A Lady at Willowgrove Hall (15 page)

Turner gave a giddy laugh, more like that of a youth than a grown man. “Thank you.”

“When do you intend to speak with her?”

“Tonight, if I might ask her to accompany me for a walk.”

Nathaniel finished spreading the hay and leaned the pitchfork back against the wall. “I will send her out.”

He finally looked Turner in the face. The man was positively giddy, his eyes shining with the brightness of unaffected optimism.

Something within Nathaniel envied Turner.

How would it be to start his own family? To have a wife? And no secrets?

“Wait here.”

Nathaniel followed the path to the cottage, Gus weaving in and out of his legs. He drew a deep breath as he approached the door.

He had watched Rebecca. Watched them together.

They were better people when they were around each other. The mere company of the other brought smiles to their faces. He was happy to be bringing his sister happiness.

He stepped through the threshold. To his left, Rebecca was sitting in the parlor, her blond head bent over her sewing. Hannah sat next to her, a book in her hand, and their mother was absent.

Nathaniel removed his hat and forced his fingers through his hair. “Rebecca, there is someone outside to see you.”

She lifted her face. She looked so much like their mother, with her dark eyes and round face. “Who is it?”

“Turner.”

A coy smile curved her lips. She scooted to the edge of her seat, bit her lower lip, her eyes lively with enthusiasm.

“Just go.”

Like a flash of summer lightning, she discarded her sewing, jumped from her chair, paused to look into the looking glass, and flew out the door.

“Can I go too?” asked Hannah, lowering her sewing to her lap.

“Uh, no.”

Hannah’s lips formed a pout. “Why ever not?”

“Never you mind.”

Later that evening, after the proposal had been accepted, news
shared, and the initial celebration behind them, Nathaniel and his mother sat by the fireside.

“The girls are abed, but I’ll wager Rebecca does not sleep tonight,” Nathaniel mused as a floorboard creaked above their heads.

“It is an exciting time for her,” his mother said, leaning her head against the back of the rocking chair. “I imagine they will marry quickly. As they should.”

Nathaniel reached his hand down to pat Gus’s head. “Next it will be Charlotte’s turn.”

“Charlotte?” His mother gave a little shrug. “I figured the next one of my children to marry would be you.”

“Me?” Nathaniel adjusted his position in the tufted chair and propped his foot up on the stool. He shook his head and rubbed his hand over the stubble on his chin. This topic of conversation came up often.

“I have no intentions of marrying,” Nathaniel said. “Not now, anyway. Not for a long time.”

His mother eyed him in the way that made him feel like she could read his thoughts. When she did speak, her voice was soft. “If you are waiting to marry because you are concerned for the welfare of your sisters and myself, I hope you know that we will flourish under any circumstance.”

“It’s not that.”

“You say so, and yet I do not understand the reason for your delay.” She lowered her sewing to her lap. “Mrs. Massey is a lovely woman, Nathaniel. And she is obviously quite taken with you. Nothing could be clearer. I cannot understand why you are not more interested in pursuing a relationship with her.”

Nathaniel rubbed his forehead and then scratched the back of his head, thinking of the beautiful widow—the local seamstress—who had made her intentions toward him quite plain. His mother
was right. She was a lovely woman. But to fall in love meant he would have to trust someone. And he was not ready to expose his family’s secrets.

But that did not mean he was not ready to talk about them.

He looked over at his mother. For the past five years, he had endeavored to protect her, and his way of protecting her was by never bringing up the fact that Thomas Stanton was not his father. She was content to continue on as they had been before Nathaniel learned of the incident, and he had indulged her.

But while ignoring the facts seemed to appease his mother, it caused the wound within him to fester.

He was uncertain how best to broach the topic, but Lockbourne seemed as good a place to start as any. “Mother, you speak to me of settling down, but do not forget I plan on relocating to Lockbourne once the time has come for me to inherit. I do not think it is fair for me to court a woman and omit that critical bit of information.”

Katherine Stanton jerked her head up. The firelight reflected from her hard, dark eyes. “I certainly hope you are not serious, and kindly lower your voice. What if one of your sisters should hear you say such a thing?”

He had no wish to bring his sisters into this conversation, but it was too late. “Then they would be hearing the truth, would they not?”

She pressed her lips together, and the color seemed to drain from her face right before him. For a moment he thought she might cry, but then her eyes narrowed.

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “At some point they are going to know. They deserve to know the truth.”

“And why should they?” she shot back. “What good could come from them knowing about their mother’s poor choices?”

“For heaven’s sake, Mother, they do not need to know all the details. But at some point do you think we should prepare them for a future at Lockbourne?”

“No, I do not,” she snapped. “And I cannot believe you could be so selfish as to think of actually relocating to a place that
he
would leave you.”

His heart began to race. “And why shouldn’t I? At the very least, they will learn of Lockbourne. Do you think they will not wonder about that?”

“Of course not. You and your father have been trusted stewards at Willowgrove. It is not unseemly for a master to leave such a gift.”

He needed to change his tactic. “Very well. Suppose we omit the girls from the discussion. What about me, Mother? Do you not think that I deserve to know the truth?”

Her face deepened to crimson. “How can you be so disloyal to your father by asking such things?”

“It is not being disloyal, Mother, to want to know the truth behind who I am.” He softened his tone. “I think Father would want me to know.”

She held his gaze, hard and unwavering, for several moments before easing back into the chair. She put her sewing to the side and reached for the shawl on the nearby sofa.

“Very well. What do you want to know? But I caution you. Once something is heard, it cannot be unheard.”

Nathaniel’s muscles tensed. Could it be that after all this time she would finally address this matter? Questions balanced in his mind, but he remained silent. Now he needed to listen.

“I was young, Nathaniel—only nineteen. My parents were both dead, and I had been in service since I was quite young. When Mrs. Trent selected me as her lady’s maid, I was thrilled. Me, a lady’s maid to such a well-respected gentlewoman! We became friends. She was different then, Nathaniel. Not so hardened.”

Nathaniel leaned his elbows on his knees and stared at the planked floor beneath him.

His mother’s voice was soft, barely above a whisper. “Mr. Trent
was always very kind to me too. But over time that relationship changed. Foolish girl I was, I fell in love with him. Or I fancied myself in love, anyway. When I realized I was with child, I informed him.”

Nathaniel rubbed his hand along his jawline and stared at the woven rug beneath his feet. Now that he was hearing the story, he was unsure he wanted her to continue.

She put her hand to her cheek, as if trying to recall a detail. “To this day I am unsure how Mrs. Trent learned of it, but when she found out about the baby, there was quite the commotion. She discharged me immediately, but then, much to my surprise, Mr. Trent intervened. He agreed I should leave, but he wanted to raise you as the heir. As you can imagine, Mrs. Trent would have naught to do with that. Mr. Trent concocted a plan and approached your father, who was a bachelor at the time. Mr. Trent declared his desire to have you raised on the grounds, and told your father that if he would marry me and raise you and give you his name, he would ensure his position would always be secure and that his offspring would always find employment at Willowgrove. In exchange for discretion, he provided us with this cottage. I, of course, was in no position to reject the arrangement. I had no family, no dowry, and being with child and without a positive reference, I was destined for the poorhouse. I accepted your father, with the understanding that we would never speak of it and nobody would ever be the wiser.”

His mother paused, as if to signal that she had said all she was going to say on the matter, but then she drew a sharp intake of air. “At times, I would almost forget you were not Thomas’s son. Our family was so happy. So complete. And I rarely encountered the Trents, except for the occasional church service. But then something would remind me. Do not think I take this lightly, or there is not a day I do not wish I had exercised more decorum.”

Then the light in her eyes changed. “Despite my imprudence,
one thing I can say with absolute certainty is that you have been a blessing to me. Since your father’s death, you have been the rock of our family, and I thank God daily that you are here.”

Nathaniel finally smiled. He stood. “I hope I have not upset you too much, but I do thank you for sharing the story with me.”

The next morning was Saturday. Cecily rose even before Clarkson came to wake her.

The last thing Cecily wanted was to oversleep on her first full day as Mrs. Trent’s companion. And, if truth be told, she hadn’t really fallen into a good night’s sleep. Andrew weighed heavily on her mind, and ghostly dreams of herself as a child with her mother and sister had plagued her during the midnight hours.

She must have drifted off at some point, for she woke to a cheerful fire in the fireplace and fresh linen next to her washstand. She noticed her wardrobe door was slightly ajar. As she opened it, the scent of lavender met her, and her gowns were hung inside, clean and pressed.

She pulled out the blue one and held it at arm’s length. The morning sun filtering around the brown drapes highlighted the fabric. Cecily marveled at it. The fabric looked like new. A small tear in the lace on the bodice had been repaired, and a small stain of stubborn ink had been removed from the sleeve.

She placed the dress on the bed and washed her face in the bowl of lukewarm water, cleaned her teeth, and sat down at the tiny writing desk. Dawn was breaking just outside of her window, spreading light on the flooded grounds. Despite the fact that the water should not be there, it was quite beautiful. A morning mist hung over the standing water, making the tranquil scene appear more like a painting than real life.

As she was enjoying the morning view, there was a tap at the door and Clarkson stepped inside.

“Oh. You are awake.” The older woman’s countenance seemed not to have improved since the previous evening. “Next time you wake, pull that cord and I’ll come straightaway.”

Cecily followed Clarkson’s direction and located a velvet-covered cord next to the bed.

“I’ve only just woken.”

Clarkson did not respond but went about straightening items in the room.

Was it something Cecily had said? Perhaps Clarkson had been close to Miss Vale and resented Cecily’s presence here, but even that seemed unlikely. Whatever the reason, Cecily’s hope of finding a comrade in the woman seemed improbable.

“Mrs. Trent has awoken. Says she isn’t feeling well this morning and will take breakfast in her room. She wants you to take breakfast with her.” Clarkson pointed her thumb at the gown Cecily had placed on the bed. “This the one you want to wear, miss?”

Clarkson was silent as she began dressing Cecily. No inquiries of how Cecily slept or if she was settling well. The maid helped Cecily into her stays and petticoat and then into her gown and laced the back.

Cecily lifted her hair so Clarkson could fasten the buttons. “I wanted to thank you for cleaning and repairing this dress. I don’t think it has looked so lovely since the day I first received it. You even removed the spot of ink from the sleeve. I am most appreciative.”

Clarkson’s hand slowed at the compliment and then resumed the buttoning with fervor. “’Tis nothing a little juice of sorrel, lemon, and vinegar will not take care of, miss. Although it is always best to treat such stains straightaway.”

When the woman had completed the task, she said, “Mrs. Trent’s breakfast will be up shortly. I suggest you be quick about things.”

And with that, she walked out, leaving Cecily standing in a quiet room. She tried not to be hurt by Clarkson’s abruptness. At Rosemere, the servants were like family, practically on equal ground with the staff and students. Here, the sentiment toward servants seemed much different. Cecily assumed Clarkson had been at Willowgrove for quite some time. Perhaps Cecily would be wise to follow Clarkson’s lead.

Cecily used the water from her washbasin to dampen her hair and then used her fingers to loosen the tangles. After pinning it up away from her neck and shoulders with a comb that Mrs. Sterling gave her many years ago, she stood back and observed herself in the looking glass.