Cecily could not help but wonder where Mr. Stanton slept since all the upper rooms were spoken for. She quickly rebuked herself for wondering so personal a detail about a man she barely knew.
Rebecca offered a warm smile as she paused in the doorway. “Good night, then. Pleasant dreams.”
She pulled the door closed behind her, and the sound of her footsteps retreating down the wooden hallway faded. Cecily tightened her borrowed shawl around her, indulging in a shiver that seemed to shake her to her very core. She stepped to the window and looked out. The rain continued to fall in uneven waves. She squinted to make out her surroundings.
But she was met only with blackness.
Her eyes now burning with the cry for rest, Cecily pulled back the modest covers and crawled into the bed. She pressed her cheek against the rough, linen pillow. She kept her eyes fixed, unwavering, on the uncovered paned window, watching as lightning streaked across the black sky. She took a deep, slow breath and held it. The steady rhythm of rain should lull her to sleep, yet her mind was alive with the unfamiliarity around her.
She squeezed her eyes shut. The sound reminded her of that night five years ago when her life was forever changed. Even though she no longer felt heartbreak over the severed romance, not a day passed when she didn’t think about Andrew and what their life would have been like. And equally as compelling, not a day passed when she did not regret the impulsiveness of her actions or the recklessness of her disregard.
She had, of course, found happiness at Rosemere, and she was likely far better off there than she had ever been at Aradelle. She had made peace with her separation from Andrew and her father.
But she still felt the separation from her twin with aching loss.
She reached up and touched the coral necklace about her neck, wondering for the millionth time if her sister missed it.
She’d been wrong to take it. For this necklace belonged to her sister as much as it did to her. One day she would return it. She wasn’t sure where or how, but once she was settled at Willowgrove, she was determined to start her search.
8
Sunlight sliced through the uncovered window and pried Cecily’s eyes open.
The previous night’s storms had given way to a brilliant blue sky, with two fluffy white clouds visible through the window.
She sat up slowly, wincing at the pinch in her back and side. Today, the effects of riding in the jostling carriage and pulling the trunk behind her pressed upon every limb, and she stretched her sore, tired muscles, reaching her arms above her and wiggling her fingers.
In the light of morning, she finally got a good look at the room around her. White wainscoting met pale-blue walls. A small rosewood stand stood tucked between the window and the adjacent wall. On it was her candle from the previous evening, along with three books piled in a tidy stack. She stood from the bed and stepped to the books, picking up one volume. The Romance of the Forest. She knew the story well. She leafed through the pages and then set it down. She lifted her attention back to the view. Beyond her window was the stunning landscape of Willowgrove Hall.
Just as the family had indicated, the field bordering the cottage courtyard was indeed flooded, shining like glass in the morning stillness. She turned the latch on the window and pushed it open, allowing the cool, fresh morning air to swirl around her. It smelled clean, as it should after a rain, and its soft kiss on her cheeks invigorated her senses. The sound of a cow lowing drew her attention, and she leaned to her left. The cowhouse was on the other side of the courtyard wall. Two brown cows moved about a small pen.
Without warning, Mr. Stanton rounded the corner—tall, the sunlight highlighting his high cheekbones and black hair. His gray greatcoat emphasized how his broad shoulders tapered to his waist. At the sight, her heart lurched, then pounded. She pulled the window shut and stepped back. The last thing she wanted was to be discovered staring at a man from a window in only her nightclothes.
But it was more than that.
The memory of his intense gaze had stayed with her, tempting to awaken a part of her heart that she had determined must remain closed.
She would not allow her heart to feel such an inclination for any man ever again.
As she retreated from the window, she forced her mind to another topic. Today was the day. Her new life was spread before her, an unspoiled page, a story ready to be written. At the thought, a little wave of nerves coursed through her. Would Mrs. Trent be fond of her? Could she be a suitable companion?
As she turned toward her chest, her gaze fell on her traveling gown, draped neatly over a chair in the corner. Her fingers traced the gown’s elegant velvet trimming and the scalloped hem. It was damp. Someone had washed it. Gone were the traces of mud that had marred the hem. The dress, the repair to her trunk, the meal, and the camaraderie . . . what kindness she was finding at Laurel Cottage.
Cecily only hoped she found the same reception at Willowgrove Hall.
She lifted her trunk’s lid. All of the carefully packed contents had been shuffled, no longer in the orderly stacks and folds Cecily had so painstakingly prepared the night before she departed Rosemere. Although the outside had been cleaned, Mr. Stanton had left her personal belongings alone, for which she was grateful.
With a sigh, she lifted one muddy gown, then another. They were far too dirty to be worn, and now her traveling dress was clean, but wet.
As she was contemplating her dilemma, a soft knock sounded at the door.
Rebecca popped her head inside. “Oh, good, you’ve awakened. I’ve no wish to disturb you, but I thought I heard you rustling about.”
Cecily could not help but notice Rebecca appeared different by the light of day. Her smooth, blond hair was parted down the middle and swept off her long neck. Her skin appeared much fairer in the white light of dawn, and blond eyebrows and eyelashes framed her dark eyes.
How dissimilar she looked from her brother.
Cecily smiled and motioned for her to enter. “Please, Miss Stanton. Do come in. Have I slept late?”
“Remember, it is not Miss Stanton. Rebecca will do.” Rebecca stepped in, closed the door behind her, and sat on the bed. “The hour is about nine, but Mother suggested that we let you sleep until you rose naturally, considering your long journey. She worries so about people falling ill, and you were in that damp dress for so long! She always says that sleep is the best prevention of ailments, and it is also the best cure.”
Cecily straightened from the trunk, gown still in hand. “That is most thoughtful.”
As Rebecca’s gaze fell on the gown, her eyebrows drew together in concern. “Heavens, is that your dress?”
Cecily nodded. “I fear so. The contents of my trunk fell out when the driver threw it from the carriage, and this is the result.”
“That will not do.” Rebecca rose and pulled a gown from the wardrobe. As she continued to sort through the garments, she said, “Hannah and Charlotte are anxious for you to be awake. I think they are quite taken with you.”
Cecily smiled. “They are sweet. They make me feel at home. I am accustomed to having children around.”
“I fear you will find no children at Willowgrove, but you are welcome at Laurel Cottage whenever you are feeling lonely. I am sure they would be most happy to oblige. Here, I will help you dress.”
Cecily put the comb down beside her, looking at the gown in Rebecca’s hand. “But that is your dress, is it not? I cannot trespass on your kindness yet again.”
Rebecca nodded toward the trunk. “Well, you cannot meet Mrs. Trent in that gown, nor a nightdress. That would never do.”
“I suppose you are right.” Cecily sighed. “I noticed someone was kind enough to wash my traveling dress, though.” She turned to allow Rebecca to help her with her stays.
“That would have been Bessie.” Rebecca gave a little giggle, a soft, gleeful sound that reminded Cecily of the tinkling of bells. “I think she felt sorry for you, having to stay here when you were expecting to s
pend the night at Willowgrove. No doubt the staff at Willowgrove will have no trouble cleaning your other gowns, but she thought it would be horrible for you to have to arrive in a gown caked with mud. She would not want anyone at the main house thinking her incapable of caring for guests at Laurel Cottage. She has quite a reputation—an honorable one—and she is intent upon keeping it.”
Cecily let her gaze linger on the traveling dress as Rebecca finished the lacing, trying to ignore the sudden pinch of homesickness. “The headmistress of the school gave me the gown before I left.”
“I have often wondered what it would have been like to go away to school. My mother saw to my education, and now I help her with Charlotte and Hannah, but I fear I lack patience. Nathaniel, of course, was educated by our father. Here, put this on.”
Cecily lowered her eyes as Rebecca helped her into the gown of green printed cotton. She was not sent to school to learn. Indeed, her education had nothing to do with her father’s decision.
A wren’s chirp floated into the room, almost as if beckoning her out into the fresh air. She swallowed the pang of homesickness and focused on the excitement of the day before her.
Rebecca motioned for Cecily to turn. “My brother says you must have brought the pleasant weather with you.”
Cecily’s heart gave the queerest jump at the reference to Mr. Stanton. She gathered her waist-length hair and held it up so Rebecca could fasten the buttons down the back. “Oh?”
“Yes, says you must be good luck, for you brought the sun.” Rebecca smiled, fastening the buttons with a feather-light touch. “He has been beside himself with all of this flooding business as of late. He has a bit of responsibility on his shoulders, I fear. It has put him in quite a foul mood, but today his spirits seem much improved.” She paused, and a mischievous twinkle danced in her dark eyes. “Perhaps it is you.”
The silly smile on Rebecca’s face conveyed to Cecily that her words were in jest, but why this schoolgirl flutter in her stomach?
Cecily reminded herself that she was unaccustomed to being around young men.
But then the memory of her past flashed in her mind’s eye.
Budding romantic thoughts of any man, regardless of how innocent or fleeting, could only lead down a path paved with disappointment.
Once finished with the buttons, Rebecca assessed the gown on Cecily. “Well now, what do you think?”
Cecily looked down at the gown. It was so strange to see a patterned dress on her body. The printed muslin was pale beige with tiny green leaves and pink flowers running the length of it, and a narrow satin sash hugged her upper torso, well above her waist. The sleeves hung too low over her hands, and it was a little too big in the shoulders, but the narrow cut of the gown was very forgiving, and the sash allowed the gown to be pulled tight enough around her body that it looked like it fit. “Very pretty. I could not be more grateful.”
“I am sure you are used to much finer gowns, but I hope it will do for now.” Rebecca turned to gather the quilt Cecily had used. “I am sure you are anxious to be about your day. Nathaniel has already been up to Willowgrove this morning. He went before dawn, just as he always does, but he has returned to escort you.”
Cecily lifted her head. “He is returning for me? I do not mean to be trouble. I am sure I can find my own way.”
Rebecca flicked a hand. “Oh, tosh, do not give it another thought.”
At the sound of cart wheels and a voice from the courtyard, Rebecca moved to the window, pushed it open, and looked to the courtyard below. “Why, Mr. Turner is with him!”
The words were spoken with such emphasis that Cecily grew curious. “Who is Mr. Turner?”
Rebecca turned from the window, the breeze through the open window catching her loose wisps of hair. “Mr. Turner is a Willowgrove tenant. His father died last year, and he took over his family farm, which is over the south hill. He is a great family friend. We grew up together, his family and mine.” But it was what Rebecca did not say that spoke louder than her actual words, for the apples of her cheeks flushed pink, and her eyes glowed with unbridled enthusiasm.
Cecily smoothed her hand down the front of the gown, adjusted the satin sash under the laced bodice, and turned her attention to her trunk to begin packing. She pulled out a remnant piece of pink silk that the dressmaker in Darbury had given her. It would be the right size for Hannah to make something new for her doll. She set the scrap aside, found her comb, and quickly forced it through her hair. There was no mirror in the room, so Rebecca helped Cecily arrange her hair and hold it in place with her ivory comb.
Once her hair was satisfactory, Cecily returned her belongings to the trunk. She latched the clasp, grabbed the leather side handle, and attempted to pull it over the wooden floor to the door, but Rebecca stopped her.
“Leave it be. Nathaniel will fetch it. Come, get something to eat before you depart. Today will likely be a busy one for you, and I know Mother would refuse to send you away from our home hungry.”
“Are you sure Mr. Stanton won’t mind the delay?”
A grin crossed Rebecca’s face. “My dear Miss Faire, my brother is the only man in a home with four females. I assure you, he is quite accustomed to such delays, as you put it. Come now.”
Cecily followed from the narrow room, growing more curious about the lives of the family she had invaded. Feminine chatter and the clang of copper pots wafted up the steep, wooden steps, and she lifted her hem to keep from tripping as she descended.
She followed Rebecca through the main-floor hall into the dining room.
The room looked quite different in the bright light of day. It was a small but cozy room, with pale-green walls and an oak cupboard in the corner. Light flooded in through the latticed window, which acted as a frame to the landscape outside. Scents of bread and coffee teased her, reminding her how hungry she was. With all the commotion and girls moving about, she felt as if she were back at school again.
Upon their entrance, Mrs. Stanton stood, adjusted the fichu about her neck, wiped a strand of hair from her face, and then pressed her hands to her hips. “Well now, good morning to you, Miss Faire. I trust you slept well?”
“Very well, ma’am,” she said with a little curtsey. “The most restful night’s sleep I have had in quite a while.”
Mrs. Stanton’s eyes widened in animated expression. “Well, no doubt, after such a journey. I am only grateful you did not waken with an affliction after being so damp and cold.” She motioned to the table. “Please. Be seated.”
Hannah and Charlotte were both already seated at the table. They looked even more alike by the light of day. With blond hair, brown eyes, straight noses, and pointed chins, there could be no denying that these two were indeed sisters. Both sets of dark eyes were fixed firmly on her.
Cecily leaned close to the girls. “Hannah, how is your doll today?”
A grin graced the girl’s face, and she said in a very grown-up voice, “Very well. Thank you for asking.”
“Well, I found this in my trunk and thought of her.” She produced the scrap of fabric she’d retrieved from her embroidery box. “I thought you might be able to make a little gown for her.”
Hannah’s brown eyes widened, and her mouth fell open in wonder. “It is the most beautiful thing I have ever seen!”
“It is silk,” said Cecily, depositing the fabric in the girl’s small hand. “All the way from India. It was given to me by a dressmaker in Darbury, but I think it needs to stay with you.”
“Oh, thank you, Miss Faire!” The child was having difficulty remaining in her chair. “Mother, may I go work on it? Right now?” And without waiting for an answer, she jumped from her chair and ran from the room.
After a quick but filling breakfast of rolls, jam, and coffee, Cecily and Rebecca were donning their bonnets when Mrs. Stanton handed Cecily a basket. “Here are a few things to make your stay more comfortable. Please consider yourself welcome to dine at Laurel Cottage whenever you are free to do so.”
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br /> The sincerity in the woman’s tone warmed Cecily. “Thank you, Mrs. Stanton. I am grateful for your generosity.”
Rebecca opened the door, and they stepped into the courtyard.
With each passing moment, Cecily grew more excited about the idea of a new life. Already, she was certain that she had found a friend in Rebecca Stanton, and the rest of the family was endearing. She soaked in her surroundings. Everything had been so dark and hazy the night before that the property was barely visible. The scent of damp livestock and earth met her, and chickens scurried before her. All around her were signs of life. Before her stood the copse of trees she had traveled through the previous evening, and when she looked higher, just above the tree line, she could see spires jutting into the vibrant sky.
Willowgrove Hall.
She felt as if she were about to jump out of her own skin with renewed optimism.
Willowgrove Hall faded, however, as she saw Nathaniel Stanton, his posture straight, rounding the corner of the stable. Another man walked by his side, whom Cecily assumed to be Mr. Turner.
Rebecca was speaking to her about the berries that grew on the bush near the fence, and Cecily tried to concentrate on the words, but the rapid pounding of her heart divided her attention.
She recognized this emotion, this strange sensation of her pulse racing while all the other senses dulled. How her stomach knotted in certain turmoil, yet her heart felt light and giddy. She had experienced it once before . . . with Andrew Moreton. That ache had lain dormant in her for many years. And Cecily had been relieved, for those feelings were misleading. Irresponsible. And would inevitably lead to pain.
And yet she had only met Mr. Stanton the previous eve. Their interactions had been confined to a dinner and short conversation by the fire. How could her heart be swayed so swiftly?
A Lady at Willowgrove Hall Page 7
