She retrieved it from the wardrobe and placed it across the striped coverlet on the canopied bed.
Rebecca clasped her hands in front of her. “Why, how lovely!” She lifted the skirt of pale-plum satin and ran it through her fingers before lifting it to look at the detail more closely. “Look at this white work on the bodice, and how she carried it down the sleeves. You must be so pleased.”
“I am.” Cecily reached for the peach gown, careful not to catch it on the wardrobe door, and held the gown in front of her, angling herself so her reflection would show in the mirror above the mantel. It really was a stunning gown, constructed of fine satin. Small beads created a delicate floral pattern on the bodice, and a white netting overlay embellished with silver threads floated above the fabric of the skirt. The sleeves were short, and Mrs. Massey had given her white gloves to complete the ensemble. “I shall wear this to the engagement dance. Do you like it?”
Rebecca quickly discarded the plum gown, took the peach gown from Cecily, and held it at arm’s length. The sun caught on the silver threads in the overlay and shimmered in the afternoon light. But then Rebecca frowned and brought the dress closer. “Oh dear. There appears to be a misstep with the stitching.”
Cecily focused on the area Rebecca called out. She had noticed it too. “Yes, it puckers a bit there at the sleeve. It is very obvious when I have it on. But that should be easy to remedy. I plan to work on it tomorrow.”
“I am most surprised,” Rebecca said, still examining the area in question. “It is not like Mrs. Massey to overlook such an error. On most counts, she is meticulous.”
Cecily took the gown back. “Fortunately, it should take no time at all to repair.”
She had noticed bits of imperfections on the other gowns—a slight tear in the seam of the black bombazine gown and an uneven hem in the plum muslin. She did not wish to offend Mrs. Massey’s work, but Cecily planned to make alterations to them as well. She recalled the odd words that Mrs. Massey had spoken to her at the fitting about the time that she had spent with the Stantons, not to mention how she did not think her work would be acceptable to someone as accomplished at needlework as Cecily. The words, while kind on the surface, left Cecily with the sense that she had done something to offend her new acquaintance. Despite Mrs. Massey’s lavish attention to Mrs. Trent on her visits, she barely spoke to Cecily. At the final fitting, she made few alterations, despite the fact that obvious oddities existed. Cecily was not one to suffer from oversensitivity, but the cool nature of Mrs. Massey’s treatment of her was impossible to ignore.
Cecily took the gown back from Rebecca and lowered it. “I cannot help but wonder if I have offended Mrs. Massey in some way.”
Rebecca cocked her head to the side. “Why would you have such a notion?”
“I cannot say for certain.” Cecily plopped on the bed, unsure she should share her private thoughts on Mrs. Massey. “Just a suspicion.”
“Well . . .” Rebecca sat on the bed next to her, looking more like a child who had been caught saying something inappropriate than a woman about to marry. “Like I have told you before, I have known Mrs. Massey for a very long time, and I do consider her a friend. But I do not think it is a secret that she has somewhat of a fickle nature. Sometimes I think she has befriended me because she has set her cap on Nathaniel.”
As if realizing what had just come from her mouth, Rebecca’s eyes grew wide, and she clapped her hand over her mouth. “Oh my! I did not mean that as it sounded, for certain!”
Upon noticing her friend’s uneasiness, Cecily shrugged. But the words interested her. She had wondered about a possible connection between the two, especially after Mrs. Massey’s comments the first day they met and Hannah’s unusual outburst. “Think nothing of it. But I could not help but wonder if there was an agreement between the two.”
“An agreement? No. At least, not one that I am aware of. It is an odd relationship, really. Like I told you, I have known Mrs. Massey my entire life, as has Nathaniel, but it was not until after her husband’s death that we became better acquainted. Mr. Massey and my brother were great friends, and before he died, Mr. Massey asked Nathaniel to watch out for his wife. So Nathaniel oversaw some repairs to her cottage and helped her establish her business. I think some people may have misunderstood that as romantic interest.”
“And by ‘some people,’ do you mean Mrs. Massey?”
Rebecca gave a little smile. “I would think that if Nathaniel returned the sentiment he would have responded by now, but as it is, he is so private about such things.”
“Mrs. Massey is very beautiful. I am surprised she has remained unattached.”
“Mother had it in her mind that Nathaniel would one day propose to Mrs. Massey, but I think she has quite given up on it. Nathaniel is so focused on his duties. I never understood the dedication. Mrs. Trent treats him horribly, and yet he persists.”
“Perhaps it is loyalty,” Cecily reasoned, returning the gown to the wardrobe.
“Or perhaps it is stubbornness.” A coy grin crossed Rebecca’s face. “So perhaps Mrs. Massey has been offended in some way, or maybe she is merely concerned that there is a new lady’s companion at Willowgrove Hall who is charming and lovely.”
“Rebecca!”
Her friend shrugged. “There can be no mistake. She has had her eye on Nathaniel for quite some time. And now there may be competition—”
“Please do not say such things. Please do not.” Why the words should have such an effect on her, she did not know, but she felt panic rising within her.
Rebecca shook her head as if confused. “Do you not wish to marry one day?”
Cecily pressed her lips together. Marrying would mean confessing the past. Who would want to marry her once the truth was brought to light? She had no dowry, no connections, and worst of all, had already given herself to another. “I do not know.” Her words snapped. “At the moment, my main concern is reuniting with my sister.”
“I certainly understand wanting to stay close to your sister. Mine are a handful at times, but I would miss them immensely if they were gone.”
Cecily immediately regretted the path the conversation had taken, and her shortness of temper. Of course Rebecca would expect her to be seeking a suitable match. But after what she had been through with Andrew, she doubted she would ever have the sort of relationship with a man that Rebecca had with Mr. Turner.
But the exchange uncovered another thought. Would it even be possible for Mr. Stanton to notice her in any way other than as Mrs. Trent lady’s companion? The thought both warmed and frightened her.
Cecily needed to change the subject. “Oh, I almost forgot. I have something for you.”
She hurried to her writing desk, pulled open the small door underneath, and retrieved the blue reticule she had made for Rebecca. “This is for you.”
Rebecca’s face flushed as she noticed the silk purse in Cecily’s hand. “This is for me?”
She reached out and accepted the delicate gift and traced the silver tambour work with her finger. “This is so elegant. You made it yourself?”
“Yes. I thought you might like to have it for the engagement celebration.”
“Oh, Cecily!” she exclaimed, drawing her into a spontaneous hug. “This is so very kind of you! I am sure it is the finest reticule I have ever had!”
Unaccustomed to such praise, Cecily kept her eyes low. The moment, however, was not lost on Cecily, for despite the hardships she had faced, it warmed her to realize that Rebecca had become a dear friend.
23
Two days had passed since her visit with Rebecca, and the day of the engagement celebration was now upon them.
Mrs. Trent had requested to see Cecily’s gown prior to her departure, so with Clarkson’s assistance, she had donned the pale-peach gown. Cecily had spent a better part of the previous day repairing the side seams and further embellishing the bodice with delicate, beaded flowers and silver thread. And now Cecily was certain it was the most
beautiful dress she had ever seen. She pivoted to see the back of the gown, and as she did, satin fabric shimmered in the fire’s glow. A delicate netting of white floated over the skirt and sleeves, intricately embroidered with leaves and pink flowers. A white satin ribbon laced the gown down the back. She reached for the satin gloves and slid her hands inside, smoothing the soft fabric over her forearms.
The final piece of her ensemble was her mother’s coral necklace. She lifted it, paying close attention to the clasp. What mixed emotions this piece of jewelry conjured. For not only was the memory of her mother and sister tied to every bead, but that of Nathaniel Stanton as well.
Cecily glanced at her timepiece. Despite the recent, inexplicable coolness from Mrs. Massey, Cecily was still planning to accompany her to the festivities. Cecily would take Willowgrove’s carriage to Mrs. Massey’s home, and the ladies would continue on together to the inn where the event was being held. Cecily hurried into Mrs. Trent’s chamber to show her the gown. Though the old woman had grumbled about Cecily attending, she had seemed like a proud parent, eager to see her little one dressed in her finest attire.
Cecily entered Mrs. Trent’s chamber, surprised to see she had already retired. Cecily moved over to the bed and sat. “I did not expect you to be abed so early.”
Mrs. Trent sighed. “I do not feel well, child. Not tonight. But don’t you worry. It is nothing that a good night’s sleep will not resolve. Now, stand up and let me see you.”
With a smile, Cecily complied. She turned a complete circle and then returned to the side of the bed. “Do you like it?”
Mrs. Trent managed a weak smile. “Mrs. Massey’s work is impeccable.” She reached out to touch the netting with her shaking finger. “But you are right. The silver thread did improve it. And did you allow Clarkson to dress your hair?”
“I did.” Cecily reached up and gingerly patted the curls. She’d been reluctant at first, but when Clarkson was done, Cecily was surprised at the talent the lady’s maid possessed. In a relatively short time, Clarkson had smoothed her stubborn curls in an intricate chignon and woven a white ribbon across the crown of her head and into the style.
Mrs. Trent adjusted her blankets around her and shook. “She is most talented. But despite that fact, I really should not allow you to go. Tsk. There is no telling who will be there. But it is not fair to you. I cannot keep you prisoner here forever.”
“Dear Mrs. Trent, you hardly keep me prisoner.” Cecily sat down next to her on the bed and took the withered hand in her own. “I enjoy the time we spend together.”
Mrs. Trent managed a weak chuckle. “I would expect you to say that.”
Cecily patted her hand. “Mrs. Trent, please believe me when I say I am happier here at Willowgrove than I have been in a long time.”
Mrs. Trent frowned. “When would you have not been happy? But then, I suppose you haven’t shared much with me about your days before you came here. Perhaps one day you will. But those conversations are best left for another day. Go now. But mind yourself. And stay close to Mrs. Massey.”
A knock on the door sounded, and Clarkson poked her head into the room. “The carriage is ready and has been brought ’round, Miss Faire.”
With a nod, Cecily turned her attention back to Mrs. Trent. “Are you sure there is nothing I can get you before I depart?”
“No. Go, child, enjoy yourself. And take my fan, there on the bureau. I will not have you getting overheated. People always try to cram far too many bodies into too slight of a place. No wonder women are prone to fits of fainting and dizzy spells.”
Cecily could not help but smile at Mrs. Trent’s generalization. “Thank you, Mrs. Trent. I am sure it will be helpful.”
Cecily hurried down the dark corridor, across the landing, to the main staircase. She stepped down the stairs, out of Willowgrove’s main entrance, and to the carriage. The night was fair and cool and carried the sweet scent of roses from the garden. Nightingales chirped their songs in the glow of the setting sun, and all seemed peaceful.
Then it dawned on her. She was content.
The ride to Mrs. Massey’s home was a short one, just down the main road past Wiltonshire’s town square. Mrs. Massey lived on the far edge of the village. As soon as the carriage drew to a stop in front of their destination, Mrs. Massey was already out of the door. The coachman assisted her into the carriage, and within moments, the dressmaker was seated comfortably across from Cecily.
“Mrs. Massey, such a pleasure to see you again,” Cecily said while smiling.
“Good evening. I trust you are well?”
The carriage lurched into motion. “I am very well.”
Cecily could not help but be impressed by the magnificent gown adorning Mrs. Massey. It rivaled any that Miss Pritchard had worn. Her eyes soaked in the gown of silver lutestring. It shimmered with every movement. A string of pearls adorned her throat, and delicate pearl drop earrings highlighted the angles of her face. Tiny pearls decorated the bustline of her gown, and matching gloves reached up past her elbows.
“Oh, Mrs. Massey, you look positively beautiful!” Cecily exclaimed, taking note of how the absence of color in the silvery-gray gown made her eyes appear that much more violet. “Truly stunning!”
“Thank you, dear,” Mrs. Massey said, not making eye contact. “Since I had been in mourning for my dear husband, I had grown quite accustomed to wearing dark colors. As someone who shares my fondness for beautiful gowns, you must know how pleasant it is to be able to wear such fabrics again! This color is still approporiate, mind you, but lively at the same time.”
“I was sorry to hear of your husband’s passing. Mrs. Trent told me a little about your history. I do hope that is all right.”
Mrs. Massey smiled. “Of course. I’ve no secret to hide. My husband and I married young. We were very much in love and were blessed with a few happy years together. But God above saw fit to take him home. Being in mourning, I did not feel it appropriate to attend any social functions. But it has been above two years. More than enough time has lapsed.”
“Mrs. Trent told me your husband was a noble man.”
“He was. Thank you. But alas, I did not marry for money.” She gave a quick, knowing smile and looked out the window. “The past couple of years have been trying, at best. Thankfully, my mother taught me a great deal, and I have been able to support myself. That is why I believe you and I will be such good friends. We are the same type of woman, working to support ourselves without assistance.”
Cecily was growing more curious about Mrs. Massey, for she seemed to be a paradox. No wonder the Stanton ladies were so fond of her, and based on Rebecca’s words, slightly cautious. “Do you not have family, Mrs. Massey?”
“No.” She pressed a wrinkle from her skirt. “My father died when I was an infant. My mother provided for us by making dresses and clothing of all sort, and I am fortunate to continue that today. I have no siblings, and the cousins I do have are scattered across England’s south coast, not nearly close enough for a quick visit.” She glanced up. “The Stantons have been kind to me since the passing of my husband. Particularly Mr. Stanton.”
Cecily looked down at her gloves, fearful that her own thoughts and feelings about Mr. Stanton would be apparent. She tried to forget Rebecca’s words about the dressmaker’s interest in Mr. Stanton, but she could not shake them from her memory.
“I grew up here, Miss Faire. Not a mile from the Stantons’ door. I am closer to Mr. Stanton’s age, and even though the Misses Stantons are younger than I, I have always been quite fond of them. We are great friends.”
Mrs. Massey’s tone had a possessive quality, which both confused and disheartened Cecily. But since this would be the first time she would see Mr. Stanton and Mrs. Massey in each other’s company, she would be able to perceive much about their relationship. Cecily knew little about Mr. Stanton’s personal life other than what she had witnessed herself.
Mrs. Massey clasped her hands in front of her. “Tell m
e, dear, how did you find your gown?”
“Oh, I could not be more pleased. I hope you do not mind. I took the liberty of embellishing the bodice slightly.”
“Oh.” Mrs. Massey’s face was hidden in the shadows, but Cecily thought she heard annoyance in the woman’s tone. “I had almost forgotten. You are fond of embroidery as well. I do not blame you, for I cannot imagine not adding my own artistic touch to a gown I was to wear. I hope you did not alter the gown because the workmanship of the gown was not to your liking.”
At the directness of the statement, dread filtered through Cecily. No, she did not think the work extremely fine, but she would never say as much. Whether it was from lack of skill or an intentional slight, she may never know. “Of course not. I just like to add my own embellishments.”
Mrs. Massey did not respond. She only pointed out the window as they entered the village square. “There, that is my shop. I suppose you have not had reason to see it.”
Cecily followed her direction. It was a charming little shop with two large, leaded bay windows flanking a red door. “You must be very proud of it.”
“I am. Mr. Stanton was most helpful in helping me secure the spot. He was even kind enough to find funds to pay the first several months’ lease. Here, we’ve arrived at the inn.”
Every mention of Mr. Stanton felt like a blow. There could be no denying the message Mrs. Massey attempted to convey.
Cecily swallowed and looked out the opposite window. The ride had been short, for they were only going to the village. But for as long as she had been at Willowgrove, she had little reason to go to the village other than church. Mrs. Trent had no need to venture beyond the church, and Cecily would never presume to travel there on her own.
A Lady at Willowgrove Hall Page 21
