask of darkness to enjoy the dancing with her lover and no one seemed to be paying them any mind.

Before the evening was over, those remaining gathered around the fire to tell stories and sing songs. Everyone was drunk on wine and ale. Ben and Cassandra sat close, but did not test the limits of their momentary freedom. She was sad that she could not invite these people, who were now welcoming her with open arms, to her upcoming party. If she could design the experiment again, she might consider placing herself amongst this crowd. But she needed the independence that could only be bought with money.

The high society of Selborne Parish had been abuzz with news of the garden party at Sorrel Hall since the invitations had gone out nearly two weeks ago. The American was finally giving a party!

Though the day started out dreary and wet, by the time the guests were arriving at four o’clock, the sun had broken through, the air was tolerably warm, and the ground was beginning to dry. The servants rushed around drying off the outdoor furniture as the visitors poured through the front doors and out the back through the conservatory, onto the veranda and the great lawn beyond. Tea and light sandwiches were served on the veranda where tables and chairs awaited the ladies and gentleman who only wanted to relax and observe the festivities. The young children ran to play croquet, knocking the balls all about in spite of the efforts of their governesses to help guide them through the wickets. The older children played at badminton and cricket, and the young men and women wandered out and around the parkland.

Cassandra was standing at the top of the lawn, looking out over the scene before her, and observing her guests as they settled in. Glancing back toward the house, she spied Lady Holcomb exiting onto the veranda from the conservatory through the glass doors that were thrown open wide. She was dressed in a light, lilac-colored muslin gown, looking young and fresh. Cassandra herself had chosen an off-white, silky cotton with green trim, reminiscent of a Grecian toga.

“Cassandra!” Lady Holcomb called as she approached. “Thank goodness about the weather!”

“Yes,” Cassandra replied when her friend reached her. “I was in a panic about it this morning, but I guess my little party was meant to be after all.”

“Sorrel Hall has never looked more beautiful.”

“Thank you, Charlotte, though I can hardly take the credit. My household staff is beyond compare.”

“I agree; you are fortunate in that respect. Though I do quite well with my modest contingent, I think.”

“Absolutely. Your home is always impeccable, and your table always beautiful and sumptuous.”

“Sumptuous! My, there’s a word. Listen, my dear, I have to tell you, I had a note from Lady Charles. She said to tell you that she would not be here today. She was not feeling herself, she said, but she is sending her daughter and niece in her stead.”

As if on cue, the two young ladies sauntered out onto the veranda, and were immediately pounced upon by James, who seemed to have been keeping a lookout for them. The three young people scampered off together up the hill to the gazebo.

“Ah, I see they have arrived.”

“Did Lady Charles say what was the matter?” asked Cassandra with as much concern as she could muster.

“Only that she was having an attack of nerves and was not up to such a crowd.”

Cassandra sensed there was something Charlotte wasn’t telling her.

“She was having an attack of nerves, or she was not feeling well?”

“Oh, I do not know, something like that, you know how she is. She also made apologies for Sir Robert, but of course, this kind of gathering is not really to his taste.”

Cassandra felt herself bristle at hearing the name mentioned.

“Well, I am just happy that you are here, Charlotte, and that you have brought Jane. Where is she, by the way?”

Lady Holcomb looked around. “There.” She pointed up at the gazebo. Jane had joined James and the other two young ladies, and Cassandra was certain that her son was gratified at being amongst the company of three such devoted admirers.

“I have to tell you though, Cassandra,” continued Lady Holcomb, “I may not stay long myself. I am afraid I feel a headache coming on. Perhaps you would make sure Jane is properly escorted home when the time comes.”

“Certainly,” Cassandra replied. “But my dear Charlotte, come have a seat here at a table in the shade, let me get you a cool glass of lemonade. I am so sorry you are not feeling well either.”

“Oh, thank you,” said the lady, taking Cassandra’s arm and allowing herself to be led to a small, wrought iron table on the veranda, where a servant awaited her. “But I think I would rather just have a cup of tea, if it is all the same to you.”

“Of course,” said Cassandra nodding to the servant who had overheard the request. She didn’t think Lady Holcomb looked the least bit ill, but rather quite robust. She let the matter lie.

“Now, my dear, please do not fuss over me,” Lady Holcomb uttered weakly. “You must mingle with your guests. Leave me here to sip my tea, and I am sure I shall be fine.”

“Well, if you are certain.”

“Absolutely. I do not want to distract you from your duties as hostess.”

“I do need to say hello to Mrs. Moore.”

“Do not give me another thought. I shall be right here. At least for a little while longer.”

“All right, but do not leave until you say goodbye.”

“Of course not,” said Lady Holcomb, gently waving her away.

Cassandra was puzzled. Was she being shunned by Lady Charles, and was Lady Holcomb following her lead? It concerned her somewhat, but she had other things to think about. Most of the other guests had now arrived, and everyone had had a chance to eat and drink and look about as they pleased, and Cassandra had greeted them all in due fashion. Presently, she heard someone mention the lake, and soon the young people were filing down toward it from where they had been scattered about the grounds. They gathered by the boats and paired up.

Cassandra strolled down to the water to see how it would play out. Before long, James and Elizabeth Charles were skimming out across the water, followed by Jane and Edward. Jane laughed with excitement as Edward rowed dangerously close to James’ boat, then steered away at the last minute before crashing into it.

Eunice looked forlorn, standing at the edge of the lake by herself, but then a handsome young man that Cassandra had seen at the ball, Thomas White, offered to take her out. She clapped her hands in acceptance. Cassandra observed that in the six months since Eunice had been with the Charles family, she had filled out. Her cheeks were pinker, and her eyes had more sparkle. Her life before coming to Hampshire had probably been spent breathing the sooty Birmingham air, Cassandra imagined, but four months in the country, and two amongst the fashionable environs of London, had made a difference. Though a year younger than her cousin, she was beginning to catch up with her in looks.

The boy who had asked Eunice to row was a nephew of Gilbert White and resided at the home were that famous scientist once lived. Though Cassandra continued to admire the Wakes, she was still not on familiar terms with the family and was happy to see that a representative thereof had accepted her invitation.

There were some brother and sister teams out on the boats, Cassandra noticed. The second and third eldest of the Clarkes went out together, as did that family’s thirteen-year-old twin boys. The two Moore sisters were intrepidly rowing by themselves. At twenty-one and twenty-three, they were in danger of becoming spinsters. They were freckly and buck-toothed, gangly and giggly, and appeared to Cassandra somewhat empty headed. But their fortunes were large, so, although she felt a little sorry for them, she figured that a couple of desperate gentlemen would eventually snatch them up.

Some of the other adults came down to watch the water sport, including Ben, who had arrived late. He smiled at Cassandra, but didn’t approach her. He waved to someone out on the water, and Cassandra looked to see who it was. Jane Holcomb waved back, a pretty smile on her face, cheeks flushed pink in spite of the shade of her bonnet.

Edward looked over his shoulder and saw the object of Jane’s salutation, then turning back, gave the boat a rock with his hips. Jane squealed and Cassandra wondered how deep the lake was where they were, way out in the middle. She had a moment of panic. If it were deep, and the boat toppled over, Jane’s skirts would drag her down, and she doubted if the girl knew how to swim. The Clarke twins, Randall and Ralph, saw their brother’s antics and began to rock their boat as well.

The twins’ boat tipped over with a splash. Cassandra ran to the edge of the lake, ready to rip off her dress and dive in. But the next second, the two carrot-tops popped up, splashing each other and laughing, shoulder-deep in the water. Cassandra sighed in relief, knowing that the water was shallow. The ladies in the boats shrieked to get away from the splashing, so the gentlemen rowed in closer to get them wet, while Mrs. Clarke stood on the shore and shouted angrily to the boys to come in and dry off. They ignored her as everyone else stood by laughing.

As the sun went down, the air cooled and the guests started to drift inside. The Clarke twins had been sent home to bed, but the other guests were dry enough to stay. Supper was served at seven in the dining room, but the visitors scattered about the house to eat, as the dining room only sat sixteen. On the side table, laid out like a buffet, was more of the bounty of the harvest: roasted wild turkey, venison, mutton, ham, freshly caught, baked trout, meat pies, boiled new potatoes sautéed in butter and garden herbs, baked noodles in a casserole, tomato and cucumber salad, mashed butternut squash, plates of cheeses and breads, fruits and nuts from the orchards, and a three-tiered vanilla cake garnished with fresh peaches—all served with the utmost style and elegance. There were the best wines from the cellar, part of Cassandra’s rental agreement with the Collins, and home-brewed ale.