by Bess McBride
“Hickstrom will do, dear. Miss Hickstrom makes me feel quite old. Yes, I thought I must slip back in and speak to you for a moment. I simply could not continue listening to Lady Georgianna dither on about the house. My eyelids were closing in earnest.”
“I saw you yawn. I wondered what the emergency was.”
Hickstrom moved into the room.
“None, but do not be lulled by my unwavering attention. I have other hearts to which I must attend. Halwell’s is not the only heart that yearns for love.”
“Oh wow! This really is a fairy tale, isn’t it?”
“But of course, my dear. What else? Am I not a fairy godmother?”
“So you do admit it!” Rachel said, her tone accusatory.
“Of course I admit it! Did I not say so when we first met?”
“Okay then, are you Halwell’s fairy godmother?”
“I am fairy godmother to many lonely hearts, dear, including yours.”
“Mine? I don’t have a broken heart, Hickstrom, and I really don’t need a fairy godmother.”
“I think you must be wrong, Miss Lee.”
“Rachel. If I’m calling you Hickstrom, then you can call me Rachel. And I don’t think I’m wrong. In fact, I’ve never even been in love, so how could I have a lonely heart?”
“Thank you. I am pleased to call you Rachel. You have answered the question yourself. Your heart is lonely because you have never fallen in love. Your heart is lonely because you are without love. Do you remember the last time you said ‘I love you’?”
Rachel shook her head.
“It was to your grandmother moments before she passed away. And that was four years ago.”
Tears sprang to Rachel’s eyes. “That’s different! Those were my grandparents. She died just a week after my grandfather. I’m sure it was of a broken heart.”
“That is quite possible,” Hickstrom said with a nod. “Still, you have known no other love in your life in all those years.”
“I’ve been busy!”
“You have a quaint expression in your time, Rachel, that is most fitting. ‘You’re not getting any younger.’”
“Oh, you didn’t just say that!”
Hickstrom’s cheeks bloomed, and she nodded. “I did. I found it quite appropriate. From what I can see, you intend to devote yourself to your bookshop to the exclusion of love, marriage and children.”
Rachel gasped. No one had actually ever described her life in such stark terms.
“So what of it? Lots of women choose career over marriage and family, Hickstrom, especially in the twenty-first century! I am not a brood mare!”
Rachel said the words in anger, but to her surprise, Hickstrom covered her mouth and started laughing.
“A brood mare indeed! Now, there is a nineteenth-century term, if not more antiquated.” She stopped tittering and sobered. “No, indeed, you do not exist solely to produce children, Rachel. But you do exist to give love and to be loved. We all do. You have the capacity to make someone very happy, to complete his life and help him break free from that mother of his.”
Rachel drew in a sharp breath.
“Halwell? You brought me here for Halwell? To what? Marry him? The man is in love with Mary Palmer St. John, et cetera, et cetera! He told me so himself today. Oh, Hickstrom, what have you done? Neither one of us needs a matchmaker or a fairy godmother. He’s in love with someone else, and I just want to move my books around on the shelves in my shop.”
“Nonsense, dear—”
A knock on the door caught their attention. A footman entered with a tray of tea, and when Rachel looked toward Hickstrom, she was gone. Rachel spun around on her heels, searching the room, but the fairy godmother had vanished.
The footman set the tray down on a table in front of the settee.
“Would you like me to pour, miss?”
“No, thank you. I’ll get it.” Rachel wanted him to leave so Hickstrom could come out of wherever she hid. The footman left and Rachel called out.
“Hickstrom! Where are you? Come out!”
The room was silent, and Rachel searched the space, opening cabinets and looking behind curtains. Hickstrom had vanished. Time travel was possible, and fairy godmothers really did exist.
And Rachel still no idea what she was supposed to do. Make Halwell fall in love with her by cataloguing his books?
Chapter Seven
Halwell knocked on his mother’s bedroom door when he knew that she had probably risen from her rest.
“Come in,” she called out.
He entered to see her sitting on her settee in her dressing gown, sipping a cup of tea.
“Georgie,” she called out. “Will you join me?”
“Yes, thank you, Mother.”
His mother poured a cup and handed it to him, and he sipped it. He knew he must bide his time, for he felt certain his mother would protest his plan. Of course, he would not be dissuaded, but he did not wish to argue, and he did require her help in contacting the dressmaker. It would be unseemly for him to order gowns for a houseguest himself.
He drank his tea and let his mother chat for a few moments before raising the subject.
“Mother, I have asked Miss Lee to join us at the St. John ball next week.” He rushed on, the brightness in his mother’s cheeks already evident. “She is American. Mary St. John is American. I am certain Mary would like to meet her.”
“But the ball, George? Miss Lee is only here to work in the library. She is not a guest, dear. I do not even know what class she comes from. She seems well educated, certainly, but her people might have been in trade with enough wealth to see to her schooling. She herself owned a shop, did she not?”
“That matters not to me, Mother.”
“It should, George! We know nothing about her. It is impolite to foist her upon the local gentry without knowing more about her background.”
“I suppose I could ask her about her family connections, but that will not dissuade me. I have already invited her and sent a note around to Alvord Castle begging their indulgence in adding another guest. Lady St. John responded within the hour stating she would be pleased to receive Miss Lee. I ask that you help Miss Lee procure a suitable ball gown and that you order several additional dresses for her. Lucy was most kind, but her dress is much too severe for Miss Lee.”
His mother stared at him with her jaw uncharacteristically lax.
“Too severe? Whatever do you mean?”
“Perhaps that was not the best choice of words. Describing dresses has proven to be very tasking today,” he said with a sigh. “Lucy is a maid. Miss Lee is not. She has fallen on unfortunate circumstances, but I have no doubt she is a lady and comes from a fine family. Even the publican’s wife dresses in silk. Perhaps you could order her several gowns in colors more befitting her complexion, in material more suitable to her station.”
His mother settled her tea into her saucer with a decisive snap before setting the offending porcelain onto a table with force loud enough to crack the set. Fortunately, it did not break.
“Her station! George, she is a shopkeeper at best! There are those amongst our acquaintance who would be vastly put out to find themselves dining with a shopkeeper!”
Halwell drew in a sharp breath, aware of an unaccustomed surge of anger, the second that day toward his mother.
“Name them, Mother, and I shall avoid them from this day forward!”
“Nonsense, George! What has come over you? Must you pine after every stray American miss that falls at your feet?”
Halwell quirked an eyebrow and set his teacup down with care before rising with deliberation.
“That is an absurd comment, madam, and unnecessarily cruel. If you do not believe you can fulfill my request, please say so at once.”
Lady Georgianna shook her head.
“She is not at all suitable, George, not for a ball at Alvord Castle, not as a guest, and not for you.”
“Thank you, Mother! I only asked that you help her
with purchasing a dress, not a bridal gown. I will leave you now.”
He strode from the room, shaking inwardly. He had never felt so angry with his mother before as he had that day. He had often wondered if his father remained in London to avoid his wife, but until that moment, Halwell had not realized that his mother could be so unkind.
Surely, helping a young miss purchase a dress or two did not suggest that he had designs upon her, that he wished to wed her! What was his mother thinking?
Halwell stopped at the door of the library and paused. He declined to enter but moved on to his study to pen a note to Mary.
My dear Lady St. John,
Thank you for offering our guest, Miss Rachel Lee, an invitation to your ball at my behest. I know she will be pleased to attend and to make your acquaintance.
I find myself now compelled to ask for your assistance in a delicate matter. Miss Lee was the proprietor of a bookshop in the village, which, according to Miss Lee and our mutual acquaintance, Miss Hickstrom, burned down recently. Poor Miss Lee lost all her inventory, and as she lived above the shop, all her clothing and possessions.
I have offered her temporary employment cataloguing my library, and she is making do this day with a dress borrowed from one of our maids, Lucy, who is of a similar petite frame. But Miss Lee is a well-educated woman, and I believe she comes from a good family, although I have not asked, and I do not feel that a maid’s dress is suitable attire for her.
The favor I request is this: Would you be willing to assist her in selecting and purchasing a few gowns for day wear, perhaps a coat, a bonnet and a ball gown? I would provide the funds, of course, but it would be unseemly for me to escort her to the dressmaker in town or to ask the dressmaker to attend her here at Alton House.
I should note that Miss Lee is, like you, an American. She is from Virginia. I do not know how she came to own a bookshop in Hertfordshire, but I am sure I will one day find out.
In the meantime, I rely upon your discretion. If you could assist me with this, I would be greatly in your debt.
Yours,
GH
Halwell sealed the note and rang for a footman.
“Samuel, please take this immediately to Alvord Castle and deliver it to Lady St. John in person. If she is not available to take it, say that it is for her only and no other.”
“Straight away, your lordship!”
Samuel left, and Halwell settled down to some paperwork. In his father’s frequent and prolonged absences, he left the management of the estate to his son. They did employ an estate manager, who had left several documents on Halwell’s desk to review and sign. He had hoped those would occupy his thoughts for several hours, but they were largely unimportant, and he dispatched them in short order.
With time on his hands before dinner, Halwell settled back in his chair and stared out the window of the study, which faced the drive and the lawns and forest beyond. He did not expect a response from Mary again that afternoon, as the hour was growing late, but he stared at the drive nonetheless.
Acutely aware of Miss Lee’s presence on the other side of the wall in the library, Halwell struggled to remain in his study and leave her to her work. He rose and paced the room, pausing to look out the window, to sort papers on the desk and to pour himself a quick glass of port.
Still, he felt at loose ends, and he finally granted himself a reprieve and left the study to knock on the library door. There he found Miss Lee busily jotting down books on paper. He had not imagined a scholar, a shopkeeper, might be so messy in her penmanship as suggested by the blots of ink on the paper, but he did not like to say anything.
“How are you faring?” he asked, striving for a congenial tone. He did not wish for Miss Lee to know about his mother’s refusal to assist in procuring clothing, nor how angry he was with her.
“Fine,” she said, dropping her quill into the inkpot, an act that explained the splotches on the paper. She turned and dropped down onto the sofa to reach for her tea.
“Would you like a cup of tea?” she asked.
“Yes, of course,” he said, though he was saturated with tea. He poured himself a cup and sat down in a chair across from her.
“Is the library in great disarray?”
“Not at all.”
“How will you catalogue them? By author or by subject?”
“Probably alphabetically. That would be easiest, don’t you think?”
“Certainly, although I might have difficulty if I cannot remember a particular author’s name but wish to search out a particular subject matter. For example, plays or poetry. I simply cannot remember the names of all the playwrights whose works are in the library.”
“I can do another list and cross reference them by subject and author. I haven’t gotten too far into the project yet.”
“An excellent idea. I see your training manifested in your suggestion.”
Miss Lee gave him a broad smile, and he almost suspected her of laughing, but she pressed her teacup to her lips. He studied her for a moment.
Her mouth was generous, her teeth white and straight. The color of her hair reminded him of fall mornings, and those tendrils that had not been caught up at the crown curled delightfully around her ears and neck. She was small and slight. Her dark-lashed eyes often sparkled as if in laughter, their gray depths seemingly bottomless.
A knock at the door startled Halwell, and he called out. “Enter.”
Samuel opened the door. “Lord and Lady St. John ask if they may speak with you, your lordship, and Miss Lee.”
Halwell jumped up and cast a quick glance at the equally startled Miss Lee.
“They are here?”
“Yes, your lordship.”
“Yes, of course. Show them in.” Halwell did not know what had precipitated a call at such a late hour, but he suspected it was his note. He regretted he had not advised Miss Lee that he had requested Mary’s help.
St. John entered first, followed by Mary. As always, Halwell’s heart quickened in Mary’s presence. He had imagined not so very long ago that she might be his life’s companion, but that had not come to pass.
Beautifully attired in a caramel-colored silk gown that matched her hair, Mary entered the room and stared at Miss Lee.
“Miss Rachel Lee, may I present Lord Thomas St. John, the Earl of Alvord, and Lady Mary St. John, Countess of Alvord.”
“Rachel,” Mary said in a voice filled with cryptic meaning. “Did Hickstrom send you?”
Miss Lee had risen at the introductions but sat down again rather abruptly without benefit of a curtsy. With a nod in Mary’s direction, Miss Lee looked to Halwell and then returned her attention to the arrivals.
Mary turned to St. John, exchanging yet another unfathomable glance.
Halwell, largely confused at an undercurrent that he did not understand, did what all good hosts must. “Will you have some tea?”
“No, thank you,” Mary said, her brown eyes focused on Miss Lee. “We’ve just had some. May we sit?”
“Certainly! Forgive my manners. You received my note then?”
Mary sat on the sofa next to Miss Lee, and they stared at each other silently in the oddest way, as if they knew each other. St. John, choosing to remain standing, joined Halwell near the mantel.
“What is afoot?” Halwell asked St. John in a low voice.
“I am truthfully not at liberty to say. I must leave it to the women to elucidate you.”
“I beg your pardon?” Halwell stiffened, not particularly at ease in the earl’s presence. Not so long before, the gentleman had been little more than a reclusive ogre, absent from society for years until Miss Palmer appeared out of the blue and he claimed her for his own. Suddenly, he was a well-groomed, elegant and socially proficient country gentleman wedded to the lady to whom Halwell had offered his heart and home. No, indeed Halwell was not at ease with St. John, and he frankly did not like him.
“This is not my affair, and I am not able to speak about it. You must trust Ma
ry in this. I know she thanks you for contacting her.”
“I merely asked her to assist Miss Lee in procuring a few suitable garments. My mother is unwilling...” He pressed his lips together. He had no intention of discussing his mother with the earl. “Unfortunate circumstances have befallen Miss Lee, and she lost her shop, her home, her clothing.”
“I read your note,” St. John replied tersely, seemingly equally unhappy with Halwell.
The situation was untenable. Halwell, normally possessed of a congenial disposition, had no enemies, no one in his acquaintance who disliked him. And he himself disliked no one. Except St. John.
He firmed his chin and turned to watch Mary and Miss Lee. Mary had taken Miss Lee’s hand and held it. She nodded reassuringly, as if exchanging unspoken thoughts. He noted with surprise that the two women were similar to each other in appearance. Both had curly reddish-brown hair, both had dark eyes and both were petite.
He felt called upon to speak.
“Lady St. John, thank you for calling upon us. I presume you have come to inquire after Miss Lee?”
“Yes,” she replied, her attention on Miss Lee.
“Miss Lee,” Halwell began, “I did not have an opportunity to tell you, but I asked Lady St. John to assist you in procuring a few gowns, some for daytime wear, and one for the St. John ball. By virtue of Lady St. John’s visit, I believe she accepts the task. I see that you two have already become fast friends, and I hoped it would be so. You have much in common.”
Miss Lee turned to look at him. “Apparently we do.” She turned back to Mary. “Your husband?”
Mary nodded. “Yes, he knows.”
Halwell glanced at St. John again with the growing perception that Halwell was the only one in the room who failed to comprehend something of significance. Nothing in his upbringing allowed him to ask the group directly what had occurred. Except perhaps one question.
“I have the distinct impression that you, Lady St. John, and Miss Lee know each other? Is that true?”
Miss Lee glanced at Mary, as if waiting for her to respond.
“No, Rachel and I have never met before,” Mary said. “But you know, since we both come from America, we feel a kinship, right, Rachel?”
