A Lady at Willowgrove Hall (39 page)

But as the morning gave way to afternoon, Nathaniel’s
optimism began to fade. He visited shop after shop, and each time he was told that nobody knew a Leah Faire. He even tried the tailoring and milliner shops they encountered along the way. Nothing.

Late that afternoon, just as Nathaniel was about to curtail his search for the day and turn his efforts toward finding Miss Faire, he stepped into a dressmaker’s shop on the edge of a more fashionable district. The room was quite small. But a broad counter that formed a U bordered the space, and two women stood at opposite ends of the counter. One of them, dressed in a bright gown of gold and green, nodded in his direction. “Good day, sir. Might I be of assistance?”

“Yes, thank you.” He removed his hat.

“Is there something in particular you had in mind? We have recently received some lovely painted fabrics, all the way from India.”

Nathaniel balanced his hat in his hands. “I thank you, but I am here for another matter.”

The woman’s eyebrows rose. “Oh?”

“Yes. I am trying to locate a seamstress. A woman by the name of Miss Leah Faire.”

The lady who welcomed him exchanged glances with the woman at the other end of the counter.

That slight movement was a different response from any other he had received that day, and it gave him reason to hope.

The woman picked up a piece of ribbon and cut her eyes at the other worker again before speaking. “May I ask what business you have with Miss Faire?”

But at that very moment, a curtain separating them from another room opened, and a woman with an abundance of red curls flowing down her back pushed through, a mound of yellow fabric in her arms. She did not look up, did not look in his direction, but there could be no denying her identity.

His pulse thudded wildly in his ears.

He had found her.

She glanced up in his direction but quickly continued to the counter, where she reached into a bin of ribbons.

The woman with the green-and-gold gown spoke. “Miss Faire, might this gentleman have a moment?”

It was then that she looked up. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes darker than
his
Miss Faire.

“Me?” Miss Faire looked at him, then cast a nervous glance toward the older woman. She deposited her materials on the counter and stepped forward. “Yes, sir?”

“I do hope you will excuse the intrusion, but are you Miss Leah Faire, with connections to Aradelle Park?”

She swallowed. Her eyes widened in what could only be interpreted as alarm. “I am.”

“And do you have a sister by the name of Cecily Faire?”

At the mention of the name, all color drained from her face and her chin trembled. “Ye-Yes, sir. What—Why . . .”

“My name is Nathaniel Stanton. I am the steward at Willowgrove Hall. Your sister was my employer’s companion. She shared that she was hoping to find you and that she believed you to be a dressmaker in Manchester. And while I am here, I promised her I would aid her in her search.”

The color returned to Miss Faire’s cheeks with vibrant intensity. “Where is she? Is she here?”

“She is here, in Manchester, looking for you.”

Miss Leah Faire cast a nervous glance at her employer before reaching for a paper and quill on the counter. She scratched a note before returning it to him. “I work very late most evenings, but Sunday is my day off. This is my address. If you would be so kind as to share this with her, I would be indebted to you.”

He held up his hand and motioned for her to keep her note. “I wonder if you would be agreeable to another idea.”

And he told her his plan.

38

C
ecily sat down in her tiny room and stared at the dancing flame on the candle before her. She had purchased one small candle when she had passed a chandler on the street, but the flame was short and the light weak.

She had started her morning so full of optimism, but it faded quickly. She had hired a carriage to take her to the addresses on the list that she had received from Mr. Stanton, but at each turn, she was met with disappointment.

She did not feel up to joining the rest of the boarders for dinner, so she had purchased a bit of salted meat and bread from the merchant on the street below. But the bread was hard and the meat turned her stomach. She pushed the food away, kicked off her boot, and rubbed her foot. She was unused to the uneven cobblestone streets, and although attractive, the boots Mrs. Massey had selected for her were hardly up to a day’s worth of walking.

The noisy clanking of wheels on the cobblestone and the sounds of men shouting and laughing were incessant. The sharp
cry of the fulmars swooping above joined the sounds of the city street, and she groaned and sank into her chair. How she missed Willowgrove. How she missed the friendships she had made.

Manchester was nothing like she had expected. She had fooled herself into believing that it would be much easier to locate Leah. How wrong she had been.

Mr. Stanton had been right.

She rubbed her hand over her arm where Nathaniel Stanton had touched her. Try as she might, she could not recapture the feel of it. She shivered in the cold, reached for her shawl, and pulled it over herself like a blanket.

She repeated the words she had committed to memory the previous evening. She was determined to draw strength from them, hoping to rekindle the optimism she found in them the night before. A single tear of frustration and sadness slipped down her cheek, and she impatiently wiped it away. But whereas she had not been able to find the strength to mutter a prayer the previous night, in this moment of exhaustion, she leaned her head on the table and whispered, “Oh, God, please show me what to do.”

She sat in silence for several minutes, listening to the sounds of the people on the street below. She’d almost fallen asleep when a knock at her door jolted her awake.

“Just a moment!” she called as she stood from the table, shaking out the folds of her dress and moving to the door. She opened it to find Mrs. Dotten standing there, as stern-faced as ever. She broke her frown only to say, “There is a man downstairs to see you.”

It was Cecily’s turn to frown. “No, I don’t think so. I don’t know any men here.”

“Asked for you by name, ’e did.” Her eyes narrowed suspiciously. “I don’t approve of gentlemen calling on young ladies. This is a respectable establishment, Miss Faire. Do not think for a moment that I condone men visiting women at such a’ hour.”

“I assure you, there is nothing improper. I am sure this is some error.”

Her curiosity matched her desire to be away from the land-lord’s scrutiny. She brushed past her in the dark, narrow hallway.

Cecily lifted her skirts to step down a stairwell so narrow that her shoulders nearly scraped the sides. A dark, shadowed figure was in the hall. For a moment, she grew nervous. No one knew she was here.

But then a glimmer of joy sparked as she recognized the straight nose. The square jaw.

“Mr. Stanton!” she exclaimed before she could bridle her enthusiasm.

He pivoted, and at the sight of his face, his blue eyes, she felt all her composure vanish. Tears of relief, joy, and regret rushed her, blurring her vision.

He glanced over to the innkeeper, who was staring in his direction, and gave a short bow.

Cecily did not even possess the presence of mind to return the courtesy.

The woman stepped forward. “I don’t approve of men calling on my female boarders,” she repeated. “You have a few minutes to tend to your business, and then you must leave.”

The landlord retreated down the hall, and once her footsteps vanished, Cecily could not help herself. She rushed forward to him.

“What are you doing here?” she gasped, barely able to get the words to pass her lips.

He grinned. Could it be that he was having the same feelings at seeing her again? “You departed Willowgrove before I had the opportunity to bid you a proper farewell.”

She was unsure if she stepped forward first, or if he did, but in a matter of moments, the rough wool of his tailcoat sleeve brushed
her arm, and then he reached around her waist and pulled her to himself. His intoxicating scent enveloped her.

Instinctively, she pressed her hands against her face to hide her tears, but he leaned his forehead very close to hers, and with his free hand he gently lowered her hands.

“There is no need to cry.”

But even as he said the words, every tangled emotion from the past several weeks commandeered her rational thought, and she melted against him. He pulled her closer until no space between them remained.

His whisper was rough and sweet in her ear. “Why did you leave?”

In the haze of her emotions, she was not sure how she managed to speak. “I don’t belong there.”

“You belong wherever I am. Oh, Cecily, my Cecily, never leave me again.”

He pressed his lips, warm and soft, against her forehead. His use of her Christian name felt natural. Right. She wasn’t sure if she was still standing or if she was floating. Her fingers reached up around his collar and wrapped around his neck.

His hands traveled up her back as his fingers splayed through her loose hair. And then ever so gently he angled her face to look at him.

She chewed her lip, trying to find the words to convey what she was feeling, and yet she could only utter a few words. “There is so much you do not know about me.”

His thumb rubbed her cheek as his gaze met hers. Unwavering. “You know my secret. If you ever decide to tell me yours, I will hear it when you are ready, but not before. For I have fallen in love with a woman who is kind. Loving. Compassionate. Giving. I do not care about your past. What I care about is our future. And when I think about that, the only thing that matters is that you are by my side.”

She lifted her face to meet his. Had she heard him correctly? He had fallen in love with her? She thought she had known what love was before. But oh, how wrong she had been. For the burning within her heart would not subside.

He lowered his lips to meet hers, and at the touch, she surrendered and leaned fully against him. His kiss was soft, tender at first, but then deepened possessively. Passionately. There could be no denying she had found her home. And it was in his arms.

But even as her heart nearly burst with contentment and happiness, she knew: He deserved the truth.

She pulled away. A look of confusion crossed his face. “Is everything all right?”

She lowered her gaze. “I need to tell you what I could not tell you when we were at Willowgrove.”

“You don’t have to.”

“Yes, I do.”

He looked around the tiny parlor. “Very well. Tell me. But first, I want to get you out of here.”

Cecily had been so lost in the moment she had almost forgotten where they were. “Where are we going?”

“I will share details with you later. Gather your things, and I will settle the tab with the proprietor.”

He pressed his lips to her forehead once more, and she hurried back up the stairs. Since she had never unpacked her things in the dirty room, she grabbed her bag and was back downstairs by the time Nathaniel was finished with the landlord. He pressed his hand against the small of her back and ushered her to the awaiting carriage.

Nathaniel took Cecily’s hand to help her into the carriage. It was difficult to contain his joy. He’d found her. She was safe. And what
was more, she had returned his affection with equal passion. All that mattered now was getting her away from this horrid boardinghouse.

Within moments he joined her in the carriage and sat next to her on the tufted seat. He pulled the door closed behind him and wrapped his arm around her, drawing her close. She did not resist. Instead, she melted against him and rested her head on his shoulder, her hair tickling his chin.

Dusk was falling, and outside the carriage, merchants were packing up their carts and birds called to their mates. He put her hand in his. “The carriage ride is not a long one,” he said as he gently ran his thumb over her long, delicate fingers.

“Where are we going?”

“Do you recall the mention of my colleague Mr. McGovern? He lives in Manchester, near the warehouse district. He has a large home. There is a room for you there.”

Cecily pulled away and straightened in her seat. The fading light caught on her hair, mesmerizing him. Her green eyes were bright with moisture. But the expression on her face brought him back to the present.

“What is it?”

She sniffed and pressed her lips together before speaking. “I meant what I said about no more secrets.”

He sobered. He wanted to hear what she was about to say, but he was uneasy about what she might tell him. But he could tell by the intensity in her eyes that she needed to tell him. And could he blame her? They were two people desperate for fresh beginnings.

“You once asked me how I came to be at Rosemere. I gave you an answer, but that wasn’t entirely the truth.” She licked her lips and wiped her eyes again with the back of her hand. “My father disowned me.”

The words were surprising, and yet he remained quiet, giving her space to share her story.

“But in order to explain it more completely, I must go back further. You asked me about my connection to Aradelle. You were right in your assumptions, Nathaniel. When I was young, sixteen to be exact, I believed myself to be in love with Andrew Moreton. So much so that he asked me to run away and marry him.”