Thompson looked back at her and walked to the farthest corner. “There’s a dusty rose dress that Madam gave me when they first arrived here. It may be suitable for you. I wore it once, but it’s too juvenile for me now.”
She lifted a pink gown from the rack and turned, holding it out. “I suppose you need to try it on. I’ll get one of the housemaids to help us.”
“I think I can do it myself,” Molly said quickly.
“Oh no, not these hoopskirts. They have to be worn with a crinoline. You’ll need at least two people to help you dress. Here.” As she spoke, Thompson first hung the gown back on the rack and then thrust a corset into Molly’s hands. “Put that on over your chemise. It ought to fit. I’ll lace you up when I get back.”
Molly flushed, even though Thompson was walking out the door. She’d not needed assistance to dress since she was a toddler. She stared at the closed door for a moment, trying to take it all in. Not only was she going to the ball tonight, but Thompson was lending her a dress worthy of a princess—or a governor’s wife. Mrs. Dundas must have worn this gown in years past. Thompson had said it was dusty. Molly examined it closely but saw no dust on the pleats and gathers. At last it occurred to her that “dusty rose” was the name of the gown’s soft pink color.
As fast as she could, she scrambled out of her black pinafore and dress and wrapped the corset around her. She was able to hook it in front, but it hung too loose on her frame. She tried to pull up the strings in the back, but she couldn’t fasten them—Thompson was right about that.
The door swung open.
“Rosaleen will help us.” Thompson eyed her critically. “Turn around.”
Molly had to stand in her undergarments and withstand the indignities of being dressed by women she barely knew. How did rich women stand it? The corset was followed by an under-petticoat and a camisole for a corset cover. Thompson gave terse instructions to Rosaleen, and they both lifted the crinoline from its hanger and hoisted it over Molly’s head. Another petticoat covered the crinoline to protect the gown from the steel hoops. Over this came a decorative embroidered petticoat. At last the gown went on.
Thompson frowned as Rosaleen straightened the folds of pink satin. “Too short, and I’m afraid there’s not enough material to lengthen it.”
Molly looked at Rosaleen in dismay.
Rosaleen studied the hemline. “It is a bit short for today’s style.”
Thompson strode to the rack of evening gowns and riffled through them. After a moment, she brought out a gold brocade dress.
Molly didn’t like the color. With her fair hair, it would make her look drab, though a dark-haired woman like Mrs. Dundas could carry it off regally. And the material looked heavy and hot—but she mustn’t complain.
Rosaleen spoke up. “Begging your pardon, miss, but she can’t wear that. Not in August. ’Twill be prodigious warm in that crowded room. His Royal Highness wouldn’t like it if one of the ladies swooned.”
Thompson’s lip curled. “I suppose you’re right.” She sighed and put the gown back.
Molly glanced at Rosaleen. Perhaps Thompson was offering her only the dresses she disliked or those that didn’t fit her well. Rosaleen gave Molly a nod as if to say, “I’ll make sure she treats you well, you’ll see.”
“Well, there’s this. It’s certainly a summer dress.” Thompson drew out a simple white gown with blue ribbons catching up gathered swags of the bleached muslin skirt. Around the edge at the hemline, embroidery embellished a cutwork design. “It’s very simple, not really a formal gown—more of an afternoon dress.”
Molly puzzled over that. The dress didn’t look simple to her.
Rosaleen’s eyes lit. “Ah, but with the right coiffure, miss, and accessories—gloves, perhaps a pin in her hair, and a necklace?”
Thompson’s mouth tightened. “I suppose it would do.”
Was she thinking she’d have to provide those items too? Molly said, “My mother has a necklace that would work with it, if the dress fits.”
“All right, let’s get the rose gown off and this one on.”
With the hoops pushing out the skirt, the white dress took on a more elegant line. Molly stood before the mirror and stared at her reflection. She couldn’t remember ever feeling beautiful before, but the superbly cut dress and her rosy cheeks and bright eyes gave her an undeniably attractive air.
“You’ll have your hair up,” Rosaleen said, a little breathless.
“Yes.” Molly still could barely believe the image in the glass was her. The dress fell away from her waist in a frothy cascade with bunches of bright sky-blue ribbons catching it up at intervals around the skirt. It was perfect—the dress she would have dreamed of if she’d known how.
“Are you done gawking?” Thompson asked.
Molly jumped. “A–are you sure you want to loan me this?”
Thompson shrugged. “It fits you. Anything else would require alterations, and frankly, I don’t have time. I have to shorten most of Madam’s gowns because she’s taller than I am, but this one has that intricate cutwork edging at the hem, and I didn’t want to spoil it. And so I’ve never worn it.” A touch of regret tinged her voice as she eyed Molly’s form in the mirror.
“If you don’t—”
“Tsk. It fits you perfectly. Now get out of it.”
Rosaleen helped lift the billows of white over Molly’s head. Thompson hung the gown on the end of the nearest rack while Rosaleen helped Molly out of the layers of undergarments.
“Thank you.” Molly blushed as she wriggled back into her own shift and petticoat.
“I’ll send it around to one of the housemaids’ rooms. You can dress there this evening.”
“She can dress in Deborah’s room,” Rosaleen said. “I’ll stay and help her.”
“Thank you.” Molly threw her a shaky smile and pulled on her black dress.
“Let me see your feet,” Thompson said. She scowled as Molly up held her skirt. “I fear you won’t squeeze those into any of my slippers.”
Molly felt the color in her cheeks deepen. She’d always known her feet were too large to be called dainty.
“I can never wear Mrs. Dundas’s shoes—they’re too large, so I give them to my mother. I’ll check the mistress’s wardrobe for a pair of slippers she won’t be needing. I don’t suppose you have silk stockings or long gloves?”
“Er…no. Nor my mother.”
“All right, then. I’ll make you a bundle and send it up later this afternoon. Now I must see to my mistress.”
“Thank you,” Molly called.
Thompson went out of the wardrobe room without looking back.
Rosaleen held out Molly’s apron. “Tonight’s your dream night, eh?”
Molly let out a breath and grasped her wrist. “I can’t believe this is happening. Why me?”
“You have to ask? They want pretty young ladies to dance with the prince.”
“But I’m a domestic servant.”
Rosaleen smiled. “What the Prince of Wales wants, the Prince of Wales gets.”
“Oh!” Molly stopped with the apron strings untied in her hands. “Rosaleen! This means I have to dance with him. I have to touch him.”
She laughed. “Actually, you’ll probably touch his glove and his coat. Barely.”
“Oh my.”
“Here now, child. Don’t go all woozy on me. Turn around and let me tie your apron.”
“Mrs. Bolton told me to go home and rest.”
“And so you should. I’m surprised they’re not making you work all day too.”
Molly stared at her. “What will my parents say? What if they won’t let me go this evening?”
“Don’t you worry about that. You’ve received a singular honor. I should be very surprised if they said no, especially when the request came from the prince himself.”
“Mrs. Bolton said the Earl of Washburn was the one who asked Mrs. Dundas.”
“But it’s because of the young prince. He must have w
anted you there.”
Molly stared at the beautiful gown she would wear. “I suppose it is.” The flush returned to her face as she recalled her bumbling entry to the breakfast room. No one must know about that.
Rosaleen reached for the frothy white dress. “Here, now, I’ll take the gown to Deborah’s room and you’ll know it won’t get mussed. Come back this evening, and if they don’t have me in the dining room, I’ll help you get dressed.”
“You’re a dear.”
“Oh, go on.” Rosaleen lifted the hanger and carefully draped the spotless folds over her arm.
Molly took one last look at the gown she would wear that evening. If only, instead of the prince, the man who’d requested her presence was Peter Stark. Now that would be a dream come true.
Chapter Thirteen
“That’s not the worst of it.” The Earl of Washburn strode to the brocade drapes, peered down into the garden, turned, and paced back. “The prince has requested that a certain young woman—one of the housemaids here—be included in the guest list for tonight’s ball.”
“A servant?” Peter stared at him as the awful truth hit him. The heir apparent had followed through on his whim. Ordinarily Peter would make an effort to control his reaction to anything one of the aristocrats said, but they were alone and the earl obviously wanted a sympathetic response. “That’s highly unusual.”
“Yes, my boy.” Washburn locked his hands together and squeezed them. “Of course, he’s only a young pup—doesn’t know what he’s doing—but I’d have expected Newcastle and Bruce to put a stop to it.”
“They didn’t?”
“On the contrary. Just before the levee began, Newcastle appointed me to approach Mrs. Dundas about it. I think he was too yellow to ask her himself.”
“And Mrs. Dundas agreed.”
“Oh, yes, yes, yes, all too easily if you ask me. But the worst thing is the girl herself.”
“What about her?” Peter asked, attempting to keep his tone neutral.
“She’s Orland’s daughter. The prince has taken notice of the family, Peter. Why did it have to be her? And what am I to do?”
Peter pulled in a deep breath. “I’m not sure.”
Washburn ran a hand over his face. “The prince will go to the Colonial Building immediately after luncheon to hear some speeches, and afterward he hopes to ride in the country, if the weather permits. The duke will go along in a carriage with some others, and they expect me to go.”
“Would you rather stay here and rest?” Peter asked.
“No. I suppose I must deal with these Orlands sooner or later. Can you find out where they live? If it’s close enough to town, perhaps we can pay them a call.”
“I…are you sure you want to do that, my lord?”
“Yes, yes. Might as well get it over with.” The earl stopped before the window and ran his fingers through his thinning hair. “Speak to the coachman. If he knows where the farm lies, perhaps you can suggest that route to the governor.”
Mum dropped her shuttle as Molly entered the kitchen. “Why are you home so early?”
“I’m to rest and then return this evening.”
“Oh. I suppose that’s a kindness of them, to allow you a nap. You’re serving at dinner and attending the ladies afterward?”
“No, not precisely.”
“What is it, then?” Her mother stood and left the loom, where she’d been weaving woolen cloth for winter clothing. “Molly…?”
Molly exhaled and raised her chin, determined to get it over with. “I’m to attend the ball.”
“What? Will you be waiting on one of the ladies?”
“No.”
“Surely you can’t mean you’ll be a guest.” Her mother’s expression changed from inquiry to shock. “What’s the meaning of this?”
Molly sat down on the nearest chair. “I’m not sure, but they wanted more dancing partners for the prince. At least, I’m told—”
“So Mrs. Dundas felt they hadn’t enough young ladies?”
“Well, she did approve it. The housekeeper told me so, but… She said Lord Washburn requested my presence.”
“Washburn!” Her mother’s face paled. She staggered to a stool and plopped down on it. “Your father claimed he barely said a word to him this morning. He told him who he was and then Washburn stalked out of the levee.”
“Really?” Molly swallowed hard. What was she in the middle of? Had Washburn invited her with the intention of humiliating her family in some manner? “Perhaps I shouldn’t go.”
Her mother took two shaky breaths and shook her head. “We’ll ask your father. That’s what we’ll do.” She rose and opened the door of the dairy that adjoined the kitchen. “David!”
A distant voice answered.
“Come in here, please,” Mum called. “Bring your father too. There’s news.”
Molly gritted her teeth and waited. She couldn’t very well refuse the invitation, could she?
Her mother turned around, her face wrinkled. “Whatever will you wear?”
“They’re loaning me a gown. It belongs to Thompson, Mrs. Dundas’s maid.”
Her father stumped in, using his canes. Grandpa and the boys followed, and even Kate scampered down the ladder and looked questioningly at Molly. When Molly avoided her gaze, Kate sidled over and took a seat near her.
“What is it?” Papa leaned against the wall near the stove.
“You may as well sit,” Mum said. “I’ve no doubt we’ll be chewing this over a bit.”
They shuffled to their chairs, taking their usual seats at the table.
“Well?” her father asked.
“Our Molly is going to the prince’s ball. She’s to dance with His Royal Highness this evening, and ’twas Lord Washburn who inquired about it to Mrs. Dundas.”
Grandpa Anson’s eyes lit. “Aha. Perhaps the earl wants to tell me something and he saw our Molly as his best way to get me a message.”
“Message? What do you mean?” Molly met her grandfather’s gaze.
“Why, he could talk to you on the dance floor, girl. Tell you whatever it is he wants me to know.”
“That’s silly. Isn’t it?” Molly looked to her mother.
“I don’t know.”
“I don’t think Lord Washburn wants to dance with me. He’s an old man.”
“Easy, girl. He’s a lot younger than me,” Grandpa replied.
Her mother turned a beseeching look on her husband. “David, what does all of this mean?”
He shook his head. “I don’t know either. It seems to me that if the earl wanted to send Da a message, all he had to do was inquire for Anson Orland. We’re well-known in these parts.”
“Perhaps we’d better send Nathan with Molly tonight, to wait outside the Colonial Building and bring her home after the ball.” Anxious lines etched the corners of Mum’s mouth.
“Or keep her home.”
Molly stared at her father. The silence lengthened.
Grandpa brought his fist down on the table. “Nay. She must go.”
Mum nodded slowly. “ ’Tis a great honor for them to single out our Molly. The prince is only a lad, and if someone thinks our girl is a proper companion for him, then she ought to accept with grace.”
“Of course she’ll go,” Grandpa said. “One doesn’t ignore a royal request.”
“The earl’s the one who asked.” David frowned and shifted his leg. “I wouldn’t like to think he had his father’s tendencies. I spoke to his man—Stark.”
Molly’s eyes flew wide and her mouth went dry.
Her father looked her way and nodded. “And he says the present earl is an honorable man. I don’t think he’d try to besmirch our girl, though he might want to have words with Da.”
Molly considered telling them about her mistake in walking into the room where the prince sat that morning but decided against it. Maybe the prince had nothing to do with this. Maybe, as Grandpa said, it was all the earl’s doing, and the whole thing came abou
t because of what Papa had said at the levee.
“So…I should go back this evening and do as I’m bid?”
Her father looked at Grandpa. “I suppose there’s naught else to do. But Nathan will be in the portico outside the ball, waiting for you.”
“I shall be more at ease knowing that.”
“Oh, and the clothes.” Her mother jumped up. “You must take them back to Mr. Stark.”
“Yes. I hope I can find a way to get them to him without anyone noticing.”
Grandpa beamed at her. “Now, isn’t it a blessed happenstance that your father met Mr. Stark today?”
“I’m sure I don’t know. Was it?” Molly turned to appraise her father.
“Aye.” Papa absently rubbed the thigh of his injured leg as he spoke. “And I expect your grandpa saw him too, but he didn’t realize who he was.”
“What exactly happened at the levee?” Molly asked. “Did you go in together?”
“And how should we do that, without the proper clothes?” Grandpa asked with a gentle smile.
“I wasn’t going in,” her father said. “Da put on the coat and top hat, and I decided to wait for him in the wagon. He came out half an hour later all sputtering and red in the face. Seems the earl wasn’t in the room when he was presented to His Royal Highness.”
“But seeing the prince was worth it,” Grandpa conceded. “He’s a likely lad. I’ll warrant he’s a fine dancer too.”
Molly looked back and forth between them. “The earl wasn’t there?”
“Nay,” her grandfather said. “He’d stepped out or some such tomfoolery. When I told David, he said he would go in and find out what nonsense that was.”
“So I put on the coat and top hat and in I went,” her father said a bit sheepishly.
“And you met Lord Washburn.”
“I did indeed. He remarked on the fine cut of my coat.”
Molly’s jaw dropped. “He didn’t.”
“He did.”
“Oh, Papa, do you think he recognized it?”
“I’m not certain. ’Tis a plain coat, though well made.”
Love Finds You in Prince Edward Island Page 13