A Lady at Willowgrove Hall (9 page)

Later than evening, when night had completely fallen, Cecily followed Rebecca into the bedchamber as they prepared to retire. It was cooler in the upstairs room, and with the exception of the occasional giggle echoing from Hannah and Charlotte’s room across the corridor, all was quiet.

As she stepped farther into the room to place her candle on the side table, Cecily spotted her trunk on the floor next to the bed. She stood motionless, staring at the trunk to confirm that it was indeed hers. “Look!”

Rebecca peered over her shoulder as she turned toward the wardrobe. “Nathaniel must have brought it up while we were talking.”

Cecily placed her candle on the table, knelt down beside the trunk, and touched the latch cautiously, as if it might fling open by its own power. Mr. Stanton had disappeared for almost an hour after dinner while the ladies conversed in the parlor. She never would have imagined that he was mending her trunk. All traces of mud on the
trunk’s exterior had been washed away, and the leather strap, which had torn away from the shell during the fall, was now securely fixed into place with several small nails. “It has been repaired!”

“I am sure Nathaniel fixed it when he went to tend the animals. He is always tinkering with this or that.” The lilt in Rebecca’s voice suggested that she thought nothing significant of the deed.

But Cecily continued to stare.

True, it was a simple gesture, but Cecily could not recall the last time a man had showed her such kindness. And now Mr. Stanton had not once but twice showed her kindness: first by opening his home to her and now by mending her trunk.

A strange flutter danced within her.

Rebecca pulled a white sleeping gown out of the chest and draped it over her arm. “Tell me, are you eager to be at Willowgrove Hall?”

Cecily rose from the trunk and sat on the bed as she considered Rebecca’s question.

The question, although seemingly a simple one, was really quite complex.

Was she eager?

Or would she not be more content in her quiet attic room at Rosemere, among what was familiar and safe?

She knew the polite answer, regardless of the truth it held. “Yes, indeed. Are you well acquainted with Mrs. Trent?”

Rebecca pulled a green-and-blue quilt from the wardrobe and, with a flick of her wrists, spread it across the bed. “I have lived on Willowgrove grounds all my life, but in truth, I have only spoken with Mrs. Trent on a handful of occasions. At one time we used to see her often at church, or perhaps walking in the gardens, but she has been gone so much of late that she rarely attends. Nathaniel talks to her on a regular occasion, though.”

Cecily frowned in contemplation. “Truthfully?”

“Indeed.” Rebecca paused, propped her hands on her hips, and
looked to the ceiling, as if considering her response. “Mrs. Trent is a very particular sort of woman. So often she is away, but when she is at Willowgrove, she keeps to herself and rarely ventures out of doors. Even when she attends church, she barely speaks to anyone with the exception of the vicar and his wife.”

At this news, Cecily’s chest tightened with the pang of disappointment. She came to Willowgrove with the knowledge that Mrs. Trent was not well, but even so, a small part of her had hoped for parties and diversions and, at the very least, outings to the village or walks in the gardens. On the journey from Darbury, her mind had woven plans to explore the Willowgrove grounds, just as she had explored Aradelle in her youth. Based on Rebecca’s report, Cecily wondered if she would even venture out of doors at all.

Cecily stopped short of asking about Mrs. Trent’s personality and decided not to linger on the disappointment. Instead, she quickly undressed and slipped into the flannel sleeping gown Rebecca had given her.

Rebecca handed her a heavy wool shawl and then moved toward the door. “Can I get you anything else before I retire?”

“Is this not your chamber?” Cecily asked, concerned that Rebecca appeared to be leaving the room. “’Twould be a shame for you not to sleep in your own bed on my account.”

Rebecca paused at the door and turned to a small table, using Cecily’s discarded candle to light a small candle lamp. “Pray, do not give it a second thought. I shall sleep in Mother’s room at the end of the hall. Hannah and Charlotte sleep in the room directly across from this one should you require anything in the night.”

Cecily could not help but wonder where Mr. Stanton slept since all the upper rooms were spoken for. She quickly rebuked herself for wondering so personal a detail about a man she barely knew.

Rebecca offered a warm smile as she paused in the doorway. “Good night, then. Pleasant dreams.”

She pulled the door closed behind her, and the sound of her footsteps retreating down the wooden hallway faded. Cecily tightened her borrowed shawl around her, indulging in a shiver that seemed to shake her to her very core. She stepped to the window and looked out. The rain continued to fall in uneven waves. She squinted to make out her surroundings.

But she was met only with blackness.

Her eyes now burning with the cry for rest, Cecily pulled back the modest covers and crawled into the bed. She pressed her cheek against the rough, linen pillow. She kept her eyes fixed, unwavering, on the uncovered paned window, watching as lightning streaked across the black sky. She took a deep, slow breath and held it. The steady rhythm of rain should lull her to sleep, yet her mind was alive with the unfamiliarity around her.

She squeezed her eyes shut. The sound reminded her of that night five years ago when her life was forever changed. Even though she no longer felt heartbreak over the severed romance, not a day passed when she didn’t think about Andrew and what their life would have been like. And equally as compelling, not a day passed when she did not regret the impulsiveness of her actions or the recklessness of her disregard.

She had, of course, found happiness at Rosemere, and she was likely far better off there than she had ever been at Aradelle. She had made peace with her separation from Andrew and her father.

But she still felt the separation from her twin with aching loss.

She reached up and touched the coral necklace about her neck, wondering for the millionth time if her sister missed it.

She’d been wrong to take it. For this necklace belonged to her sister as much as it did to her. One day she would return it. She wasn’t sure where or how, but once she was settled at Willowgrove, she was determined to start her search.

8

S
unlight sliced through the uncovered window and pried Cecily’s eyes open.

The previous night’s storms had given way to a brilliant blue sky, with two fluffy white clouds visible through the window.

She sat up slowly, wincing at the pinch in her back and side. Today, the effects of riding in the jostling carriage and pulling the trunk behind her pressed upon every limb, and she stretched her sore, tired muscles, reaching her arms above her and wiggling her fingers.

In the light of morning, she finally got a good look at the room around her. White wainscoting met pale-blue walls. A small rosewood stand stood tucked between the window and the adjacent wall. On it was her candle from the previous evening, along with three books piled in a tidy stack. She stood from the bed and stepped to the books, picking up one volume.
The
Romance
of
the
Forest.
She knew the story well. She leafed through the pages and then set it down. She lifted her attention back to the view. Beyond her window was the stunning landscape of Willowgrove Hall.

Just as the family had indicated, the field bordering the cottage courtyard was indeed flooded, shining like glass in the morning stillness. She turned the latch on the window and pushed it open, allowing the cool, fresh morning air to swirl around her. It smelled clean, as it should after a rain, and its soft kiss on her cheeks invigorated her senses. The sound of a cow lowing drew her attention, and she leaned to her left. The cowhouse was on the other side of the courtyard wall. Two brown cows moved about a small pen.

Without warning, Mr. Stanton rounded the corner—tall, the sunlight highlighting his high cheekbones and black hair. His gray greatcoat emphasized how his broad shoulders tapered to his waist. At the sight, her heart lurched, then pounded. She pulled the window shut and stepped back. The last thing she wanted was to be discovered staring at a man from a window in only her nightclothes.

But it was more than that.

The memory of his intense gaze had stayed with her, tempting to awaken a part of her heart that she had determined must remain closed.

She would not allow her heart to feel such an inclination for any man ever again.

As she retreated from the window, she forced her mind to another topic. Today was the day. Her new life was spread before her, an unspoiled page, a story ready to be written. At the thought, a little wave of nerves coursed through her. Would Mrs. Trent be fond of her? Could she be a suitable companion?

As she turned toward her chest, her gaze fell on her traveling gown, draped neatly over a chair in the corner. Her fingers traced the gown’s elegant velvet trimming and the scalloped hem. It was damp. Someone had washed it. Gone were the traces of mud that had marred the hem. The dress, the repair to her trunk, the meal, and the camaraderie . . . what kindness she was finding at Laurel Cottage.

Cecily only hoped she found the same reception at Willowgrove Hall.

She lifted her trunk’s lid. All of the carefully packed contents had been shuffled, no longer in the orderly stacks and folds Cecily had so painstakingly prepared the night before she departed Rosemere. Although the outside had been cleaned, Mr. Stanton had left her personal belongings alone, for which she was grateful.

With a sigh, she lifted one muddy gown, then another. They were far too dirty to be worn, and now her traveling dress was clean, but wet.

As she was contemplating her dilemma, a soft knock sounded at the door.

Rebecca popped her head inside. “Oh, good, you’ve awakened. I’ve no wish to disturb you, but I thought I heard you rustling about.”

Cecily could not help but notice Rebecca appeared different by the light of day. Her smooth, blond hair was parted down the middle and swept off her long neck. Her skin appeared much fairer in the white light of dawn, and blond eyebrows and eyelashes framed her dark eyes.

How dissimilar she looked from her brother.

Cecily smiled and motioned for her to enter. “Please, Miss Stanton. Do come in. Have I slept late?”

“Remember, it is not Miss Stanton. Rebecca will do.” Rebecca stepped in, closed the door behind her, and sat on the bed. “The hour is about nine, but Mother suggested that we let you sleep until you rose naturally, considering your long journey. She worries so about people falling ill, and you were in that damp dress for so long! She always says that sleep is the best prevention of ailments, and it is also the best cure.”

Cecily straightened from the trunk, gown still in hand. “That is most thoughtful.”

As Rebecca’s gaze fell on the gown, her eyebrows drew together in concern. “Heavens, is that your dress?”

Cecily nodded. “I fear so. The contents of my trunk fell out when the driver threw it from the carriage, and this is the result.”

“That will not do.” Rebecca rose and pulled a gown from the wardrobe. As she continued to sort through the garments, she said, “Hannah and Charlotte are anxious for you to be awake. I think they are quite taken with you.”

Cecily smiled. “They are sweet. They make me feel at home. I am accustomed to having children around.”

“I fear you will find no children at Willowgrove, but you are welcome at Laurel Cottage whenever you are feeling lonely. I am sure they would be most happy to oblige. Here, I will help you dress.”

Cecily put the comb down beside her, looking at the gown in Rebecca’s hand. “But that is your dress, is it not? I cannot trespass on your kindness yet again.”

Rebecca nodded toward the trunk. “Well, you cannot meet Mrs. Trent in that gown, nor a nightdress. That would never do.”

“I suppose you are right.” Cecily sighed. “I noticed someone was kind enough to wash my traveling dress, though.” She turned to allow Rebecca to help her with her stays.

“That would have been Bessie.” Rebecca gave a little giggle, a soft, gleeful sound that reminded Cecily of the tinkling of bells. “I think she felt sorry for you, having to stay here when you were expecting to spend the night at Willowgrove. No doubt the staff at Willowgrove will have no trouble cleaning your other gowns, but she thought it would be horrible for you to have to arrive in a gown caked with mud. She would not want anyone at the main house thinking her incapable of caring for guests at Laurel Cottage. She has quite a reputation—an honorable one—and she is intent upon keeping it.”

Cecily let her gaze linger on the traveling dress as Rebecca
finished the lacing, trying to ignore the sudden pinch of homesickness. “The headmistress of the school gave me the gown before I left.”

“I have often wondered what it would have been like to go away to school. My mother saw to my education, and now I help her with Charlotte and Hannah, but I fear I lack patience. Nathaniel, of course, was educated by our father. Here, put this on.”

Cecily lowered her eyes as Rebecca helped her into the gown of green printed cotton. She was not sent to school to learn. Indeed, her education had nothing to do with her father’s decision.

A wren’s chirp floated into the room, almost as if beckoning her out into the fresh air. She swallowed the pang of homesickness and focused on the excitement of the day before her.

Rebecca motioned for Cecily to turn. “My brother says you must have brought the pleasant weather with you.”

Cecily’s heart gave the queerest jump at the reference to Mr. Stanton. She gathered her waist-length hair and held it up so Rebecca could fasten the buttons down the back. “Oh?”

“Yes, says you must be good luck, for you brought the sun.” Rebecca smiled, fastening the buttons with a feather-light touch. “He has been beside himself with all of this flooding business as of late. He has a bit of responsibility on his shoulders, I fear. It has put him in quite a foul mood, but today his spirits seem much improved.” She paused, and a mischievous twinkle danced in her dark eyes. “Perhaps it is you.”