At this, he may have gone too far.
Her smile faded, and she fastened the necklace about her neck. “Thank you for the invitation, but I must be going.”
“It is growing dark. Shall I escort you?”
“No. Please, no,” she stammered. “But thank you for my necklace.”
And with that, she rushed off down the path.
21
Cecily sat primly on the edge of the sofa, minding her posture, focusing intently on the embroidery project in her hands, and trying to remain as quiet and unnoticeable as possible.
For tomorrow morning, Andrew, Miss Pritchard, and Mrs. Pritchard would depart for London.
And Cecily only had to make it through one more evening in their presence.
It had been a few days since she had visited the Stantons, and the following morning Cecily awoke to find Mrs. Trent much improved. So much so that the two had been able to take an afternoon walk through the south garden again. And now, night had fallen, and Mrs. Trent not only joined her nephew and his companions for dinner, but also consented for a game of whist.
Cecily would like to think that the improvement of Mrs. Trent’s countenance was some of her effect, but ever since her physician, Dr. Collingswood, had arrived the day after she took to her bed, her spirits had been much lifted. Dr. Collingswood had joined them for dinner and was participating in their game.
This had been the first dinner Cecily had shared with Andrew since her first full day at Willowgrove, but it had passed much more comfortably. For Dr. Collingswood was a pleasant character, with a jovial sense of humor and quick wit, and he managed to include all the dinner participants in the conversation.
Cecily glanced around the room. Mrs. Trent, Dr. Collingswood, and Miss and Mrs. Pritchard were seated at the gaming table. A cheery fire danced in the fireplace, glinting off the painted wallpaper and portraits that decorated the walls from plastered ceiling to wood floor. Next to Miss Pritchard’s chair stood Andrew, watching his intended’s plays with interest.
Cecily was content for it to be that way. For in no way was this evening as enjoyable as the time she had passed with the Stantons. Tonight, she was to be a quiet observer.
Or she hoped she would remain that way.
With Andrew departing for London in the morning, she could put that part of her life to rest for now and focus on the future. A few questions had been answered, and now that she was settling in, renewed optimism flourished within her. She was finding friends in Mrs. Massey and the Stantons. She and Mrs. Trent were growing close. And as much as she was trying to convince herself otherwise, her heart leapt at the thought of even passing Mr. Stanton in the corridor.
She scooted closer to the candle lamp for light. For but a brief moment, she let her gaze flick to the party before her, and instantly regretted it. For her gaze met with Andrew’s.
Her heart lurched. She stared down at her sewing, a little disoriented as she tried to find her place again.
She heard his footsteps above the chatter of conversation, and then his shadow spread across the rug beneath her feet and on the hem of her gown.
Cecily had no choice but to look up.
Andrew motioned to the padded armchair next to her. “May I?”
Cecily’s tongue seemed to grow thick. She cast a quick glance at the card players, who appeared oblivious to anything amiss. “Of course, Mr. Moreton.”
He chuckled as he sat down next to her, as if he found something amusing.
But Cecily found nothing amusing about this or any of their interactions since his arrival at Willowgrove.
She fidgeted with the sewing on her lap. The past had taken a toll on her. And even though their lives had gone in different directions, a part of her wondered what toll it had taken on him. Deep down, while her heart did not feel the romantic love she had felt for him all those years ago, something buried deep within her heart could not help but care about the boy he had been.
He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, his scent of leather dangerously near.
The blood roared in Cecily’s ears.
He seemed calm and cool, utterly carefree.
He raised an eyebrow as he looked toward the card players in the same manner he used to as a boy. “I think we have fooled them.”
But whereas his smile indicated he was attempting to make light of a difficult situation, her humor soured. “I am not sure that is something in which we should take pride.”
His smile faded. “Would you have been more pleased with the alternative?”
She resumed her sewing, afraid to let her eyes linger on him, fearing her emotions might write themselves on her expression. “And by the alternative, you mean your aunt knowing about our past?” She winced as the needle pricked her hand in a careless motion.
“Of course I mean our past.” His voice was so low it could barely be heard above the crackling fire, let alone the voices coming from the table. “Aunt knows I made a misstep with a young lady. She is aware, to be sure. After all, I have made my home at Willowgrove these past several years. But she knows no name. The matter has not been discussed in years.”
“A misstep?” she repeated, willing the anger that flared at the casual nature of the word to subside. “Your aunt is a very perceptive woman. I would not be so quick to discredit her.”
“I’ve no wish to discredit her.”
Cecily had to hide a huff. How else could he explain his coldness toward her? His irreverence? “The past is in the past, and it shall remain that way.”
“If that is how you wish it.”
“Is that not how you wish it? Miss Pritchard is very lovely. I am sure you are eager to leave the past and find your future. I understand from Mrs. Trent that you are to wed in November.”
“Why must you change the topic?” His eyes were latched onto her. She need not look at him to feel intensity radiating from them. “I cannot believe that you never imagine what would have happened if things had ended differently that night.”
She refused to allow the conversation to go down an unproductive path. “All has happened for the best.”
“The best?” He gave a laugh and slumped back in his chair. “My dear Cecily, if this is what you call the best, then at some point we both must have believed a falsehood.”
She pulled an incorrect stitch. Cecily was not about to recount the tally of their sins. “I am saddened by the loss of my family, but I must believe that all works together for good. I suppose, in the end, we have received the punishment we deserve, each in our own way.”
“Punishment? We may have made a few mistakes, but I do not think a punishment was necessarily deserved.” He glanced toward the party before speaking. “Your punishment was out of cruelty.”
“And your punishment?” The words were poignant. But she wanted to know.
“My punishment?” he repeated, straightening. “I think you know the answer to that question. Forced into the life of my father. Forced to come to terms with an existence evaluated on monetary gain. That is not what I wanted. And yet, here I am.”
Cecily drew a breath. She had no desire to upset him. But somehow, knowing how he felt brought a sense of closure to the pain and uncertainty that had plagued her for years. And even though her romantic feelings had changed, he had, at first, been her friend. “And now?”
His expression grew stoic. “I will accept my role.”
“But Miss Pritchard is lovely,” Cecily said. “And Aradelle—”
“Miss Pritchard is an advantageous match.” He hissed the words with unmasked sarcasm. “Or so Father says. The proposal may as well have come from his lips.”
Her response was out of her mouth before she could check it. “That does not sound very romantic, I fear.”
“Romantic?” He pressed his lips together, as if weighing the wisdom in his words. “I tried following romance once. It sent me down a path that is far more proper, but sadly leaves much to be desired.”
He grew silent. She n
oticed he had not yet asked her about her feelings. About her plans for the future. She was glad for it. For this was his way. Had it not always been as such? Andrew was a passionate being. He displayed emotion compellingly and fully. And yet his concern lay chiefly in his emotions, and his alone. Had he ever wondered how their decision left her?
He seemed to finally notice the sewing in her hand. “What are you working on?”
She glanced up from her netting. “Sewing.”
“In such low light? How the devil can you see? But I suppose it suits you. You were always fussing with this or that. I remember you sitting in the orchard, just so, sewing away.”
He spoke to her with such familiarity. “And what exactly are you making?”
She refused to glance up at him. “A reticule for Miss Stanton.”
“Miss Stanton?” he sneered. “Nathaniel Stanton’s sister?”
“Her name is Rebecca Stanton.”
He folded his arms across his chest. “I think I would reconsider taking such a familiar standing with a family such as the Stantons.”
The sudden emphasis behind his words came as a surprise. She did not lift her eyes from her work. “I do not understand why you speak their name with such disdain. She and her family have been very kind to me since my arrival.”
“I am sure they have.” He leaned closer. “I know your trust of me is fairly nonexistent, but trust me enough to believe me when I say that the Stantons are probably not the best place to turn for company.”
She did not know why the slight should irk her so. Did he prefer she keep company like him?
She glanced up at the timepiece on the mantel. The clock would soon strike the ninth hour.
Surely Mrs. Trent would tire soon.
And yet her crackling laughter pealed out, taking Cecily by surprise. She’d heard Mrs. Trent laugh so seldom that the sound was foreign to her. She thought to remind her of the hour, and yet she could hardly deny Mrs. Trent genuine enjoyment after the hours she spent sitting alone in her room.
Andrew had leaned back in his chair. He was staring at the card table, a blankness in his expression.
“When we spoke in the library the other night, I told you that we were different people in the past, and that my opinions and hopes had changed.”
“I remember.”
“Well then, I do have a request to make of you . . . as a friend.”
“A friend?” he huffed. “Well, as a friend, how can I deny you?”
The gravity of his response sank within her. “I told you that my father sent me away, and now that I am out of school, I am trying to find my sister.”
“Yes. You mentioned at dinner the other night you were unsure of her whereabouts.”
“I have reason to believe that she may be in Manchester, but I am unsure. That is where I was hoping you could help. Will you be at Aradelle soon?”
“Yes, I will be traveling there after London.”
At this, her heart began to race. How many times had she recently revisited Aradelle in her thoughts? But not the Aradelle with painful memories, but the happier memories of time spent with her mother and sister. The flame of an idea started within her. Her only contact with Aradelle since she left was the letter she’d received. But perhaps Andrew could find out more.
She lowered her sewing to her lap and cast a quick glance to Mrs. Trent. “Would you be so kind as to deliver a message for me?”
But before he could respond, a playful groan echoed from the whist table. The game had ended. Miss Pritchard had a victorious smile on her lips.
Cecily quickly turned back to Andrew. “Could you ask if anyone remembers her? Start with Mrs. Sherwin. Please?”
He smiled and stood, as Miss Pritchard was already headed their direction. His eyes locked on her. “I suppose I owe you that much.” He glanced over at Miss Pritchard. “Very well. You have my word. I will find out what I am able.”
22
Two weeks had passed since Andrew left Willowgrove. The days had flashed by in predictable routine.
Cecily looked forward to the time she spent with the Stantons. Several mornings a week, while Mrs. Trent slept, Cecily would spend an hour or so at Laurel Cottage teaching Hannah and Charlotte new embroidery techniques. Then, in the late afternoons, Cecily and Rebecca would take a walk. Occasionally Mr. Stanton would join them, if his duties permitted. It became the time of day Cecily anticipated most. She missed the camaraderie of people who were close to her own age, and even though they were not in the same situations, the laughter and diversion they shared was what she needed to balance the somber, albeit peaceful time spent with Mrs. Trent.
One pleasant afternoon Rebecca accompanied Cecily to the south garden to cut roses—a task that Cecily performed nearly every day. As they sat in the warm sun amid the fragrant blooms of pink, red, and white, Cecily lifted her face to the sky. “What a lovely day this has turned out to be.”
Rebecca paused after cutting a thorn from a rose. “It is. How fortunate we are to have had such a break from the rain.”
Cecily brought a rose close to her nose, inhaled its floral scent, and lowered it to the basket. “I am so glad you could join me for a walk today. I tried to convince Mrs. Trent that a walk out of doors was just what she needed, and yet I could not persuade her. She said that fresh roses on her side table were all the out of doors she required.”
Rebecca swatted at a bug. “Is she much improved, then?”
Whether Rebecca’s concern was genuine or she was asking as Cecily’s friend, she was unsure, but Cecily appreciated the inquiry just the same. “I am afraid that is a difficult question to answer. There are days when she will walk the grounds with me, and then others that she cannot leave her bedchamber, not even to go to the drawing room. It is a great comfort that Dr. Collingswood has stayed on these past two weeks. He seems to be a great comfort to her.”
Rebecca clipped another rose, leaving the stem long. “Well, I have heard nothing but admiration for her physician. And at least these flowers should bring her a little happiness.” She dropped the rose in Cecily’s basket. “Can you believe Saturday is but two days away? I can hardly believe the ball is already so near.”
“Oh, that reminds me,” Cecily said, rising to her feet. “Mrs. Massey delivered a couple of my gowns yesterday. Would you care to see them?”
“Oh yes, I would love to!” Rebecca returned her scissors to the basket.
“Come with me. Plus, I have a surprise for you.” Cecily led the way out of the garden and up Willowgrove’s steps. Once inside, she guided her guest through the main hall and staircase to the upstairs landing.
“I have never been this far into Willowgrove before,” Rebecca whispered as she followed Cecily up the curved staircase. “Are you sure it is all right?”
Cecily nodded, holding the hem of her gown as she stepped upward. “Of course! You are my guest. Besides, how else will you be able to see the gown?”
As they made their way down the corridor, Cecily held her fingers to her lips and nodded toward the door. “Mrs. Trent’s rooms are through there. I am sure she is sleeping. My room is through that door there.”
Once inside her bedchamber, Cecily quietly shut the door behind them.
“This is beyond anything I’ve seen before,” exclaimed Rebecca, hurrying over to the window to look at the lawn below. “I cannot even imagine waking up to this every day. I do not think I have ever been this high from the ground. Why, look! You can see the Brentle farm from here!”
Cecily went to the wardrobe and opened the door. “It is the finest room I have ever stayed in, to be sure.”
Rebecca turned from the window and propped her hands on her hips, drinking in her surroundings. “Was Rosemere not elegant?”
Cecily giggled. “It was nice, but it was much smaller than Willowgrove. During the last two years, I shared a small attic room with another teacher. We were cozy, but elegant it most definitely was not.”
Cecily did not miss the look of co
nfusion that flashed across Rebecca’s face. Propriety undoubtedly kept her questions at bay. She probably expected Cecily to be used to such opulent surroundings. After all, she was a lady’s companion. Rebecca would be most surprised to learn of Cecily’s humble beginnings.
Cecily turned her attention back to the wardrobe. A little flutter of regret shot through her. In her short time at Willowgrove, Rebecca was becoming a very dear friend. But the relationship was indeed one-sided. Rebecca generously shared all about her life—the details necessary to become truly acquainted with another—while Cecily held every detail of her own life with such guarded possessiveness that it would be quite impossible for Rebecca to really know her.
It had been much the same at Rosemere. Finding the confidence to share her hidden thoughts with anyone had been difficult. Now she was being given the opportunity for friendship. She could choose to trust her new friend with a few snippets or retreat back into solitude.
Cecily hesitated before continuing. “And before Rosemere, I lived in a small and very old cottage with only four rooms. So you can imagine what a luxury this all seems to me. My father was a blacksmith. He worked mostly for Aradelle Park and did odd jobs around the village.” She turned away from the wardrobe, half expecting to see a look of shock or disapproval on Rebecca’s round face, but instead, she found her friend’s eyes fixed on her, intent and sincere.
“Was?” Rebecca asked. “Is he no longer a blacksmith?”
Cecily had to look away. She fidgeted with the bonnet she’d just removed. “I do not know. I have not seen or heard from him since I came to Rosemere.” As soon as the words were free from her mouth, Cecily wished she could snatch them back. For her secret was starting to slip. Rebecca was a bright girl. Would she not decipher the fragments of information?
“That is terrible. What of your sister, then? You mentioned you had one. Surely you speak with her?”
Cecily shook her head. “The truth is that I have not spoken with her since before attending Rosemere. But I am looking for her. In fact, your brother is helping me.” That was all she could muster. Perhaps one day she could share more. Instead of answering, Cecily turned back to the wardrobe. “But let us not linger on that. See? Here is the first gown.”
A Lady at Willowgrove Hall Page 20
