A Lady at Willowgrove Hall (28 page)
“Oh, Cecily!” she exclaimed, drawing her into a spontaneous hug. “This is so very kind of you! I am sure it is the finest reticule I have ever had!”
Unaccustomed to such praise, Cecily kept her eyes low. The moment, however, was not lost on Cecily, for despite the hardships she had faced, it warmed her to realize that Rebecca had become a dear friend.
T
wo days had passed since her visit with Rebecca, and the day of the engagement celebration was now upon them.
Mrs. Trent had requested to see Cecily’s gown prior to her departure, so with Clarkson’s assistance, she had donned the pale-peach gown. Cecily had spent a better part of the previous day repairing the side seams and further embellishing the bodice with delicate, beaded flowers and silver thread. And now Cecily was certain it was the most beautiful dress she had ever seen. She pivoted to see the back of the gown, and as she did, satin fabric shimmered in the fire’s glow. A delicate netting of white floated over the skirt and sleeves, intricately embroidered with leaves and pink flowers. A white satin ribbon laced the gown down the back. She reached for the satin gloves and slid her hands inside, smoothing the soft fabric over her forearms.
The final piece of her ensemble was her mother’s coral necklace. She lifted it, paying close attention to the clasp. What mixed emotions this piece of jewelry conjured. For not only was the memory
of her mother and sister tied to every bead, but that of Nathaniel Stanton as well.
Cecily glanced at her timepiece. Despite the recent, inexplicable coolness from Mrs. Massey, Cecily was still planning to accompany her to the festivities. Cecily would take Willowgrove’s carriage to Mrs. Massey’s home, and the ladies would continue on together to the inn where the event was being held. Cecily hurried into Mrs. Trent’s chamber to show her the gown. Though the old woman had grumbled about Cecily attending, she had seemed like a proud parent, eager to see her little one dressed in her finest attire.
Cecily entered Mrs. Trent’s chamber, surprised to see she had already retired. Cecily moved over to the bed and sat. “I did not expect you to be abed so early.”
Mrs. Trent sighed. “I do not feel well, child. Not tonight. But don’t you worry. It is nothing that a good night’s sleep will not resolve. Now, stand up and let me see you.”
With a smile, Cecily complied. She turned a complete circle and then returned to the side of the bed. “Do you like it?”
Mrs. Trent managed a weak smile. “Mrs. Massey’s work is impeccable.” She reached out to touch the netting with her shaking finger. “But you are right. The silver thread did improve it. And did you allow Clarkson to dress your hair?”
“I did.” Cecily reached up and gingerly patted the curls. She’d been reluctant at first, but when Clarkson was done, Cecily was surprised at the talent the lady’s maid possessed. In a relatively short time, Clarkson had smoothed her stubborn curls in an intricate chignon and woven a white ribbon across the crown of her head and into the style.
Mrs. Trent adjusted her blankets around her and shook. “She is most talented. But despite that fact, I really should not allow you to go.
Tsk.
There is no telling who will be there. But it is not fair to you. I cannot keep you prisoner here forever.”
“Dear Mrs. Trent, you hardly keep me prisoner.” Cecily sat down next to her on the bed and took the withered hand in her own. “I enjoy the time we spend together.”
Mrs. Trent managed a weak chuckle. “I would expect you to say that.”
Cecily patted her hand. “Mrs. Trent, please believe me when I say I am happier here at Willowgrove than I have been in a long time.”
Mrs. Trent frowned. “When would you have not been happy? But then, I suppose you haven’t shared much with me about your days before you came here. Perhaps one day you will. But those conversations are best left for another day. Go now. But mind yourself. And stay close to Mrs. Massey.”
A knock on the door sounded, and Clarkson poked her head into the room. “The carriage is ready and has been brought ’round, Miss Faire.”
With a nod, Cecily turned her attention back to Mrs. Trent. “Are you sure there is nothing I can get you before I depart?”
“No. Go, child, enjoy yourself. And take my fan, there on the bureau. I will not have you getting overheated. People always try to cram far too many bodies into too slight of a place. No wonder women are prone to fits of fainting and dizzy spells.”
Cecily could not help but smile at Mrs. Trent’s generalization. “Thank you, Mrs. Trent. I am sure it will be helpful.”
Cecily hurried down the dark corridor, across the landing, to the main staircase. She stepped down the stairs, out of Willowgrove’s main entrance, and to the carriage. The night was fair and cool and carried the sweet scent of roses from the garden. Nightingales chirped their songs in the glow of the setting sun, and all seemed peaceful.
Then it dawned on her. She was content.
The ride to Mrs. Massey’s home was a short one, just down the main road past Wiltonshire’s town square. Mrs. Massey lived on
the far edge of the village. As soon as the carriage drew to a stop in front of their destination, Mrs. Massey was already out of the door. The coachman assisted her into the carriage, and within moments, the dressmaker was seated comfortably across from Cecily.
“Mrs. Massey, such a pleasure to see you again,” Cecily said while smiling.
“Good evening. I trust you are well?”
The carriage lurched into motion. “I am very well.”
Cecily could not help but be impressed by the magnificent gown adorning Mrs. Massey. It rivaled any that Miss Pritchard had worn. Her eyes soaked in the gown of silver lutestring. It shimmered with every movement. A string of pearls adorned her throat, and delicate pearl drop earrings highlighted the angles of her face. Tiny pearls decorated the bustline of her gown, and matching gloves reached up past her elbows.
“Oh, Mrs. Massey, you look positively beautiful!” Cecily exclaimed, taking note of how the absence of color in the silvery-gray gown made her eyes appear that much more violet. “Truly stunning!”
“Thank you, dear,” Mrs. Massey said, not making eye contact. “Since I had been in mourning for my dear husband, I had grown quite accustomed to wearing dark colors. As someone who shares my fondness for beautiful gowns, you must know how pleasant it is to be able to wear such fabrics again! This color is still approporiate, mind you, but lively at the same time.”
“I was sorry to hear of your husband’s passing. Mrs. Trent told me a little about your history. I do hope that is all right.”
Mrs. Massey smiled. “Of course. I’ve no secret to hide. My husband and I married young. We were very much in love and were blessed with a few happy years together. But God above saw fit to take him home. Being in mourning, I did not feel it appropriate to attend any social functions. But it has been above two years. More than enough time has lapsed.”
“Mrs. Trent told me your husband was a noble man.”
“He was. Thank you. But alas, I did not marry for money.” She gave a quick, knowing smile and looked out the window. “The past couple of years have been trying, at best. Thankfully, my mother taught me a great deal, and I have been able to support myself. That is why I believe you and I will be such good friends. We are the same type of woman, working to support ourselves without assistance.”
Cecily was growing more curious about Mrs. Massey, for she seemed to be a paradox. No wonder the Stanton ladies were so fond of her, and based on Rebecca’s words, slightly cautious. “Do you not have family, Mrs. Massey?”
“No.” She pressed a wrinkle from her skirt. “My father died when I was an infant. My mother provided for us by making dresses and clothing of all sort, and I am fortunate to continue that today. I have no siblings, and the cousins I do have are scattered across England’s south coast, not nearly close enough for a quick visit.” She glanced up. “The Stantons have been kind to me since the passing of my husband. Particularly Mr. Stanton.”
Cecily looked down at her gloves, fearful that her own thoughts and feelings about Mr. Stanton would be apparent. She tried to forget Rebecca’s words about the dressmaker’s interest in Mr. Stanton, but she could not shake them from her memory.
“I grew up here, Miss Faire. Not a mile from the Stantons’ door. I am closer to Mr. Stanton’s age, and even though the Misses Stantons are younger than I, I have always been quite fond of them. We are great friends.”
Mrs. Massey’s tone had a possessive quality, which both confused and disheartened Cecily. But since this would be the first time she would see Mr. Stanton and Mrs. Massey in each other’s company, she would be able to perceive much about their relationship. Cecily knew little about Mr. Stanton’s personal life other than what she had witnessed herself.
Mrs. Massey clasped her hands in front of her. “Tell me, dear, how did you find your gown?”
“Oh, I could not be more pleased. I hope you do not mind. I took the liberty of embellishing the bodice slightly.”
“Oh.” Mrs. Massey’s face was hidden in the shadows, but Cecily thought she heard annoyance in the woman’s tone. “I had almost forgotten. You are fond of embroidery as well. I do not blame you, for I cannot imagine not adding my own artistic touch to a gown I was to wear. I hope you did not alter the gown because the workmanship of the gown was not to your liking.”
At the directness of the statement, dread filtered through Cecily. No, she did not think the work extremely fine, but she would never say as much. Whether it was from lack of skill or an intentional slight, she may never know. “Of course not. I just like to add my own embellishments.”
Mrs. Massey did not respond. She only pointed out the window as they entered the village square. “There, that is my shop. I suppose you have not had reason to see it.”
Cecily followed her direction. It was a charming little shop with two large, leaded bay windows flanking a red door. “You must be very proud of it.”
“I am. Mr. Stanton was most helpful in helping me secure the spot. He was even kind enough to find funds to pay the first several months’ lease. Here, we’ve arrived at the inn.”
Every mention of Mr. Stanton felt like a blow. There could be no denying the message Mrs. Massey attempted to convey.
Cecily swallowed and looked out the opposite window. The ride had been short, for they were only going to the village. But for as long as she had been at Willowgrove, she had little reason to go to the village other than church. Mrs. Trent had no need to venture beyond the church, and Cecily would never presume to travel there on her own.
The carriage drew to a halt. Seconds seemed like hours as she waited for the coachman to open the door, and as her slippered foot landed on the road below, Cecily felt as though she had arrived in a fairyland.
Sparkling lanterns lined the walkway to the Pigeon’s Rest Inn. Garlands of spring roses and honeysuckle swung over the door, and yellow light spilled from paned windows in the blue dusk. Sweet strains of flutes, violins, and laughter danced on the evening’s warm wind. People, shadowed by dusk, darted to and fro.
After weeks of quiet and predictability, she grew anxious to learn more about the village she now called home. She pushed her thoughts about Mrs. Massey and Mr. Stanton to the side and focused on soaking in every detail.
As they began up the walkway, Mrs. Massey took her arm. The act of familiarity took Cecily by surprise.
Dozens of people were already inside. Cecily did not recognize most of the faces. A few she remembered from church service, but for the most part, she was in a sea of strangers. But it mattered not. For the first time in weeks she felt the cares of her daily existence fade away. She fussed with the borrowed fan looped around her wrist and flicked her hand nervously over her skirt.
Cecily had never been in the Pigeon’s Rest Inn. From what she had gathered from Rebecca, the inn was mostly used by travelers. But tonight, all the tables had been pushed aside to make a clearing for dancing. All around her, roses and greenery hung from the rafters and candles hung from the ceiling. Above them, musicians were assembled in the loft, their jaunty music showering down on the dancers below. The warm air whooshed past her as the dancing couples swooshed through their steps, their laughter mingling with the music.
“Now, it is important we make the appropriate introductions,” Mrs. Massey said. Cecily leaned closer to hear above the song.
“Do you see Miss Stanton?” asked Cecily, rising to the tips of
her toes to see above the moving crowd, looking for Rebecca. She almost had to shout to be heard above the movement and voices. “I told her I would find her as soon as we arrived.”
“All in good time, dear.” Mrs. Massey flicked her own oriental fan open. “I promised Mrs. Trent I would introduce you to the necessary parties, and I intend to do just that.”
Cecily dropped back down so her feet were flat. But before she could move, two tiny arms hugged her around the waist. “Miss Faire! You came!”
Cecily looked down to see young Hannah, her fair curls pulled away from her sweet face and cascading down her back.
“Dear Hannah!” Cecily leaned down to return the child’s hug. “Now, stand back and let me look at you.” She held the child at arm’s length.
Hannah beamed. “Do you like my dress? It used to be Charlotte’s, but Mother adjusted it for me.”
“I adore it!” Cecily smoothed the sleeve of the child’s gown. “I am particularly fond of the blue sash.”
“I am too. Nathaniel got it for me. Mother says he spoils me, but how can such a pretty thing be spoiling me?”
Cecily laughed. “Well, I am sure that he thought such a pretty young lady needed a pretty blue bow. And I think he was absolutely correct.”
“Hello, Hannah,” Mrs. Massey interjected.
Cecily stepped back to include Mrs. Massey in the conversation. “Hannah was just telling me about her new sash.”
“Lovely, child.” But Mrs. Massey seemed preoccupied. “Where is your brother? Do you know?”
Hannah put her finger to the side of her face. “Um, he was over talking to Mr. Weymeir, but he’s not there anymore.”
