A Lady at Willowgrove Hall (20 page)

“I am not refusing to live life,” he protested. “You know my reason for hesitating. It wouldn’t be fair to her.”

His mother shook her head. “She is taken with you, Nathaniel. Not your lineage.”

“You know full well that once that will is read, I will be leaving this county. Lockbourne is far from here—far from what she knows. It isn’t fair for her to not know what she is getting involved in. Besides, I cannot connect with someone I do not trust.”

His mother’s hand flew to her chest. “You do not trust Mrs. Massey?”

“No, I do not. I cannot satisfy you with an explanation of why, but it is an inclination. A strong one. When I meet the lady, I will know. When I inherit Lockbourne, life will change dramatically. I am in no rush to marry.”

“Mrs. Trent may well live a long time.”

“Well, if I meet someone else in the time being, then it is up to me to decide.” He stood. He was a grown man. Fully capable of knowing his own heart.

“I just want happiness for you, Nathaniel. That is all. Do not pass up the opportunity for happiness because you are waiting for your circumstances to be ideal. They never will be.”

16

C
ecily did not know how long she had been asleep. But when she jerked awake, the book she had been reading to Mrs. Trent had slid from her lap and lay open on the floor. Mrs. Trent snored softly.

Cecily was surprised that she had fallen asleep. Sleep had eluded her of late. But she could not deny that the emotions of the past several days had taken a toll on her.

She must have slept for at least a couple of hours, for darkness now blanketed the chamber. Careful not to wake Mrs. Trent, Cecily extinguished all but one candle lamp, stoked the waning fire, and exited the room. A single stream of moonlight slanted through a tall casement window in the corridor and sliced across the maroon rug. Wind hinted at coming weather, and it shook the glass panes. Her candle cast eerie, bending shadows on the stone walls and the ancient tapestries hanging on them.

She’d left her book of Proverbs down in the blue drawing
room where they had spoken with Mr. Stanton. She decided to retrieve it before returning to her own chamber for the night. She lifted the hem of her skirt and headed down the stairs. The house was quiet and still, lying dormant in the night’s cool stillness. Cecily turned the handle to the blue drawing room, pushed the door open, and stepped inside. Without the brightness of sunlight, the room appeared much more foreboding. The walls appeared dark. The faces on the paintings were austere and, if her mind were allowed to run rampant, frightening.

She hurried to the sofa where she had left her book.

It wasn’t there.

She frowned.

She turned to look on the other side of the room. That’s when she saw him, standing in the corner. Andrew.

“Merciful heavens!” Cecily hissed, drawing her breath and trying to calm her nerves at the shock of seeing a person where he should not be. “What are you doing, lurking about in the shadows? You gave me a fright!”

But he did not respond. He only looked at her, the whites of his eyes shining bright in the shadows, his expression somber, opposite of the jovial, carefree façade he had displayed during dinner just hours ago.

He stepped away from the wall, and the moonlight through the window illuminated his hair, which fell carelessly over his forehead. He looked tired. Older. The pale light caught on the crystal glass in his hand. He spoke, his voice barely above a whisper. “I looked for you.”

At his words, her breathing slowed.

She tightened her grip on the candle lamp.

He straightened before taking another step toward her. “I looked for you. Everywhere.”

As he drew closer, her throat began to tighten. He carried with
him a sharp scent of brandy. She inched backward until the wall prevented her from moving farther.

How long had she dreamed about just one more moment alone with Andrew?

But this was not how she imagined it. Not at all.

He was different.

She was different.

She swallowed, trying to calculate the smartest course.

He probably knew the answer to so many of the questions that had plagued her over the past several years, or at least, he could point her in the right direction for the information she sought. But the look in his eyes gave her reason to pause. “Perhaps we should speak in the morning, Mr. Moreton. I fear you are under the influence of drink.”

“Call me Andrew.” His words slid through gritted teeth. “Can you not give me that at least? Or are we destined to interactions laced with false propriety and empty greetings?”

She was torn between her desire to comply with decorum and her yearning to hear what he had to say. Her heart had let him go long ago. But that did not change the fact that he might have answers that she needed. About her father. About her sister. “Very well.
Andrew.
But perhaps tomorrow, or another—”

“No.” His sharp response silenced her. “I want to speak now. I have waited for years. I will not be put off another day.”

As his words sank in, her heart pounded harder. Surely he could hear it. He’d been thinking of her?

“So, you went to a girls’ school,” he said casually, as if resuming a conversation in progress.

“Yes. My father took me there that night.”

She was hesitant to give too much away. She had protected her secrets for too long to risk any kind of exposure—even to him.

“And where is your father now?” he asked.

“I was hoping you would be able to tell me. I have had no contact with them these five years.”

Andrew shrugged. “That next day your father paid a visit to my father, and it did not go well. It resulted in your father’s termination with no reference. My father was so angry he sent me to live here with my aunt. I have no idea where your father is.”

“Do you know where my sister is?”

“No.”

The single word sliced at her hope. She eyed him. She had not seen an intoxicated man since her father, but how vividly she could recall the signs. The red-rimmed eyes. The lackluster expression.

His words slurred into each other. “And now, here we are.”

Fear gripped her. For Andrew did not like to be told no. He was a person used to getting his way. That much she could recall with pinpoint accuracy. “I should go.”

He stepped toward her, touched her arm. “Don’t.”

But alarm kept her frozen in place. Heat radiated from his hand. “You are engaged, Andrew.”

“In all actuality, are
we
not still engaged? I fail to recall either one of us calling an end to it.”

She pulled her arm free. “It was broken that night. We were young. Too young for such a decision.”

His voice hardened. “So, am I to believe you have no regrets? That you have not wondered how things would be different?”

She jutted her chin in the air, refusing to waver. “Our decision sent us each down different paths. I am no longer the same person I was. I daresay you are not either.”

He pinned her with his stare. “It’s not too late.”

“Yes, it is.” She sucked in a breath. “If my presence at Willowgrove is an issue for you, please say as much. I cannot afford to lose this position, Andrew.”

But then a door creaked at the end of the hall. Cecily stiffened. She had felt this same way that night her father discovered their plan.

Boots clicked.

A door opened and shut.

She flinched, fearful of getting caught in a situation that could look suspect, but Andrew snapped to action. He simply locked eyes with her, put his finger to his lips, and began walking through the chamber to the great hall.

Cecily was stunned at the similarity of the past. For once again, Andrew left her to deal with an impossible situation. Yet this time she felt none of the joy in his presence that she had all those years ago. Instead, she felt dread.

As Andrew’s footsteps faded, the others drew near. She was not familiar enough with the layout of the ground floor to follow Andrew. It was a maze, with doors, nooks, and corridors that led to places Cecily had not yet explored.

She gripped her candle lamp in one hand and swallowed her fear. She had done nothing wrong. She had simply encountered another person within the halls. She spied her book on the small side table. She snatched it up, pushed her shoulders back, and prepared to step out into the corridor.

But when she did, she was facing none other than Mr. Stanton.

Miss Faire looked as pale as a ghost, her eyes wide. One thing was becoming clear: She could not hide her emotions behind her facial expression. She had a white-knuckled grip on her candle lamp, a book clutched to her chest, and her cheeks flushed pink.

“Miss Faire!”

She lifted her book. “I’m afraid I left this in the blue drawing
room earlier today, and since Mrs. Trent has already retired for the evening, I thought I would read.”

“I’ve no wish to bother you. I was working in my office and heard voices.” He looked over her shoulder. He really should not press this issue, but he was curious. “Was there someone else here with you, or am I imagining it?”

At this, she bit her lower lip, but her eyes remained fixed on him. “I encountered Mr. Moreton in the corridor. Surely that is whose voice you heard.”

At Moreton’s name, his stomach sank. He cared not for the thought of Moreton alone with Miss Faire, even for something as simple as passing in a corridor.

The candle lamp in her hand cast shadows on the hollow of her neck. She brushed a lock of hair from her face. “It seems terribly late to still be working, Mr. Stanton.”

He shrugged. “I often work late. It is the benefit, I suppose, of living so close. I haven’t far to go once I complete my tasks.”

She drummed her fingers on the cover of her book. “Well, I shall leave you to your duties, then, sir. Good night.”

Miss Faire gave a shallow curtsey.

He stepped closer to stop her. “Forgive me, Miss Faire, but during dinner at Laurel Cottage, you mentioned that you grew up on Aradelle’s property.”

“That is correct.”

“I am curious. Were you aware that Mrs. Trent had connections at Aradelle?”

She shook her head, eyes innocent. “Do you mean Mr. Moreton?”

He nodded.

Miss Faire released a breath. “No, I did not. And if I had ever known that bit of information, I had long forgotten it. I have been away from Aradelle for many years. I had never heard the name Trent before it was mentioned to me at Rosemere. Why do you ask?”

“No particular reason. Like I said, merely curious.” He smiled, trying to put her at ease, but he could not erase the words that Moreton had spoken of her the day she arrived at Willowgrove. “Were you well acquainted with the Moreton family?”

Her grip on the candle seemed to loosen, and she lowered her book to her side. “Well, my father was employed by the estate, but his interactions with the Moretons themselves were limited. He was the blacksmith there for many years.”

He was surprised. The daughter of a blacksmith seemed hardly the most suitable choice for a lady’s companion, of all things. And yet, what did it matter? She was withholding something from him. He could sense it. His sister’s words came to mind of how upset Miss Faire had become at seeing Andrew.

He would not press her, for time had a way of making all known, as he well knew. He could not help but notice how different this interaction was from those with Mrs. Massey. Whereas he could not wait to free himself from Mrs. Massey, he could not tear himself away from Miss Faire. He nodded toward her book. “What are you reading, if I may ask?”

“It is the book of Proverbs, given to me by the headmistress at Rosemere.”

He looked at the volume. “My father used to read often from Proverbs. And do you have a favorite?”

She pressed her lips together. “I am not sure I do.”

Sensing her hesitation on the matter, he quickly changed the subject. “Oh, and it is fortunate I encountered you, for I wanted to tell you that I did indeed write to my colleague, Mr. McGovern, and asked for advice on how to start looking for your sister.”

At this, her eyes lit up, the sight a reward in itself.

“I will be traveling to Manchester before too long, and I will make a point to follow up with him on this matter.”

“Thank you, Mr. Stanton. That truly is kind of you.” She offered
a sheepish smile and nodded. “You and your family have been good to me since my arrival. I don’t know how I can ever repay you.”

“No need to repay me, Miss Faire. I am happy to be of service.”

She looked down at the candle lamp, then cast a glance over her shoulder. “I must be going. Good night, Mr. Stanton. And give my best to your family.”

“Good night, Miss Faire.”

She brushed past him, and he pivoted to watch as she rounded the corner. The diminishing light signaled her retreat, and then he heard her delicate footsteps on the staircase.

Nathaniel had never been in love. Over the years, one or two women had captured his interest, but that had been fleeting, and never with any intensity.

But she had secrets. That fact was written in her every expression, making him consider how trustworthy she may be. But did he not have secrets of his own?