The dog came running back from behind them and wove around his owner as he walked toward the cottage. She gathered her skirts and hurried to catch up.
Mr. Stanton called out to signal their arrival, and within moments the door swung open.
And then chaos ensued.
A young girl in pale green with blond hair gathered in a large, pink ribbon darted past her to the dog. A heavy woman in a white apron hurried to Mr. Stanton, and two young ladies clad in printed dresses stared at her for several moments before one reached forward and tugged on her arm, gently escorting her inside.
Once inside, the older lady stepped in front of Mr. Stanton in obvious assessment of Cecily. “Oh, my dear! What is the meaning of this?”
Mr. Stanton removed his coat, flicking water onto the clean wood floor, and handed it to the little girl bouncing beside him. “Allow me to present Miss Faire. We met on the road to Willowgrove. She is to be Mrs. Trent’s new companion.”
Not knowing what else to say, Cecily self-consciously ran her hand down her pelisse, dipped in a curtsey, and tried to recall every bit of the polite conversation skills she had been taught at Rosemere. “My apologies for the intrusion. I fear I must look a sight.”
But the lines on the woman’s face softened, and she motioned for Cecily to move closer. “Oh, you poor soul! You are soaked through! Come with me.” She took Cecily by the arm and pulled her deeper into the house, which, with the heavy wool skirt, was quite a feat in itself. “Charlotte,” she continued, “go tell Bessie to get some tea, and quickly.”
Cecily allowed herself to be led into a room off the main hall, which she assumed to be the parlor. She scanned the room as discreetly as possible, trying to get a sense of her surroundings, for everything about her was in motion. The low-ceilinged room was centered around a large, stone chimneypiece with oak shelves stacked with tomes. A calico-covered sofa and two wingback chairs atop a woven rug formed a sitting area around the fire. Lobby chairs, a small table, and a long-case clock sat against the back wall.
The older woman’s high voice recaptured her attention. “Well, who can believe this weather? A fine greeting for you, is it not? Here, permit me to take your bonnet, and we shall set about getting you dry.”
Cecily had not realized she was trembling until she attempted to untie the soggy ribbon fixed beneath her chin. The knot felt too tight, her hands too weak. She looked around her. Two, no three females watched her with wide eyes.
Cecily tilted her head. The steward still stood in the hall, his broad back to them, and removed his hat, revealing wet black hair. The sight surprised her, for judging by the depth of his voice, she had expected him to be graying, like the woman who had answered the door.
One of the young women brought her back to the task. “Here, allow me.” The tallest girl, with fair hair and skin, and eyes that reminded Cecily of the color of chocolate, stepped forward and within a matter of seconds had the satin ribbon hanging freely.
Cecily stole another glance at the steward. Thick, wet hair hung over his forehead, but it was when his brilliant blue eyes landed on her that her pulse quickened. It was the first time she’d been able to see his face. The start of a beard’s shadow darkened his chin, highlighting a strong jaw and broad mouth. She grew self-conscious of how her own hair must be disheveled and the awkward manner in which her clothing hugged her form.
As if interpreting Cecily’s timidity, the older woman stepped forward. “Introductions can wait until after you are dry and tea is made. Rebecca, take Miss Faire upstairs and get her into something dry, will you? It will be easier to assess the situation once everyone is comfortable.”
Cecily motioned to her trunk. “I fear my belongings took quite a tumble.”
“Yes, I can see that quite plainly.” The older woman put a pudgy fist at her waist and turned her attention to the mud-caked trunk. “Well, fortunately you found your way to a houseful of ladies. Surely we have some garment that will fit you. Off with you, then. When you are done, come back down for some tea, and we will have proper introductions.”
Cecily was eager for a dry gown and, at the mention of tea, realized she had not eaten since early afternoon when they stopped at Rhysbourne to switch the horses. Cecily felt she should object. This entire situation seemed one mishap after the other. It did not feel right to wear another’s clothes, to intrude on a family’s solitude. But moisture seeped through the layers of her pelisse and gown, and her skin began to feel chafed with the incessant rub of wet fabric, so she reluctantly complied.
Miss Stanton took her by the arm. “Follow me.”
Cecily followed her hostess from the warmth of the parlor to the cool darkness of the hall. The young woman paused to retrieve a candle lamp from a sideboard and then proceeded to ascend a flight of steep stairs. Another hallway was off the square, cramped landing, and four closed, paneled doors lined the corridor. Cecily was led to the room at the end of the hallway. The soles of her shoes clicked on the bare plank floor, and with each step, the house seemed to grow colder. Her skin pricked in resistance to the chill. The door opened into a small, dark room.
This chamber was much draftier than the cozy parlor below. A low, single bed was against the far wall, and a painted dressing screen and wardrobe chest stood opposite. Two curtained windows rattled with the wind, and the icy air seemed to slice through the very fabric of her gown.
Cecily could not deny the appeal of a dry gown, a warm shawl. With shaking fingers she unbuttoned her pelisse.
The young woman who led her to the room placed the candle lamp on a nearby table. “We were not properly introduced. I am Rebecca Stanton.”
Cecily gave a small curtsey to the pretty blonde. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Miss Stanton.”
“No, no, ‘Miss Stanton’ will not do. You must call me Rebecca, for everyone here does. Oh, you poor dear, look. You are shivering. Here.” She paused to pull some garments from the chest and then went to the wardrobe to select a dress. “I daresay they will be too big for you, but at least they are dry.” She placed the items on the bed. “Is your chemise soaked?”
Cecily lifted her gown to assess the first layer of clothing. The wet fabric clung to her legs. “I fear so.”
“Here is a dry one. You can change behind that screen.”
Cecily obeyed, taking the garment in her hand and stepping behind a dressing screen. With the faint glow from the candle as her guide, Cecily managed the tie to her traveling frock. She felt much lighter when she finally shed the wet wool from her body. As quickly as she could, she peeled her cold things away and donned the dry chemise, then stepped back out.
“I will ask Nathaniel to bring up your things, but this flannel petticoat is the heaviest I have and should warm you until your own things are dry.”
How strange it was to dress in another person’s clothes, to wear their stockings and petticoats. But despite the awkwardness, Cecily found comfort for the warmth it brought. Her memory flashed back to her first cool dawn at Rosemere. Her simple dress had been muddy and damp with morning dew then too, and she’d shed it, along with her former life, for a Rosemere gown.
And now she was beginning afresh again.
“You are fortunate, Miss Faire, to have happened upon a household with so many women,” Rebecca said, “for if Nathaniel lived alone in this house, you would have naught but his shirts and coats, which would not do.”
Cecily slipped her arms through the borrowed petticoat and allowed the girl to help her finish dressing.
“You are Mr. Stanton’s sister, I trust?”
“I am indeed, although you would never know it at the sight of us, would you?” She gave a little laugh. “And note that Nathaniel is my older brother. Make no mistake about that.”
With a playful smile, she motioned for Cecily to turn so she could fasten the dress. Cecily held her wet hair away from her back so Miss Stanton could do the lacing.
“Here.” Rebecca handed her a towel. “You may use this to dry your hai
r.”
Cecily pressed the towel around clumps of her hair and rubbed vigorously. Once the majority of the moisture was out, her fingers forced tangles from the unruly locks. They were always hard to tame, but when they were wet, it was almost impossible. She looked around the room, hoping to find a looking glass. She drew a deep breath.
“Do not you fear, Miss Faire. We shall take good care of you while you are at Laurel Cottage,” Rebecca said and smiled warmly.
6
It had taken Nathaniel little time to shed his muddy garments and dress in dry trousers, shirt, waistcoat, and coat. He ran his fingers through his wet hair and shook out the moisture, but it would not take long for it to dry.
He was actually growing accustomed to being damp. With all the rain and flooding of late, he had spent his days, and nights, trying to undo the damage that had been done. Normally at this hour of the evening he would be looking for a hot meal and a night’s sleep. But this night would be different.
Mrs. Trent had a new companion. And this could only mean trouble for him. The former lady’s companion had been pleasant enough, but her ability to bend Mrs. Trent’s ear and set unrealistic expectations put him in more than one impossible situation.
It was most unfair of him to judge this new woman based on her position alone. Certainly she possessed several redeeming qualities and was a fine, principled person. But he had encountered Mrs. Trent’s companions before, and they shared similar characteristics—they were often silly, trite women who fawned over Mrs. Trent’s every whim and regarded him as the enemy.
So why should he care whom Mrs. Trent chose for her personal attendants?
Only he did care when he found one of them wandering around in the forest, bewildered, lost, and drenched.
Nathaniel made his way to the parlor to wait for the ladies. He took his customary brown chair next to the fire, picked up his worn copy of The Farmer’s Calendar, and flipped it open to read, only to stop short when he heard the creak of the stairs and hushed voices coming from the corridor.
He lifted his gaze and fixed it on the foot of the stairs, anticipating whom he might see. How Miss Faire’s presence in their home changed the course of the entire night.
With every tick of the long-case clock, his curiosity grew. For despite her purpose here, how often did one see such a beautiful woman in a place where she should not be? But now she was in his house. Under his roof. And if he knew his mother, Mrs. Trent’s new lady’s companion would likely be joining them for dinner. And breakfast. And tea in between.
Nathaniel held his breath as footsteps turned the wooden corner. Rebecca’s soft voice echoed from the plaster walls. “Nathaniel is in the parlor. He will entertain you for a moment while I talk to Mother. Please, make yourself at ease.”
Nathaniel stood as Miss Faire entered. He instantly recognized the dress she wore. It was one of Rebecca’s better dresses, one she often wore to church. But it looked so different on the newcomer.
Miss Faire looked different.
Only a quarter of an hour ago she had been clad in a dark, heavy traveling garment that hung mercilessly on her small frame. She had been pale with wide, frightened eyes. Now she was quite transformed. The gown’s hue of pale pink intensified the vibrancy in Miss Faire’s green eyes and the blush of her cheeks.
But what surprised him most was her hair. It had looked dark when it was wet and plastered to her head. But now, as it was drying and flowing over her shoulders, the fire’s light caught on auburn threads boasting copper glints, and as the strands dried, they pulled up into fiery curls that hung nearly to her waist.
He stood for a moment, transfixed. Perhaps she was like one of his youngest sister’s woodland fairies.
He bowed, diverting his eyes so as not to stare.
She offered a hesitant smile.
“Please, Miss Faire. Do be seated.” He was unsure of what to say, but he needed to fill the silence. He wished any one of his sisters were present, for their talent for talk put his to shame.
Fortunately, Miss Faire seemed quite comfortable. “If I may ask, what is it that you are reading?”
Nathaniel had almost forgotten about the book in his hand. He slid his finger in between the rough pages to mark his place. “Young’s Farmer’s Calendar.”
She shifted closer. “How very interesting.”
He managed a little smile. So polite, just as he would expect from a lady’s companion. He doubted she would find much of interest in a book of tillage and livestock. “Are you fond of reading, Miss Faire?”
Her expression brightened. “Indeed, I am.”
He was about to ask her more, but Gus nudged Nathaniel’s hand with his wet nose, begging for his master’s attention. “My apologies that Gus frightened you. He is still young, and I fear he has a wild spirit.”
A good-natured smile dimpled her cheek as she leaned forward to assess the pointer. “Oh, do not give it a second thought, Mr. Stanton. I confess dogs have always frightened me. I am certain Gus is of a gentle countenance. And if it were not for his awareness, I might still be out wandering around in the rain and dark.”
Nathaniel shook his head, taking his seat only after she was settled in the chair opposite him. “Those public transport fellows are a difficult lot. But the driver spoke truth. We lost the main drive’s bridge when the sluice to a nearby pond failed. We are in the process of rebuilding, and for the time being the carriages must enter the estate from the west drive.” Nathaniel hesitated. “Had I known you were coming, we would have sent one of Willowgrove’s carriages for you.”
“That is very kind, but I only received the offer a few days ago. The letter from Mrs. Trent indicated that she was in need of a lady’s companion as soon as possible. And, well, here I am.”
“It is unfortunate that she is not here to greet you.”
“I must say I am a little surprised. I was under the impression she was unwell and cared not for traveling.”
“You are correct on that account. She is in poor health. She has spent the last two months in Bath taking the waters, but to my understanding they have not had the desired effect, and so they are returning to Willowgrove earlier than anticipated.”
Miss Faire frowned. “They?”
Nathaniel sat back in his chair, refusing to allow his personal feelings for Mrs. Trent’s entourage to color Miss Faire’s perceptions. “Mrs. Trent is traveling with her nephew, the man who will inherit Willowgrove on her passing.”
Miss Faire opened her mouth to ask another question, but at that moment his mother entered the room and, at the sight of the dog curled at his feet, gave a little tsk. “Honestly, Nathaniel, I wish you would consider my nerves and leave that beast out of doors.”
Nathaniel peered down at the dog, who raised his head from the rug. “Oh really, Mother, he is not so horrific as you infer.”
“Not so? And with a guest in the house?” She shook her head before turning her attention to Miss Faire. “Like his father, he is, always bringing animals indoors that belong in the barnyard. But how can I argue? Other than that flaw, my Nathaniel is as agreeable as can be.”
His mother rested her hands on her hips, sighed, and nodded in the direction of a framed drawing on the plaster wall. “There, that is my late husband, Thomas Stanton, Miss Faire. Handsome man, was he not? His portrait was drawn by my Rebecca.”
Miss Faire looked toward the drawing. “Yes, most handsome indeed.”
Nathaniel straightened in his chair. The less said about his father, the better. For, undoubtedly, Mrs. Trent would give Miss Faire an earful on that account in the very near future.
He needed to distract his mother, otherwise she would fill Miss Faire in on every family detail before the hour was out. “What of dinner, Mother? I am as hungry as I’ve ever been.”
He was almost relieved his two youngest sisters, Hannah and Charlotte, entered, their round faces bright with excitement over their surprise visitor.
Nathaniel remained quiet, as he so oft
en chose to be in the busy moments of his family’s life, and watched as his sisters immediately set about extracting all the details they could about their lovely guest. They quickly pulled every sort of information from her, such as that Miss Faire had been traveling all day. Yes, this was to be her first time as a companion, and no, she was not catching a chill from being out in the rain. Miss Faire did not have a pet pony, or any pet for that matter, but she was fond of kittens. He should stop them, for surely they were making her uncomfortable, but he had to admit, he was equally intent upon learning about her, especially given her new role.
He could not help but wonder on what circumstances such a lady must have fallen to take the position of a companion. Each one before her had a different story of how they fell from prosperity to more reduced conditions.
Nathaniel tried to listen as she spoke, but he was distracted by the shyness in her smile. The alertness in her eyes. Nathaniel was far too practical for romantic ideas and whims. His life was dedicated to his work. His sisters and mother had been after him for years to find a wife and settle down. But he hadn’t met a woman with whom that ever felt right.
And so, once again, he would force his rationality to trump any feeling stirring within him. For Miss Faire was to be Mrs. Trent’s companion. And if history served as any guide, it would only be a matter of days before Mrs. Trent began to fill Miss Faire’s head with what a corrupt man Nathaniel was.
But he knew it was not his character she detested, but the secret they shared.
Cecily followed Miss Rebecca Stanton to the table where she was ushered to a chair next to Mrs. Stanton. The two younger sisters sat across from her, and Miss Stanton took the seat next to her. Mr. Stanton sat at the table’s head. Candlelight filled the room, softening the space in its gentle glow.
A Lady at Willowgrove Hall Page 5