A Lady at Willowgrove Hall (27 page)
She lowered her sewing to her lap and cast a quick glance to Mrs. Trent. “Would you be so kind as to deliver a message for me?”
But before he could respond, a playful groan echoed from the whist table. The game had ended. Miss Pritchard had a victorious smile on her lips.
Cecily quickly turned back to Andrew. “Could you ask if anyone remembers her? Start with Mrs. Sherwin. Please?”
He smiled and stood, as Miss Pritchard was already headed their direction. His eyes locked on her. “I suppose I owe you that much.” He glanced over at Miss Pritchard. “Very well. You have my word. I will find out what I am able.”
T
wo weeks had passed since Andrew left Willowgrove. The days had flashed by in predictable routine.
Cecily looked forward to the time she spent with the Stantons. Several mornings a week, while Mrs. Trent slept, Cecily would spend an hour or so at Laurel Cottage teaching Hannah and Charlotte new embroidery techniques. Then, in the late afternoons, Cecily and Rebecca would take a walk. Occasionally Mr. Stanton would join them, if his duties permitted. It became the time of day Cecily anticipated most. She missed the camaraderie of people who were close to her own age, and even though they were not in the same situations, the laughter and diversion they shared was what she needed to balance the somber, albeit peaceful time spent with Mrs. Trent.
One pleasant afternoon Rebecca accompanied Cecily to the south garden to cut roses—a task that Cecily performed nearly every day. As they sat in the warm sun amid the fragrant blooms of pink, red, and white, Cecily lifted her face to the sky. “What a lovely day this has turned out to be.”
Rebecca paused after cutting a thorn from a rose. “It is. How fortunate we are to have had such a break from the rain.”
Cecily brought a rose close to her nose, inhaled its floral scent, and lowered it to the basket. “I am so glad you could join me for a walk today. I tried to convince Mrs. Trent that a walk out of doors was just what she needed, and yet I could not persuade her. She said that fresh roses on her side table were all the out of doors she required.”
Rebecca swatted at a bug. “Is she much improved, then?”
Whether Rebecca’s concern was genuine or she was asking as Cecily’s friend, she was unsure, but Cecily appreciated the inquiry just the same. “I am afraid that is a difficult question to answer. There are days when she will walk the grounds with me, and then others that she cannot leave her bedchamber, not even to go to the drawing room. It is a great comfort that Dr. Collingswood has stayed on these past two weeks. He seems to be a great comfort to her.”
Rebecca clipped another rose, leaving the stem long. “Well, I have heard nothing but admiration for her physician. And at least these flowers should bring her a little happiness.” She dropped the rose in Cecily’s basket. “Can you believe Saturday is but two days away? I can hardly believe the ball is already so near.”
“Oh, that reminds me,” Cecily said, rising to her feet. “Mrs. Massey delivered a couple of my gowns yesterday. Would you care to see them?”
“Oh yes, I would love to!” Rebecca returned her scissors to the basket.
“Come with me. Plus, I have a surprise for you.” Cecily led the way out of the garden and up Willowgrove’s steps. Once inside, she guided her guest through the main hall and staircase to the upstairs landing.
“I have never been this far into Willowgrove before,” Rebecca
whispered as she followed Cecily up the curved staircase. “Are you sure it is all right?”
Cecily nodded, holding the hem of her gown as she stepped upward. “Of course! You are my guest. Besides, how else will you be able to see the gown?”
As they made their way down the corridor, Cecily held her fingers to her lips and nodded toward the door. “Mrs. Trent’s rooms are through there. I am sure she is sleeping. My room is through that door there.”
Once inside her bedchamber, Cecily quietly shut the door behind them.
“This is beyond anything I’ve seen before,” exclaimed Rebecca, hurrying over to the window to look at the lawn below. “I cannot even imagine waking up to this every day. I do not think I have ever been this high from the ground. Why, look! You can see the Brentle farm from here!”
Cecily went to the wardrobe and opened the door. “It is the finest room I have ever stayed in, to be sure.”
Rebecca turned from the window and propped her hands on her hips, drinking in her surroundings. “Was Rosemere not elegant?”
Cecily giggled. “It was nice, but it was much smaller than Willowgrove. During the last two years, I shared a small attic room with another teacher. We were cozy, but elegant it most definitely was not.”
Cecily did not miss the look of confusion that flashed across Rebecca’s face. Propriety undoubtedly kept her questions at bay. She probably expected Cecily to be used to such opulent surroundings. After all, she was a lady’s companion. Rebecca would be most surprised to learn of Cecily’s humble beginnings.
Cecily turned her attention back to the wardrobe. A little flutter of regret shot through her. In her short time at Willowgrove, Rebecca was becoming a very dear friend. But the relationship was
indeed one-sided. Rebecca generously shared all about her life—the details necessary to become truly acquainted with another—while Cecily held every detail of her own life with such guarded possessiveness that it would be quite impossible for Rebecca to really know her.
It had been much the same at Rosemere. Finding the confidence to share her hidden thoughts with anyone had been difficult. Now she was being given the opportunity for friendship. She could choose to trust her new friend with a few snippets or retreat back into solitude.
Cecily hesitated before continuing. “And before Rosemere, I lived in a small and very old cottage with only four rooms. So you can imagine what a luxury this all seems to me. My father was a blacksmith. He worked mostly for Aradelle Park and did odd jobs around the village.” She turned away from the wardrobe, half expecting to see a look of shock or disapproval on Rebecca’s round face, but instead, she found her friend’s eyes fixed on her, intent and sincere.
“Was?” Rebecca asked. “Is he no longer a blacksmith?”
Cecily had to look away. She fidgeted with the bonnet she’d just removed. “I do not know. I have not seen or heard from him since I came to Rosemere.” As soon as the words were free from her mouth, Cecily wished she could snatch them back. For her secret was starting to slip. Rebecca was a bright girl. Would she not decipher the fragments of information?
“That is terrible. What of your sister, then? You mentioned you had one. Surely you speak with her?”
Cecily shook her head. “The truth is that I have not spoken with her since before attending Rosemere. But I am looking for her. In fact, your brother is helping me.” That was all she could muster. Perhaps one day she could share more. Instead of answering, Cecily turned back to the wardrobe. “But let us not linger on that. See? Here is the first gown.”
She retrieved it from the wardrobe and placed it across the striped coverlet on the canopied bed.
Rebecca clasped her hands in front of her. “Why, how lovely!” She lifted the skirt of pale-plum satin and ran it through her fingers before lifting it to look at the detail more closely. “Look at this white work on the bodice, and how she carried it down the sleeves. You must be so pleased.”
“I am.” Cecily reached for the peach gown, careful not to catch it on the wardrobe door, and held the gown in front of her, angling herself so her reflection would show in the mirror above the mantel. It really was a stunning gown, constructed of fine satin. Small beads created a delicate floral pattern on the bodice, and a white netting overlay embellished with silver threads floated above the fabric of the skirt. The sleeves were short, and Mrs. Massey had given her white gloves to complete the ensemble. “I shall wear this to the engagement dance. Do you like it?”
Rebecca quickly discarded the plum gown, took the peach gown from Cecily, and held it at arm’s length. The sun caught on the silver threads in the overlay and shimmered in the afternoon light. But then Rebecca frowned and brought the dress closer. “Oh dear. There appears to be a misstep with the stitching.”
Cecily focused on the area Rebecca called out. She had noticed it too. “Yes, it puckers a bit there at the sleeve. It is very obvious when I have it on. But that should be easy to remedy. I plan to work on it tomorrow.”
“I am most surprised,” Rebecca said, still examining the area in question. “It is not like Mrs. Massey to overlook such an error. On most counts, she is meticulous.”
Cecily took the gown back. “Fortunately, it should take no time at all to repair.”
She had noticed bits of imperfections on the other gowns—a slight tear in the seam of the black bombazine gown and an uneven
hem in the plum muslin. She did not wish to offend Mrs. Massey’s work, but Cecily planned to make alterations to them as well. She recalled the odd words that Mrs. Massey had spoken to her at the fitting about the time that she had spent with the Stantons, not to mention how she did not think her work would be acceptable to someone as accomplished at needlework as Cecily. The words, while kind on the surface, left Cecily with the sense that she had done something to offend her new acquaintance. Despite Mrs. Massey’s lavish attention to Mrs. Trent on her visits, she barely spoke to Cecily. At the final fitting, she made few alterations, despite the fact that obvious oddities existed. Cecily was not one to suffer from oversensitivity, but the cool nature of Mrs. Massey’s treatment of her was impossible to ignore.
Cecily took the gown back from Rebecca and lowered it. “I cannot help but wonder if I have offended Mrs. Massey in some way.”
Rebecca cocked her head to the side. “Why would you have such a notion?”
“I cannot say for certain.” Cecily plopped on the bed, unsure she should share her private thoughts on Mrs. Massey. “Just a suspicion.”
“Well . . .” Rebecca sat on the bed next to her, looking more like a child who had been caught saying something inappropriate than a woman about to marry. “Like I have told you before, I have known Mrs. Massey for a very long time, and I do consider her a friend. But I do not think it is a secret that she has somewhat of a fickle nature. Sometimes I think she has befriended me because she has set her cap on Nathaniel.”
As if realizing what had just come from her mouth, Rebecca’s eyes grew wide, and she clapped her hand over her mouth. “Oh my! I did not mean that as it sounded, for certain!”
Upon noticing her friend’s uneasiness, Cecily shrugged. But the words interested her. She had wondered about a possible
connection between the two, especially after Mrs. Massey’s comments the first day they met and Hannah’s unusual outburst. “Think nothing of it. But I could not help but wonder if there was an agreement between the two.”
“An agreement? No. At least, not one that I am aware of. It is an odd relationship, really. Like I told you, I have known Mrs. Massey my entire life, as has Nathaniel, but it was not until after her husband’s death that we became better acquainted. Mr. Massey and my brother were great friends, and before he died, Mr. Massey asked Nathaniel to watch out for his wife. So Nathaniel oversaw some repairs to her cottage and helped her establish her business. I think some people may have misunderstood that as romantic interest.”
“And by ‘some people,’ do you mean Mrs. Massey?”
Rebecca gave a little smile. “I would think that if Nathaniel returned the sentiment he would have responded by now, but as it is, he is so private about such things.”
“Mrs. Massey is very beautiful. I am surprised she has remained unattached.”
“Mother had it in her mind that Nathaniel would one day propose to Mrs. Massey, but I think she has quite given up on it. Nathaniel is so focused on his duties. I never understood the dedication. Mrs. Trent treats him horribly, and yet he persists.”
“Perhaps it is loyalty,” Cecily reasoned, returning the gown to the wardrobe.
“Or perhaps it is stubbornness.” A coy grin crossed Rebecca’s face. “So perhaps Mrs. Massey has been offended in some way, or maybe she is merely concerned that there is a new lady’s companion at Willowgrove Hall who is charming and lovely.”
“Rebecca!”
Her friend shrugged. “There can be no mistake. She has had her eye on Nathaniel for quite some time. And now there may be competition—”
“Please do not say such things. Please do not.” Why the words should have such an effect on her, she did not know, but she felt panic rising within her.
Rebecca shook her head as if confused. “Do you not wish to marry one day?”
Cecily pressed her lips together. Marrying would mean confessing the past. Who would want to marry her once the truth was brought to light? She had no dowry, no connections, and worst of all, had already given herself to another. “I do not know.” Her words snapped. “At the moment, my main concern is reuniting with my sister.”
“I certainly understand wanting to stay close to your sister. Mine are a handful at times, but I would miss them immensely if they were gone.”
Cecily immediately regretted the path the conversation had taken, and her shortness of temper. Of course Rebecca would expect her to be seeking a suitable match. But after what she had been through with Andrew, she doubted she would ever have the sort of relationship with a man that Rebecca had with Mr. Turner.
But the exchange uncovered another thought. Would it even be possible for Mr. Stanton to notice her in any way other than as Mrs. Trent lady’s companion? The thought both warmed and frightened her.
Cecily needed to change the subject. “Oh, I almost forgot. I have something for you.”
She hurried to her writing desk, pulled open the small door underneath, and retrieved the blue reticule she had made for Rebecca. “This is for you.”
Rebecca’s face flushed as she noticed the silk purse in Cecily’s hand. “This is for me?”
She reached out and accepted the delicate gift and traced the silver tambour work with her finger. “This is so elegant. You made it yourself?”
“Yes. I thought you might like to have it for the engagement celebration.”
