A Lady at Willowgrove Hall (24 page)

She turned as he approached, a basket nestled in the crook of her arm. A look of surprise flashed across her face. “Mr. Stanton,” she exclaimed, then added a curtsey belatedly.

“Miss Faire. I hope you do not mind the interruption. I was hoping to speak with you.”

“You are not interrupting, Mr. Stanton. Mrs. Trent has sent me to gather roses, that is all. She needed some rest after Mrs. Massey’s visit, so she is napping now.”

He nodded toward the garden. “Might I walk with you a moment?”

“Please do.”

Their steps fell together in a natural cadence. A cool breeze swept from the north, fluttering the ribbons beneath Miss Faire’s chin. “Mrs. Massey shared with me that you are to attend the ball to celebrate my sister’s engagement.”

“Yes, that is true. I do hope it is not an intrusion.”

“Nothing of the like. Rebecca will be thrilled to hear of it.” He hesitated. “I have some news that might be of interest to you. I have heard back from my friend, Mr. McGovern, in Manchester.”

Miss Faire stopped abruptly. A vulnerability shadowed her
expression, and she lifted her hand to further shield her eyes from the sun. “What did he say?”

“I wish I had better news for you, but the name was not familiar to him.”

Miss Faire’s shoulders hunched slightly, and she looked down to the ground. Her bonnet brim now hid her face from him. How the thought that he had brought her any pain stabbed.

She began to walk again toward the garden gate slowly, and his steps fell in time with hers once again. He quickly added, “Do not lose heart, Miss Faire. Mr. McGovern has assured me that he will pass along the request to his colleagues and inform me if he should hear of anything. Mr. McGovern is a powerful man, one who knows how to do the impossible. I’ve witnessed it myself on several accounts. Have faith.”

Miss Faire drew a deep breath and fixed her eyes on the iron garden door ahead. “I knew it would not be easy to find her.”

He reminded himself of his plan to not get involved. But the words left his mouth, as if on their own accord. “If I may ask, how is it that you came to be separated?”

At the question, her steps again slowed.

He had overstepped his bounds.

And yet, something about the idea of her taking him into her confidence renewed him. He waited, careful to give her time to prepare her response.

“I was sent to Rosemere under unusual circumstances. I will not bore you with the details, but as a result of being there, I had limited communication with my family, most of whom were not aware of where I had gone.”

Her words were so hesitant, so guarded. He could almost feel the bits of pain woven in each word. He wanted to know more. Know everything.

He stayed quiet, allowing her space to continue.

“My sister was among those who were unaware of my departure. In fact, I never even bid her farewell. By the time I was able to make contact, it was too late. She had already left Aradelle, and she left no forwarding information.”

“I am sorry for it, Miss Faire. It is terrible to be separated from those we love.”

Her smile was forced, but he admired her desire to remain calm. “I cannot help but think of her whenever I am around your dear sisters.”

He relaxed his shoulders. For even though his sisters could try his nerves at times, he loved each of them. Very much. He could not imagine being separated from them. “Was your sister older or younger than you?”

A pretty smile lit Miss Faire’s face. “We are twins. She is older than me by twelve minutes.”

“A twin,” he exclaimed. “How remarkable. That should make her easier to find.”

“I’m not so certain. When we were young, we did resemble one another, but as we grew older, we took on our own traits. Her hair is lighter, and her eyes have brown in them. At least, that is what I recall.”

She stopped when they reached the garden gate. “I do have hope, though, that she is in Manchester, and I do intend to find her.”

He wondered if she was aware of how every emotion seemed to render on her face. Because even though her words boasted confidence, the slight arch of her eyebrow hinted at her timidity. Either she was as transparent as glass, or she knew exactly how to play heartstrings. “I will continue to help search for her,” he hastened to add.

“Thank you, I would be most grateful.”

He opened the garden gate for her. It groaned and hissed as the iron door was moved on its hinges. It would not be proper for
him to accompany her inside. Walking with her along the path on the busy estate and under the bright afternoon sun was one thing. Accompanying her into the solitude of the walled garden under the canopy of ash and willow branches was another.

She stopped next to him.

He remained quiet.

“I am fond of Mrs. Trent. She is kind to me, and I enjoy our time together. But I cannot help but notice the manner in which she treats you.”

At this he felt the wind leave him. Had Mrs. Trent told her of his secret?

But then Miss Faire smiled in a way that threatened to buckle his knees. “But I did want to tell you that I do not share her opinions. You and your family were kind to me, and I am most grateful.”

So she did not know.

He stared at her for a moment, oddly remorseful of that fact. For the first time, he wanted someone to know about it. He didn’t want to have to hide anything. Or pretend to be something he was not.

He nodded. “And you are most welcome.” He spied an opportunity to steal more time with her. “I know my sisters are most anxious to see you again. And Mrs. Trent retires early. Why do you not come to Laurel Cottage one evening this week? Hannah has been beside herself wondering when you would return. She has been working on her doll’s gown and is eager to show you.”

“Oh, I would like to see her.” She toyed absently with the brightly colored necklace about her neck.

“Then you will visit?”

“Yes, I shall look forward to it. As soon as I can.”

“Good, then I will let them know.” He gave a short bow, but as she turned to leave, somehow Miss Faire’s finger caught on the edge of her necklace. When she turned, it broke, sending the vivid beads in all directions below.

When Miss Faire realized what happened, her face deepened to the color of the roses within the garden, and her eyes grew glassy with tears, making them shine so green they rivaled the leaves on the trees.

A cry escaped her lips. She immediately dropped to the ground and began hunting for the beads in the grass.

“Oh no. Oh no!” she whispered, her fingers trembling as she pushed them through the thick grass.

He immediately dropped to his knees beside her and began to help gather the bright-orange baubles.

Her hands were shaking now, and tears balanced in her eyelashes. “It’s my mother’s necklace!” She paused her task long enough to wipe her eyes with the backs of her hands.

During his every interaction with Miss Faire, she had been controlled. Poised. Now she was crumbling before him. He couldn’t even begin to guess why.

As he helped her gather the beads, he groped for words to bring her solace. “I am sure your mother will understand.”

She did not stop her frantic searching. “My mother is dead.”

At the words, he froze. How could he be so dull! She had mentioned she was separated from her family. He did not imagine her mother was dead. “I-I apologize.”

A single sob shook her shoulders. She spoke as if to herself. “I should never have taken it!”

Not knowing what else to do, he covered her hand with his. It felt warm and soft, and he squeezed it gently to stop the trembling. “Please. Stop. Just for a moment.”

Her other hand stopped in midair, and she looked at his hand atop hers before lifting her eyes to meet his. Her eyes and nose were red, her chin trembled. A lock of hair fell forward.

He certainly did not know any details, but whatever story was tied to this necklace was deeply woven within her. He squeezed her
hand once more before releasing it. She sat up straighter. “What are you doing?”

Nathaniel retrieved a handkerchief from his pocket. “Here,” he said, spreading it open in his hand. “We can use this.”

She sniffed and wiped her eyes again.

Together, they worked in silence, retrieving the small beads from the grass, the warm sun providing ample light. He was close to her, closer than he had ever been. He could sense emotion coming from her—a pain that, for whatever reason, was unleashed by the breaking of this simple strand of beads.

Her breathing eventually calmed. “I found the clasp.” She sniffed, dropping a silver clasp onto the handkerchief.

He picked up the tiny piece of metal and held it up. “It appears that this part is bent. See?”

She nodded.

“Is that all of them?” he asked.

“I think so. I hope so.”

A dozen questions flashed through his mind, but he decided they would be best saved for another time. He stood and extended his free hand to help her up.

She hesitated at first and then placed her hand in his and stood, oblivious to the grass markings on her skirt.

She pressed her lips together and rested her palm on her cheek. “I-I apologize. I am not sure what came over me. I must have been quite the sight.”

“Think nothing of it, Miss Faire.” He wrapped the handkerchief around itself to secure the beads. “Will you allow me to fix it for you?”

“Oh no. I couldn’t.”

The sadness in her eyes plagued him. He would do anything, say anything, to get her normal cheerfulness back. “It would be an honor.”

She stared at the handkerchief for several seconds. “I would be most grateful.”

He tucked the treasured beads into his breast pocket. “Consider it done.”

He retrieved her basket and scissors, which had been discarded in the incident, and handed them to her.

She took the basket in her hands. He could not help but notice how they continued to tremble. “Are you certain there is nothing else I can assist you with?”

She finally smiled. “Quite certain.”

He gave a short bow. But why was it so hard to leave? The longer she looked at him, the stronger her lure pulled, tightening around his heart. This feeling was new. And he was not sure what to make of it, but he knew one thing—he was becoming increasingly attached to her.

20

C
ecily let the door to Mrs. Trent’s bedchamber fall closed behind her, and she paused in the corridor with a sigh. She pressed her palms against her cheeks.

What a day this had been. First her girlish excitement at meeting Mrs. Massey and the anticipation of attending her first dance, followed by the panic of breaking her mother’s necklace.

But what haunted her with equal frustration was how she had reacted in front of Mr. Stanton.

He must think her ridiculous.

She gave a little groan and slumped her shoulders. She had cried in front of him. And he knew nothing of the significance of the necklace, only that it had been her mother’s.

No doubt he thought her a child.

Interactions with Mr. Stanton always left her feeling as if her legs were not strong enough to hold her weight, her breath insufficient to fill her lungs.

To complicate matters, by the time Cecily arrived back at the
chamber, Mrs. Trent had acquired a fever. It was not yet even time for the evening meal, and the older woman was already dressed for bed, asleep. But it was not the fact that Mrs. Trent was sleeping that shot yet another shiver of alarm through Cecily. It was the old woman’s appearance. Her skin, which was normally pale, was more of a gray color. Instead of being steady, her breathing came in jagged gasps, each one leaving Cecily to wonder if another breath would follow.

As Cecily was about to enter her own chamber, Clarkson turned the corner and nearly ran into Cecily.

“Pardon me, miss,” Clarkson stammered. “I did not see you standing there.”

Cecily seized the opportunity to learn more. Her nerves were already raw. She did not like feeling as though Mrs. Trent’s health was a secret that everyone knew but her. “Forgive me for detaining you, Clarkson, but I must ask. Exactly how ill is Mrs. Trent?”

Clarkson glanced back at the door to Mrs. Trent’s bedchamber and balanced the basket she was carrying on her hip with one hand. Cecily thought for a moment that Clarkson was about to brush right past her without responding, but then the lady’s maid sighed and focused on her. “Several months ago, Mrs. Trent fell very ill, sick as I have ever seen a person, and she has never really recovered.” She gave her head a sharp jerk. “Breaks my heart, it does. I’ve known Mrs. Trent most of my life, and to see her in such a state pains me to no end.”

It surprised Cecily to hear Clarkson share so much. “I had no idea that you had known Mrs. Trent for so long.”

“You could say we grew up together, of sorts. I was an upper house maid at her parents’ house. After she married the master, she had a falling out with her lady’s maid and asked if I would come wait on her. And I have been, for more than twenty years now.”

Cecily masked her surprise. She knew that Clarkson had been Mrs. Trent’s lady’s maid for some time, but it seemed there was a
stronger connection than she had suspected. No wonder she had been so insistent on Clarkson dressing her. “Is there anything at all I can do to make her more comfortable?”

Clarkson’s voice was barely above a whisper. “No, what she needs now is rest. She gets overtired sometimes, and with her return from Bath, her nephew, and meeting you, I think the excitement of it all has caught up with her.”

Cecily could only nod.

“Will there be anything else, Miss Faire?”

“No, Clarkson, that will be all. Thank you.”

The older woman curtseyed and turned to move down the corridor, but Cecily reached out her hand in a spontaneous motion to stop the servant. “Wait, there is one more thing I was hoping to ask.”

Clarkson stopped and turned, but in the corridor’s shadows, it was impossible to distinguish the woman’s features. Cecily snatched back her hand as if she had just touched hot coals.

Cecily had little desire to be considered a gossip, but in light of her position at Willowgrove, there were certain things she needed to know. She bit her lip, mustering her courage. “Who is Lorna?”