by Jane Peart
Before she could answer, Janet interjected, “Perhaps Noramary would first like to go to her room and freshen up after her long journey.”
Suddenly conscious of her probably untidy appearance, Noramary put her hand to her hair and murmured, “Yes, perhaps that would be best. Thank you.”
“Then we can have a nice tea,” Janet said briskly.
“Forgive me, my dear. I wasn’t thinking,” Duncan apologized. “There will be plenty of time to see Montclair.”
“Come along then.” Janet nodded, then turning to one of the women, directed, “Delva, go and fetch Mistress Montrose some hot water and fresh linens.”
Noramary bowed slightly to Duncan, and followed his sister’s tall figure across the wide hallway. Janet opened the first door to the right, stepping back to allow Noramary to precede her into a large, high-ceilinged room.
If this room had been especially planned with her own tastes and comfort in mind, it could not have suited her more perfectly, Noramary marveled. In front of the fire place, where a cheerful fire crackled, were two wing-backed chairs covered in crewel-embroidered linen and flanked by candlestands.
The windows were recessed, curtained in indigo blue, with cushioned seats. Before one of the windows was a small curved desk and chair, and against the opposite wall, a dainty dressing table with a tilted mirror and toilette box on top. An enormous tester bed with blue and white hangings and a quilted coverlet occupied the most prominent space.
“What a lovely room!” Noramary exclaimed.
“I’m glad you’re pleased. Duncan had it completely repainted, the draperies and bed curtains changed after your cousin…” Janet halted abruptly. “Forgive me, Noramary. I just meant to say that Duncan wanted it done over in colors he felt would be more to your liking.”
Duncan’s thoughtfulness removed the sting of the reference to Winnie and the implication that the master bedroom had been originally planned to suit the tastes of another bride. It was a relief to Noramary that her room at Montclair was not simply another “hand-me-down.”
To cover her confusion Noramary moved over to one of the two other doors in the room. “Where do these lead?”
’That one is to Duncan’s dressing room; the other, to your own, but there is another door inside. Why don’t you see for yourself where that one leads?” Janet suggested.
Noramary walked into the dressing room equipped with a slipper chair and large armoire and then pushed open the small inner door to reveal a narrow winding staircase. She turned questioningly to Janet, who stood at the door watching her.
“In the original plans for the house, this stairway led to a nursery. This plan gave the mother privacy and easy access to the child, and also the baby’s nurse could come and go through the upstairs central hall without disturbing the parents. A very convenient arrangement, don’t you see?”
Noramary nodded but made no comment.
“Here comes Delva now with your water and towels, so I’ll leave you. Tea will be served promptly in a half hour.” Janet swept out of the room, closing the door behind her.
The tall, slim black girl entered smiling, her delight in having been chosen to serve the new mistress, undisguised.
Noramary tied back her hair and washed herself, enjoying the refreshing sensation of the warm water and fine lavender-scented soap. She changed into fresh linens, relieved to be out of the blue woolsey traveling costume she had worn for the past twenty-four hours. Delva helped her into a cinnamon-colored bodice and gold overskirt looped in velvet ribbon, then helped arrange Noramary’s hair in a shiny fall of rippling waves secured with a velvet ribbon.
When she joined Janet and Duncan in the parlor, she found an abundant tea table. At her appearance Duncan lifted the glass he was holding, saying, “To your first day at Montclair, Noramary. May it be only the beginning of a lifetime of happiness under its roof.”
Duncan’s words reminded her of that moment in the carriage when she had been gripped by the strange premonition. Nevertheless, she quickly banished it and acknowledged Duncan’s toast.
“I pray God it will be so.”
chapter
12
A BLUE HAZE of early autumn hung in the stillness of the afternoon as Noramary left the house. Once out of view she picked up her skirts and ran lightly along the woodland path. The crispness in the air was exhilarating, and the feeling of freedom from Janet’s constant supervision, intoxicating. Noramary ran until she was breathless. On this particular afternoon Janet had retired for a nap—an event unprecedented in the three weeks Noramary had been at Montclair. The nap was in preparation for the long festive evening ahead, a farewell party given in Janet’s honor. And though the two women had gotten on admirably, Noramary could not truly say she was sorry to see her sister-in-law go.
The following day Janet was to depart for Yorktown, there to embark her ship for her return to Scotland. Ever since Noramary’s arrival at Montclair, Janet had been instructing her on her duties as mistress. Contrary to Janet’s fears and to her own astonishment, Noramary had been an apt pupil and had learned quickly.
These had been intense weeks, each day filled with learning, adjusting, absorbing all Janet was trying to teach her about the management of a huge plantation house. There had been a constant flow of callers, Duncan’s neighbors, if one could call them such, separated as they were by great distances and hundreds of acres. Nevertheless, everyone had been eager to meet Duncan’s bride, the new Mistress of Montclair.
And tonight would be her first time to entertain them officially in her new role, Noramary thought, half in anticipation, half in apprehension.
Noramary had learned, however, that being mistress of such a large manor house was much more complicated than playing the gracious hostess. It was a role she had never imagined would be so demanding. At first Noramary was nearly overwhelmed by the duties detailed by her new sister-in-law: overseeing the houseservants, fourteen in all, each with different duties to supervise.
Daily, there was the cleaning, dusting, waxing, and polishing required to keep the twenty-room house sparkling. There were menus to discuss with the cook, then supplies to be measured and brought from the storehouses; the available fruits and vegetables in season, to be picked from the gardens and orchards. Since all the fabric for the servants’ clothing was processed on the plantation, there was the supervision of wool-carding, spinning, dying, and weaving. The linen for bedding and table use was made from flax grown on the land.
Since candle-dipping and soap-making were important to the smooth operation of the household, the mistress must keep close check on the progress of these activities so that supplies never ran short.
It seemed there was no end to the list of responsibilities Noramary would assume upon Janet’s departure. The very thought of it left her dizzy. The Barnwell household, with fewer servants, had seemed to run itself. Now, however, Noramary realized that was probably due to Aunt Betsy’s efficient management with the lighter chores divided among all four girls.
At the end of the first few days, following Janet as she made rounds, Noramary was nearing exhaustion. She found she could barely keep her eyes open throughout the late dinner hour and fell asleep the instant her head touched the pillow each night.
Guiltily, Noramary knew she would not miss her sister-in-law’s cold, patrician face, the fastidious manners, the tedious way she had of explaining things. Nevertheless, Janet’s efficiency and swift dispatch of duty would leave a gaping void.
Thank God for Ellen, Noramary thought gratefully.
It had been decided that Janet’s own housekeeper, Ellen Anderson, whom she had brought with her to Virginia, would stay awhile longer to assist Noramary.
Noramary liked Ellen, who was bright and cheerful, with an unexpected and delightful sense of humor. Most importantly, the brisk Scotswoman was wonderfully proficient in all the household tasks.
By the time Noramary reached the rustic bridge spanning the creek, she was breathless, both from her brisk run and from
her turbulent thoughts. Since the night she and Duncan had been stranded by the flash flood, the little bridge had been repaired. She paused, leaning on the rail, and looked down to the sun-dappled water rushing over the rocks and swirling into opalescent eddies. She had had no time to herself for weeks and now she felt a sudden, heart-catching loneliness.
These had been strange weeks since her arrival on that stormy night. Strangest of all, perhaps, was her puzzling relationship with her new husband. Husband? Perhaps not, for they were not yet husband and wife in the fullest sense, and she was puzzled why that was so.
Her very first night at Montclair, he had escorted her to the master suite. There he had bowed over her hand, kissed it, and told her gravely that, after his two-week absence, there were plantation records that needed reviewing. He bade her good night and a pleasant rest, and left her staring after him in bewilderment.
The next morning when she had awakened in the bed alone, her curiosity piqued, she had tiptoed over to the dressing room door and looked in. The room was empty. There was evidence, however, that Duncan had slept on the narrow couch in the recessed alcove.
Since then, he had continued to sleep in the adjoining dressing room. Duncan seemed fond of her, was unfailingly courteous, seemed ever interested in providing her with any number of things for her pleasure and happiness. With eager pride he had shown her the music room, where a small harpsichord stood waiting. No doubt he had purchased it especially for her after hearing her play, for Winnie was not musical. On another occasion he had taken her out to the stables and presented her with the gift of a gentle, sweet-tempered black mare.
“She’s yours to name,” Duncan had said, smiling down at her.
“Cinders” had become a delight and a welcome respite on several mornings when Noramary managed to escape Janet’s relentless tutelage.
Though Noramary was innocent, as were most of the other unmarried young women of her acquaintance, still she was troubled. Surely by this time her marriage to Duncan should be more than affectionate consideration and lavish gifts.
Of course, there were doubtless many practical reasons for his frequent absences. This was harvesttime at Montclair, and Duncan spent long days in the saddle, riding over the acres and acres of land, while her days were crowded as well. And then there was Janet’s constant presence—at meals, in the parlor, in the kitchen, wherever Noramary turned. There was little opportunity for romantic intimacy with her husband under these unusual circumstances.
Fleetingly Noramary recalled those few hours of laughter and unique camaraderie she and Duncan had shared so unpredictably on their wedding night in the warmth of the little cottage. Perhaps… after Janet was gone… Noramary mused.
Noramary stretched out her hand, surveying the ring on her finger alongside her wedding band. Only that morning Janet had called her upstairs to the room she had been occupying while at Montclair. Her trunks were open, and she was doing the last of her packing. Noramary had expected some last-minute instructions. Instead, Janet had taken off a large ring from her own finger and handed it to Noramary.
’This is the traditional Montrose betrothal ring,” she explained. “It came to me upon our mother’s death. But I think you should have it, wear it, as the first Mistress of Montclair.”
Noramary had often noticed the dark purple amethyst on Janet’s finger, but had never examined it closely. Now, as it lay in her palm, she saw its exquisite craftsmanship, the stone in a heart-shaped setting, held by two sculptured hands under a tiny crown.
“It’s very lovely, Janet. Are you sure I should have it?”
“I have no sons to inherit it,” Janet said firmly. “And it is my belief that it should stay in the Montrose family to be handed on to your son to give to his wife, then down through the family.”
To your son… Janet’s words came to her now as she held out her hand, turning the ring this way and that to catch the sun and split its rays into a million lavender lights.
Noramary left the bridge and walked on, still lost in thought. She came to a clearing in the woods and there, on a little rise, she saw the cottage where she and Duncan had stayed the night of the storm. Something real, something tender and strong had sprung up between them; a bond had been forged, tenuous perhaps, but in it there had been an unspoken promise given, but not yet fulfilled.
She stood there for awhile, looking at the small house nestled in the trees, then she turned and started slowly back along the path leading to Montclair. Perhaps Duncan was waiting for some sign from her—that she was willing at last to make their marriage a true union. Maybe, just maybe, it was up to her.…
Tonight would present her first opportunity to show him that, even though she had not been his first choice, she was the right choice.
Tonight she would make Duncan Montrose proud, happy that she had become his bride—even if the substitute bride.
chapter
13
SEATED AT HER DRESSING TABLE Noramary, brush in hand, considered the possibility of letting Delva powder her hair for the evening’s festivities.
The candles in the sconces on either side of the mirror cast flattering light, reflecting her serious expression as she weighed her decision. Delva, anxiously awaiting her mistress’s directions, stood behind with the horn-shaped paper face mask and powder bowl, ready to dust Noramary’s rich dark hair if she was directed.
“No,” said Noramary finally, “it’s much too much bother.” Besides, she thought, Duncan never powders his hair, even for formal occasions. And tonight, standing by his side to receive their guests, she wanted to complement him.
“Now, Delva, if you’ll put that messy stuff away, you can help me with my gown.”
Noramary stood while the girl carefully dropped the damask underskirt over her head and tied it in the back. With the width of the three starched muslin petticoats Noramary was wearing, her tiny waist looked even smaller. Then the puffed taffeta paniers were attached, adding more fashionable breadth. Next came the shirred satin bodice with the tiny buttons to be fastened down the back. Stiff lace ruffled the square neckline and elbow-length sleeves.
“Oh, ma’am, yo’ does look mos’ beautiful! Jes’ wait “til Marster Duncan sees yo’.” Delva stepped back, smiling, head cocked to one side in admiration.
Noramary surveyed herself critically, thinking with some satisfaction that, although this modish creation was also one of those hand-me-downs made for Winnie’s trousseau, then altered for Noramary’s taller, more slender figure, it was extremely becoming. It was blue, the color of a peacock’s feather, chosen to enhance Winnie’s blonde prettiness. Nonetheless, the gown proved spectacularly becoming to Noramary’s blue eyes and rose-tinted complexion.
She hoped that Duncan would be pleased with her appearance. She had seen him ride in from his field inspection earlier. From her window she had watched as he swung himself out of the saddle, moving with careless grace, then took the steps into the house, two at a time. A little later she had heard his voice mingled with that of his manservant’s from the dressing room and knew he, too, was getting ready for the evening.
Noramary felt an excited little tingle at the prospect of her role as hostess for the evening. Many times she had helped Aunt Betsy entertain guests, but never before had she enjoyed the privilege of overseeing an elegant party in her own magnificent home.
Even as she was thinking these thoughts, a knock from Duncan’s dressing-room door startled her and she turned just as he entered the bedroom, handsome in a saffron satin coat, fluted neckpiece and cuffs, creamy breeches.
“Good evening, Noramary,” he said, his sweeping glance taking note of every detail. “How truly lovely you look.”
The spontaneous compliment seemed to surprise him as much as it pleased Noramary, for he reddened slightly under his tan. Then, he took a few steps toward her, extending a rectangular velvet jewel case.
“I’d be pleased if you’d wear these tonight. They belonged to my mother.” He pressed the spring lo
ck, and the lid snapped open to reveal a magnificent ruby brooch surrounded by diamonds and a set of matching earrings of teardrop-shaped rubies, also surrounded by tiny diamonds.
“Oh, Duncan, they’re exquisite!”
’There is a gold chain so that you can also wear the brooch as a pendant if you’d prefer,” Duncan explained. “Here.” He handed her the box.
She lifted them carefully from the box, fastened in the earrings, then turned to Duncan, holding out the fragile chain on which she had attached the brooch.
“Will you fasten the clasp for me?” she asked. With one hand she lifted her curls and bent her slender neck. As his fingers touched her bare skin, she felt a little shiver. When he had secured the catch, his hands moved tentatively along her neck to her shoulders, lingering there for a moment. She turned slowly around to face him.
“I’m afraid you and Janet are spoiling me,” she teased. “Why only today she gave me this—another Montrose jewel.” She held out her hand so he could see the betrothal ring. “With all these family treasures, I am truly beginning to feel like your wife!”
The minute the words were out of her mouth, she regretted them. But Duncan’s eyes seemed to blaze with sudden fire, and then he caught both her hands and brought them to his lips.
“Not quite, Noramary,” he said huskily. “There is something important I want to say to you—that I’ve meant to tell you for some time. But there hasn’t been the opportunity… nor could I find the words.” He paused, struggling to go on.
Duncan was gazing at her with such tenderness that Noramary felt a warm melting sensation. Meeting those clear gray eyes, she experienced a sense of intimate communion between them. Then Duncan spoke again.
“No matter how it came about, I am so very happy you agreed to become my wife. The rubies were my father’s wedding present to my mother and have come to be called the Montrose Bridal Set.” He paused again, then his voice grew soft with emotion. “Noramary, from the moment I met you, I felt—even then—something. I think… I believe—I have been waiting for you all these years.”
