As Cecily turned, she noticed a vase of cut pink roses. Their floral scent reached her from several feet away. It was odd to have an actual servant attend to her, when before it had always been her sister, a classmate, or another teacher.
After helping her out of the gown and stays, Clarkson shook out Cecily’s borrowed dress. “I shall have this washed out for you. Is there anything else you need?”
“As a matter of fact . . .” Cecily moved to the chest and opened it. She retrieved her four soiled gowns. How odd it felt to give someone her dirty things. “These took a tumble from the trunk on my journey, and I fear they are quite dirty. I am happy to help clean them. I am just not sure where I should go.”
Clarkson held the gowns before her, eyes narrowed. “I will have these cleaned by morning. No need for you to concern yourself with such things anymore.”
The word “anymore” struck Cecily as strange. She paused to look at Clarkson, but the aging lady’s maid was busy situating the gowns over her arm. The word suggested that Cecily should not be accustomed to such help. But how could Clarkson know that?
“Shall I help you unpin your hair, miss?”
Cecily touched her hand to her hair. “No, that is not necessary.”
“Very good, miss. I’ll bring up something to eat.”
The thought of consuming even a morsel of bread made Cecily’s stomach turn. “That is not necessary. I could not eat a bite.”
Clarkson eyed her as she stoked the fire in the grate. “I hope Mrs. Trent’s observations weren’t true. You aren’t ill, are you?”
Cecily shook her head.
“Very well.” The servant straightened and returned the poker to the stand. “I will be by to make sure you are awake in the morning in time for breakfast with Mrs. Trent.”
As the door closed, Cecily blew out her breath and fell onto her bed against the gold-and-ivory striped silk cover. She was eager to be alone with her thoughts. After several moments she retrieved her comb from the trunk, sat next to the fire, and set about removing the pins from her hair and combing her tresses.
So she had met the woman she would be a companion to.
Met the woman to whom she would be tied for the unforeseeable future.
She had met Andrew’s aunt.
Cecily often wondered what—if any—impact their thwarted plans had on Andrew. The result, for her, had changed the direction of her life. But had he received any reprimand? Did his family even know?
Well, at least for the moment, Mrs. Trent had no idea that she had any connection to the Moreton family. She was fairly certain that Andrew would not speak about their past, and she vowed the same.
The house was quiet. Even the wind was silent outside her window, and she looked to the ground below, noting that the leaves on the trees lining the near garden wall were still. She thought about what an evening would be like back at Rosemere. She had never had a room of her own. The silence, the stillness, made her uncomfortable. This time of night everyone would be busy preparing for bed. There would be happy chatter as they brushed their hair, or they would simply sit quietly, reading.
But then her thoughts went back further, to evenings when she had lived with her family. Leah. How her heart ached for her twin sister. Leah had been her first friend, her first confidante. They had comforted each other when their mother died and shielded each other from their father’s wrath.
At least her allowance would permit her to save, and one day she would personally travel to Manchester and look for Leah.
Cecily turned to her trunk and pulled out the rest of her damp things. She placed what she could on the floor to dry, but when she came across her mother’s coral necklace, she sat back on her heels.
She let the tears fuel her energy. Cecily rose, moved to a bureau, and put the necklace in an ornate porcelain box. She had one clue from the letter—Manchester. Mrs. Trent had forbidden her from fraternizing with the servants, but surely that didn’t include the housekeeper and the steward. She would start with them.
Cecily extinguished her candle lamps and crawled into the bed, which was higher and finer than any she had ever slept in. She watched the shadows play on the canopy’s fine fabric curtains until her eyes finally closed in sleep.
13
The evening sun slanted low through the budding birch trees as Nathaniel walked back to Laurel Cottage. He was eager to be free from the cares of the day and to be home among what was calm and peaceful.
At least at home he knew what to expect. With so many women under one roof, it could become quite chaotic, but it was home. As he rounded the bend, his steps slowed. An empty cart was in front of the cottage, a pony tied in place. And by it stood Turner.
Even as Nathaniel lifted his hand in greeting, he knew Turner was not here to visit him. He hadn’t expected to see Turner again so quickly after their morning discussion, but the idea that had become a nagging suspicion was becoming a glaring reality.
Nathaniel first suspected Turner’s intentions earlier that morning. For it was no secret that Turner was infatuated with his sister, and had been for some time. Nathaniel had sensed that it was what Turner had wanted to speak with him about earlier in the day, but when his sister and Miss Faire had exited the cottage, their conversation had ended.
This was the moment he had loathed since his father died, because as the head of the family, the responsibility now fell to him to make sure that each of his sisters married well and had a significant enough dowry.
Selfishly, he wanted none of his sisters to marry. He wanted his family to stay intact—a tight unit—and then, when he inherited Lockbourne House, they would all travel together.
But the family was changing, and time marched on. Rebecca was no longer a child, but a woman who had attracted the attention of a well-off farmer.
And she was in love.
Nathaniel drew a deep breath and adjusted the bag over his shoulder. He could hear a peal of laughter come from the cottage. A cow lowed from the cowhouse. Gus met him on the path and wove in between his legs.
As he drew closer, Turner stepped away from his cart and walked to meet Nathaniel halfway. His thinning hair fell over his wide forehead, and he adjusted the hat on his head. “Stanton! I trust your day was well.”
“It was. And how is the sheep?” Nathaniel inquired after the sickly sheep Turner had with him earlier that morning.
“She will be fine, I am sure. She has spent the day in the pasture, which is a good sign. We did not have the opportunity to finish our conversation this morning, and I was hoping for a few moments of your time tonight.”
Nathaniel eyed him and then nodded toward the cowhouse. “Come with me while I pen the cow.”
Nathaniel had always liked Turner. He was hardworking. Earnest. Turner was but two years Nathaniel’s junior, and he had fond memories of them chasing the sheep on the stony crags. The men were cut from the same cloth, really. Both of their futures were predetermined before they were born—Nathaniel to follow in his father’s footsteps as the steward of Willowgrove, and Turner to continue his family’s legacy as proud tenant farmers. Now, with both their fathers dead, they were coming into their birthrights.
Turner’s steps fell in time with Nathaniel’s. “I suppose there can be no doubt what I want to talk with you about,” Turner said, leaning his arms over the stall railing as Nathaniel led the animal in.
“No, I do not suppose there could be.”
Turner looked directly at Nathaniel. “I would be a good husband to her, Stanton.”
“I know you would.” Nathaniel was not ready to hear such words about his sister. In his mind’s eye she was but a girl, with her hair in plaits and playing with dolls. But in truth, she was a woman of twenty, pretty and bright, ready to reach for her future. A future that, if she married Turner, would not involve him. For as soon as he was able, Nathaniel would move north to claim his inheritance. How often would he see his sister then?
Leaving one of them behind, even in the safe
arms of a happy marriage, had not been his plan.
“I wanted to ask your permission. To propose.”
Nathaniel looked down as he reached for the pitchfork. He was not a timid man, and yet he found it difficult to look his friend in the eye. “The decision is my sister’s, and hers alone. If she is in agreement, then I will not stand in the way.”
Turner gave a giddy laugh, more like that of a youth than a grown man. “Thank you.”
“When do you intend to speak with her?”
“Tonight, if I might ask her to accompany me for a walk.”
Nathaniel finished spreading the hay and leaned the pitchfork back against the wall. “I will send her out.”
He finally looked Turner in the face. The man was positively giddy, his eyes shining with the brightness of unaffected optimism.
Something within Nathaniel envied Turner.
How would it be to start his own family? To have a wife? And no secrets?
“Wait here.”
Nathaniel followed the path to the cottage, Gus weaving in and out of his legs. He drew a deep breath as he approached the door.
He had watched Rebecca. Watched them together.
They were better people when they were around each other. The mere company of the other brought smiles to their faces. He was happy to be bringing his sister happiness.
He stepped through the threshold. To his left, Rebecca was sitting in the parlor, her blond head bent over her sewing. Hannah sat next to her, a book in her hand, and their mother was absent.
Nathaniel removed his hat and forced his fingers through his hair. “Rebecca, there is someone outside to see you.”
She lifted her face. She looked so much like their mother, with her dark eyes and round face. “Who is it?”
“Turner.”
A coy smile curved her lips. She scooted to the edge of her seat, bit her lower lip, her eyes lively with enthusiasm.
“Just go.”
Like a flash of summer lightning, she discarded her sewing, jumped from her chair, paused to look into the looking glass, and flew out the door.
“Can I go too?” asked Hannah, lowering her sewing to her lap.
“Uh, no.”
Hannah’s lips formed a pout. “Why ever not?”
“Never you mind.”
Later that evening, after the proposal had been accepted, news shared, and the initial celebration behind them, Nathaniel and his mother sat by the fireside.
“The girls are abed, but I’ll wager Rebecca does not sleep tonight,” Nathaniel mused as a floorboard creaked above their heads.
“It is an exciting time for her,” his mother said, leaning her head against the back of the rocking chair. “I imagine they will marry quickly. As they should.”
Nathaniel reached his hand down to pat Gus’s head. “Next it will be Charlotte’s turn.”
“Charlotte?” His mother gave a little shrug. “I figured the next one of my children to marry would be you.”
“Me?” Nathaniel adjusted his position in the tufted chair and propped his foot up on the stool. He shook his head and rubbed his hand over the stubble on his chin. This topic of conversation came up often.
“I have no intentions of marrying,” Nathaniel said. “Not now, anyway. Not for a long time.”
His mother eyed him in the way that made him feel like she could read his thoughts. When she did speak, her voice was soft. “If you are waiting to marry because you are concerned for the welfare of your sisters and myself, I hope you know that we will flourish under any circumstance.”
“It’s not that.”
“You say so, and yet I do not understand the reason for your delay.” She lowered her sewing to her lap. “Mrs. Massey is a lovely woman, Nathaniel. And she is obviously quite taken with you. Nothing could be clearer. I cannot understand why you are not more interested in pursuing a relationship with her.”
Nathaniel rubbed his forehead and then scratched the back of his head, thinking of the beautiful widow—the local seamstress—who had made her intentions toward him quite plain. His mother was right. She was a lovely woman. But to fall in love meant he would have to trust someone. And he was not ready to expose his family’s secrets.
But that did not mean he was not ready to talk about them.
He looked over at his mother. For the past five years, he had endeavored to protect her, and his way of protecting her was by never bringing up the fact that Thomas Stanton was not his father. She was content to continue on as they had been before Nathaniel learned of the incident, and he had indulged her.
But while ignoring the facts seemed to appease his mother, it caused the wound within him to fester.
He was uncertain how best to broach the topic, but Lockbourne seemed as good a place to start as any. “Mother, you speak to me of settling down, but do not forget I plan on relocating to Lockbourne once the time has come for me to inherit. I do not think it is fair for me to court a woman and omit that critical bit of information.”
Katherine Stanton jerked her head up. The firelight reflected from her hard, dark eyes. “I certainly hope you are not serious, and kindly lower your voice. What if one of your sisters should hear you say such a thing?”
He had no wish to bring his sisters into this conversation, but it was too late. “Then they would be hearing the truth, would they not?”
She pressed her lips together, and the color seemed to drain from her face right before him. For a moment he thought she might cry, but then her eyes narrowed.
He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “At some point they are going to know. They deserve to know the truth.”
“And why should they?” she shot back. “What good could come from them knowing about their mother’s poor choices?”
“For heaven’s sake, Mother, they do not need to know all the details. But at some point do you think we should prepare them for a future at Lockbourne?”
“No, I do not,” she snapped. “And I cannot believe you could be so selfish as to think of actually relocating to a place that he would leave you.”
His heart began to race. “And why shouldn’t I? At the very least, they will learn of Lockbourne. Do you think they will not wonder about that?”
“Of course not. You and your father have been trusted stewards at Willowgrove. It is not unseemly for a master to leave such a gift.”
He needed to change his tactic. “Very well. Suppose we omit the girls from the discussion. What about me, Mother? Do you not think that I deserve to know the truth?”
Her face deepened to crimson. “How can you be so disloyal to your father by asking such things?”
“It is not being disloyal, Mother, to want to know the truth behind who I am.” He softened his tone. “I think Father would want me to know.”
She held his gaze, hard and unwavering, for several moments before easing back into the chair. She put her sewing to the side and reached for the shawl on the nearby sofa.
“Very well. What do you want to know? But I caution you. Once something is heard, it cannot be unheard.”
Nathaniel’s muscles tensed. Could it be that after all this time she would finally address this matter? Questions balanced in his mind, but he remained silent. Now he needed to listen.
“I was young, Nathaniel—only nineteen. My parents were both dead, and I had been in service since I was quite young. When Mrs. Trent selected me as her lady’s maid, I was thrilled. Me, a lady’s maid to such a well-respected gentlewoman! We became friends. She was different then, Nathaniel. Not so hardened.”
Nathaniel leaned his elbows on his knees and stared at the planked floor beneath him.
His mother’s voice was soft, barely above a whisper. “Mr. Trent was always very kind to me too. But over time that relationship changed. Foolish girl I was, I fell in love with him. Or I fancied myself in love, anyway. When I realized I was with child, I informed him.”
Nathaniel rubbed his hand along his jawline and stared at the woven
rug beneath his feet. Now that he was hearing the story, he was unsure he wanted her to continue.
She put her hand to her cheek, as if trying to recall a detail. “To this day I am unsure how Mrs. Trent learned of it, but when she found out about the baby, there was quite the commotion. She discharged me immediately, but then, much to my surprise, Mr. Trent intervened. He agreed I should leave, but he wanted to raise you as the heir. As you can imagine, Mrs. Trent would have naught to do with that. Mr. Trent concocted a plan and approached your father, who was a bachelor at the time. Mr. Trent declared his desire to have you raised on the grounds, and told your father that if he would marry me and raise you and give you his name, he would ensure his position would always be secure and that his offspring would always find employment at Willowgrove. In exchange for discretion, he provided us with this cottage. I, of course, was in no position to reject the arrangement. I had no family, no dowry, and being with child and without a positive reference, I was destined for the poorhouse. I accepted your father, with the understanding that we would never speak of it and nobody would ever be the wiser.”
His mother paused, as if to signal that she had said all she was going to say on the matter, but then she drew a sharp intake of air. “At times, I would almost forget you were not Thomas’s son. Our family was so happy. So complete. And I rarely encountered the Trents, except for the occasional church service. But then something would remind me. Do not think I take this lightly, or there is not a day I do not wish I had exercised more decorum.”
Then the light in her eyes changed. “Despite my imprudence, one thing I can say with absolute certainty is that you have been a blessing to me. Since your father’s death, you have been the rock of our family, and I thank God daily that you are here.”
Nathaniel finally smiled. He stood. “I hope I have not upset you too much, but I do thank you for sharing the story with me.”
A Lady at Willowgrove Hall Page 11