by Carré White
Nathanial held a glass of wine, his eyes glinting in the light, following my every move. Basking in his gaze, I soaked in the approval I found there, which buoyed my confidence. Our eyes locked, while I descended as regally as I could, my hand never once leaving the railing. At the bottom, Nathanial approached, cutting an elegant path through the throng of people.
“I never expected this,” he murmured.
“I know. It’s a miracle I didn’t fall.” I laughed nervously, feeling eyes upon me.
“That’s not what I meant at all.” He took my hand, bringing it to his lips. “You’re perfection. What a transformation from that sorry mess I met at city hall.”
“Well, you chose the right dress.”
“That’s not it either.”
“Ah,” said a voice loudly. “There she is!” Mr. Witherspoon approached, his eyes alight with pleasure. “May I present my wife, Mrs. Trinity Witherspoon.” He grasped my hand, leading me away from Nathanial to the center of the hall. A chorus of chatter resounded, people staring at us. “This is Witherspoon Mansion’s new mistress.”
Thrust into the spotlight, I met dozens of people then, their faces swimming before me. Someone gave me a glass of wine, which I gratefully took, the alcohol easing the tension within me. I smiled and conversed with women and men, the introductions continuing until my head swam. We migrated into the ballroom, a room I did not even know we had. Stunned, I gazed at the cavernous space, although many people milled about. Tables of refreshments stood at the back, while the orchestra played the refrains of a waltz, bringing couples out to dance.
“Nathanial,” called Mr. Witherspoon. “Come dance with my wife. I’m sure Trinity’s eager to take a turn.”
Before I could say anything, I found myself in Nathanial’s arms, his lead helping me to remember the steps, as we gracefully wound our way around the room, spinning and spinning. A blur of faces and the colors of satiny dresses flew in the background, people laughing and dancing about us.
“You’re the most beautiful woman here.”
“Oh, stop it. That’s not true.” The wine had made me giddy, my spirits high. “You’re quite handsome yourself.”
He turned me around, his look inscrutable. “I stand by my earlier assessment.”
“You paid for my dresses today.”
“I did.”
“Why?”
“Because I chose what I liked. It was a purely selfish act.”
That confused me. I tilted my head to one side. “I couldn't have done it better. I would’ve chosen some hideous things, if you hadn’t been with me.”
“I know.”
“It’s because of you I feel prepared to face these people. All evening I’ve been pretending to be a princess from some far off country. It’s the only way I’m able to stand here like this. I’m actually terrified.”
“I can tell.”
“Does it show?” I frowned. “I was trying so hard to hide it. Drat.”
“You hid it well. I’m good at reading you.”
We turned again, my skirts brushing his legs. “I thought you hated me?”
He blinked. “Why would you say that?”
“When we first met. You accused me of marrying your father for his money. I didn’t know he was … wealthy. He never mentioned it in the ad. The matchmaker, Elizabeth Miller, never implied it either. She just said he was an older man, who lived comfortably.” I glanced around the room, eyeing several chandeliers overhead. “I say; this is very comfortable.”
“The verdict is still out, but … I might’ve changed my mind about that earlier assessment. It was rash.”
I met his gaze, feeling as if I could trust him. “If I’d come here to marry you … everything would be different.”
An eyebrow lifted. “Really? How so?” His grip increased marginally, fingers pressing into my back.
“I think … I would’ve liked that very much. I think I could’ve been happy.”
Chapter Eight
The wine, the dancing, the dinner … feeling like a princess, being the center of attention … I could not remember a better night. Even when my husband insisted on joining me in my bedchamber, I let him have his way, slipping from the bed after he had succumbed to sleep. It was strange that I never slept in my own room. In the morning, I found my head pounding, the effects of having too much wine the night before.
“Hello,” said a voice softly.
“Ugh.”
“I’ve something for the pain, Mrs. Witherspoon. An old concoction that should do the trick.”
Knowing Mrs. Dexter had arrived with a tray, I peered at her through a half-closed eye. “I feel dreadful.”
“I’m sure most of the guests are in a similar predicament.” She smiled kindheartedly.
Struggling to sit, I gazed at my surroundings, finding a masculine looking room, the drapes drawn shut. “All right. I hope it works. I feel … truly ill.”
She set the tray in my lap. “This will fix you right up.”
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
I glanced at sunny-side up eggs and sausage. A slice of bread slathered in butter sat on a plate. A glass of what looked like tomato juice held a stalk of celery. I took a sip, tasting a hint of vodka. After eating, I did feel better, my head not throbbing as badly. Mrs. Dexter left clothing draped over the back of a chair, a skirt and waist shirt; items I had purchased the day before. After dressing, I arranged my hair simply, twisting it to the back of my head.
Leaving the room, I perceived my husband’s snores across the hallway, Mr. Witherspoon sleeping in my chamber. I heard a commotion in the foyer, heading for the stairs, where I spied Nathanial, who glanced up at me.
“Good morning,” I said. “It’s so early.” Two pieces of baggage stood at his feet. “Are you leaving?” I came to stand beside him.
“I am.”
“So quickly?”
“I never planned this trip. I arrived as soon as I heard he was marrying. I thought to stop it. We all know I was too late.”
“But, why don't you stay?” I had enjoyed dancing with him last night. The thought of him leaving left me wanting to cry. The strength of the emotion stunned me. I swallowed repeatedly, trying to quell it.
“It’s best I don’t stay any longer.”
“I disagree.”
“I know you do.” He appeared stern then, his brows furrowing. “I’ve a ten o’clock train to catch. I need to go now.” The coachman came to the door to retrieve the bags.
“You won’t get to see all the clothes you bought for me.”
“No.” He seemed to steel himself, his jaw firmly set. “It was good meeting you, Trinity. I know you’ll make my father very happy. I’m sorry I was rude when we first met. It was a shock to learn he married a woman younger than me.”
“I still can’t believe I’m married.”
“But you are.”
Unspoken words lingered.
I grasped his hand. “Thank you for everything.” We stared at one another, while a tangible energy passed between us. “When will I see you again?”
“Perhaps Christmas, weather permitting.” He squeezed my hand. “Take care of yourself.”
“I’ll try.”
A hint of a smile appeared. “It was good to meet you.”
“It was good to meet you.”
He nodded, then, without saying another word, he stepped away, his hand slipping from mine. I stood there, going to the steps to watch him alight the carriage. He waved to me before settling inside, the door closing. The coachman called to the horses, the wheels crunching on the cobbled drive. I waited until he was completely out of sight, craning my neck for one last glance.
Mrs. Dexter came up behind me. “I need to speak to you about several things, Mrs. Witherspoon.”
I turned to face her. “Yes?”
“Are you all right? You look like you’ve been crying.”
“No.”
“Do you still feel ill?”
I gathered my emotions, which felt as if they had been run through by a cheese grater. “What can I help you with?”
“We need to go over the menu for the week. Mr. Witherspoon wants to host another party, and I'm stumped on the theme. Now that you’ve been introduced, you’ll have morning callers. I doubt anyone would come today, but I need to know what pastries you like, so we have something to feed them.”
“Gracious be. That’s a lot.”
“It’s the tip of the iceberg. We need to order wine, which is no small task. I have to speak to the florist about which arrangements we need for upcoming events. The dining room needs new draperies and someone has to speak to the gardener.”
“All right.” When I decided to marry, I thought I would be the one cooking and cleaning in a small household. The staff looked to me for advice, and I had little experience with this sort of thing. “Let’s begin with the menu.” We started down the hallway, where I heard the sounds of plates clinking, the servants busy washing dishes from the night before. “You can tell me what Mr. Witherspoon likes to eat, and I can add my own thoughts on the matter. Then we’ll work our way down the list.”
“That’s very sensible, Mrs. Witherspoon.”
“Thank you.”
***
On Mrs. Dexter’s advice, I rose early the next day, dressing and preparing myself to face whatever might be in store for me. She warned portentously about morning callers, and no sooner had I finished breakfast when the first of several carriages arrived at the house. I sat in the parlor with the doctor’s wife, Mrs. Eleanor Watson, who held a small white dog in her lap.
“We feared he would never remarry. The news came as quite a shock. I don’t recall seeing the engagement announced in the papers.”
“It was announced in Boston,” I lied, not knowing if I should tell her about being a mail order bride. “We didn’t think to put it in here. It’s an oversight.”
“Well, no matter. We’re all thrilled he took the plunge again. He was so heartbroken over Jacqueline’s death. Her illness came on so suddenly. My husband did everything he could to save her, but it was to no avail.”
“I don’t know any of the particulars.” I took a sip of tea. “But from what I can tell, she had lovely taste in furnishings and … things.” I felt out of my depth, not having grown up with money. I was ignorant about this lifestyle. I hardly knew how rich people acted, copying their mannerisms and letting them begin the conversations.
The following day, a neighbor, Mrs. Hanover, arrived, bringing with her a small child. She appeared to be closer to my age, her smile affable.
“Hello. I thought I’d come over and introduce myself. We met at the party the other night, but I doubt you’ll remember.”
I escorted her to the parlor, saying, “I’m drawing a blank. I’m sorry.”
She sat on the sofa with the little girl, the child appearing to be less than five years of age. “Do you like hot chocolate?” She nodded. “Mrs. Dexter can make some for you.”
“Thank you very much,” the girl said in a sweet little voice.
“You’re very pretty. I love your hair.” Someone had curled it around her face in tight ringlets. “The lace on your dress is lovely.”
“Mama bought it for me.”
“This is my daughter, Marisa. My older children are in school.”
“I see.”
Mrs. Dexter arrived with a tray. “I can take the little one in the kitchen, if you like. She can have a bite to eat there. I’ve a child’s bib somewhere. We won’t ruin that pretty dress.”
“Can I have hot chocolate?”
“Well, of course you can.” Mrs. Dexter held out her hand. “Come with me.”
Mrs. Hanover smiled politely. “I’m Elise.”
“Trinity.”
“We were stunned to hear Mr. Witherspoon remarried.”
“He wanted to keep things private, I suppose.”
She leaned in marginally. “The age difference … it’s … significant.”
“Yes.”
“What did you do in Massachusetts?”
I wasn’t certain I could trust Elise with the details, eyeing her closely. “I was … a working woman.”
“Oh, you were?”
“I lived with other women in Lawrence.”
“What sort of work?”
“Sewing.” I would omit the part about working in a factory. Let her assume I had been a seamstress. It was close enough to the truth.
“I see.” She frowned slightly. “Then how did you meet Mr. Witherspoon?”
“Through a mutual friend. She thought we would be a good match.”
“Oh.” An intelligent light flashed in her eye. “And you didn’t meet in person until you arrived in Clarksburg?”
“Not really.”
“I don’t mean to pry. I’m sorry.”
“It’s all right. I’m sure people are curious.”
“I thought you were married to Mr. Nathanial Witherspoon.”
“What?”
“At the party. I didn’t realize it was the elder who was your husband. I saw you dancing with Nathanial. He’s not lived here for a good while. He left to go to school. Now he’s a solicitor in Boston.”
“He danced with me because his father was unable. They wanted to please me. It’s a shame to dress for a ball, if you can’t participate.”
“True. You made a fine couple.”
“Who?”
“You and Nathanial. I thought you to be a couple.”
A twinge of unease rippled through me. “Yes, well, he was only being kind.”
“I had a crush on him growing up.”
“Pardon?”
“We’re neighbors, you know. I inherited the house after my parents died. I remember many summers with great fondness. Nate was quite the prankster. We used to run around with a small group of friends, stirring up trouble. My mother would let me out to play, but only after I put my worst dress on.” She smiled wistfully. “He was my first kiss.”
Tiny needles of jealousy pricked away at me. “Truly?”
“We’d hide in haystacks, catch lightning bugs, and run around in creeks. It was marvelous. Then he grew up.” She shrugged. “He was two years older. He left for school, and I met and married Jason.”
“That sounds like a lovely way to grow up.” I had never been able to run around with friends, having lived most of my life in an orphanage. We had chores allotted to us, keeping us busy the entire day. Then, when I was older, there had been some schooling, but not enough.
“You know,” she toyed with a beaded necklace, “I’ve been observing Nathanial for quite a while. I’ve seen him chase girls too. I was never of interest to him in that way, despite the kiss we once shared. He fancied Rebecca Croft. She was the Mayor’s daughter. He tried to court her, but her father had a disagreement with Mr. Witherspoon and prevented the union. It was a bit of a scandal a few years’ back.”
“I didn’t know.”
“Rebecca married someone else and moved away.” She shrugged. “They all got on with their lives.”
“He’s happy in Boston, from what I hear.”
“Yes.” Her gaze drifted over me. “We’re waiting for him to marry. I’ve never met Victoria Peterson before, but I hear he’s courting her.”
“That is what he said.”
“But for how long.”
“What?”
“It’s been more than two years. We’ve given up expecting to hear of an engagement. It’s a bit strange, don't you think, to court someone for that long?”
“I don’t know. I’ve little experience with it.”
“I married Jason as soon as we could arrange the wedding. Waiting would have driven me mad. When you’re in love, why wait?”
“True.”
“You must be deeply in love with Mr. Witherspoon.”
I nearly choked on the tea. “Pardon?”
“You married with all due haste.”
“Yes.”
“There you have it.” She grinned. “True love abounds. Isn’t it glorious?”
“Oh, it most certainly is.” I cringed at those words … knowing I had just lied.
Chapter Nine
Packages came to the house, all of them from the Ladies’ Emporium, the dresses Nathanial had chosen for me. In addition, gloves, stockings, and garters arrived with nightgowns and robes as well. I hadn’t recalled picking those out, frowning, as I unwrapped each package.
I stood with Mrs. Dexter in the bedroom, lifting up a pair of bloomers. “Perhaps they sent this to the wrong house. I didn’t choose these.”
“I’ve a list of items here.” She held up the paper. “The bloomers are on the list. Everything seems to be accounted for.”
“He bought these without my knowledge. Don’t you think that’s strange?” I had voiced my thoughts. “He even chose corsets and camisoles for me.” I fingered the material, the fabric soft.
“Well, I suppose he felt you needed them.”
“I suppose.”
“This is for you too.” She handed me a small velvet pouch.
“What is it?”
“I haven’t a clue.”
I opened the bag, pulling out a silver chain, a locket dangling from the end. “Now, I know this isn’t mine. I didn’t buy this.”
“Well, it’s on the list.”
A floral design had been engraved into the front, with a patchwork quilt engraving on the back. “It’s very pretty.” I opened the locket, which revealed a small, folded piece of paper. “I wonder what this is?” Unfolding the paper, I glimpsed a tiny drawing of a heart with an arrow through it. “Strange.”
Mrs. Dexter hadn’t seen the drawing, but she stared at me. “It’s quite pretty.”
I closed the locket with the paper inside. “Can you put it on?”
“Of course.” She came behind me, attaching it easily.
“Thank you.” My mind drifted to the night of the party, and how it felt to be in Nathanial’s arms. I thought of the embrace we shared that first night as well. He had comforted me when I had been at my weakest.
“Shall I put these away?”
“If you like.”
