Moonlight Wishes In Time

by Bess McBride

  She caught William’s gaze once again, delighting in the sparkle of his dark brown eyes.

  “You are right, Thomas. Miss Crockwell’s American ways are very refreshing. We must take care not to try to change them.” William’s soft voice seemed to wrap itself around her in an intimate caress.

  Mattie, her face burning brightly, turned away to look across the rolling fields to the left of the path.

  “I think it is best we begin our return,” William murmured. “No doubt Miss Crockwell will require a rest before dinner this evening.”

  Mattie threw William a grateful look. She was ready to return to her room and bolt the door for some much-needed privacy, and perhaps a little screaming into a pillow.

  “Yes, of course, Miss Crockwell,” Thomas said as he turned his horse along with William. Mattie tugged and tugged at the reins until her little mare decided she wanted to turn. Unfortunately, she soon found herself sandwiched between William and Thomas once again, and made herself a solemn promise that she wouldn’t ride with men again unless Sylvie came to help amuse them.

  Thomas continued to ply her with questions while William tried to come to her aid with plausible answers. Mattie desperately hoped that William remembered his responses, since she was not likely to.

  “And I believe I heard you say ‘I work with a girl,’ Miss Crockwell?” The stables were in sight and Thomas had time for one last question. “And are you using the word ‘work’ as in employment?”

  “She is, Thomas,” William interceded hastily. “She has assisted her family in their banking business on occasion in a clerical capacity. I believe that is what you told me, Miss Crockwell. Is that correct?”

  “Yes, that is correct,” she murmured. Exhausted from making up a world which didn’t exist and unable to imagine an entire night of more of the same mental gymnastics, she wondered if she could get out of the evening’s dinner party by saying she had a headache. Surely, she’d read enough books where the heroine “begged off” from something by “pleading a headache.”

  Relieved to touch terra firma again, she gave Marmalade one last pat on the neck and wondered if she dared ask for a man’s saddle next time…if there were a next time.

  Thomas dismounted and approached her to say goodbye. He bowed and kissed the back of her gloved hand.

  “Until we meet again this evening, Miss Crockwell,” he said with a wide grin as he straightened.

  “Goodbye,” Mattie murmured in bemusement as she turned away and stared at the back of her glove. So, they really kissed the backs of hands? Just like in the movies? Did William? She glanced at him. He watched her with a quizzical expression she couldn’t quite decipher.

  “Shall we, Miss Crockwell?” William held out his right arm and gave Thomas a wave with his left hand. Mattie placed her hand on his arm and followed William back to the house, waddling slightly from the horseback ride.

  “You did very well, Mattie. I think that went smoothly.”

  Mattie raised her eyes to his face, inordinately pleased with the compliment.

  “I worry so much about what to say. I can’t believe I made that mistake about my friend. He asked if I’d met any Indians. They’re all over the place. Who hasn’t?”

  “But they are mostly wild, are they not? Marauders, thieves and heathens?”

  Mattie, who had dropped her eyes to watch her steps in the ungainly, long skirt, looked up, startled. His expression appeared grave with no hint of a smile. He wasn’t kidding!

  “Oh, no, William! That was a long, long time ago. Well, not to you, of course,” she added with a wry smile. “Much of that history is yet to come, but you have to know that the British, Americans, French and Spanish were also extremely brutal in their treatment of Indians.” Mattie gesticulated expressively with her free hand as they walked. “Native Americans today live anywhere they want, though many live on land called reservations. They’re productive members of society, and lots and lots of people are of mixed Native American descent.” She wound down, out of breath and surprised at her vehemence on a subject she had never discussed before. But, of course, she’d never explained history to someone from the past before either.

  William laid his left hand over hers for a moment before he lowered it.

  “I cannot conceive of such a world,” he said in a bemused voice. “Although I am not as openly enthusiastic as Thomas, I, too, share a great curiosity for this New World.” He gave her a diffident smile. “Especially as you describe it to me.” He cleared his throat and pulled his eyes from her to look toward the house. “I cannot help but wonder, Mattie, if meeting you will not be the single most influential event of my life.”

  Mattie’s hand jerked on his arm, and he reached for her hand once again but kept his eyes straight ahead. The angles of his high cheekbones bronzed. She stared at his handsome profile and took a breath.

  “Well, William. I know that meeting you…and coming here to your time,” she added hastily, “will definitely be the highlight of my life.”

  A muscle worked in William’s jaw, and he turned his head in her direction.

  “We are agreed, then,” he murmured with a faint smile.

  “Yes,” Mattie whispered. “We are agreed.”

  Chapter Eight

  “You are no more nervous than any new girl just emerged from the schoolroom for her first dinner party, Mattie. You will manage. We all do. And perhaps you will enjoy yourself.” Sylvie tugged at Mattie’s hand as Mattie lay prostrate on her bed, pretending to have the world’s worst headache. “Come, our guests will be anxious to meet you. And once they do, they will be charmed.” Sylvie tugged again. “Rise, Mattie.”

  “Rise and shine,” Mattie mumbled as she allowed Sylvie to pull her to a sitting position. She slipped off the bed and wandered over to the chair to survey the bevy of garments Mary had dropped off for her to consider for the evening.

  “Pick something, Sylvie,” Mattie muttered. “What do I know about fashion? What are you wearing?” The latter question was rhetorical, of course. Sylvie would wear an empire-waist gown of a certain color and certain fabric.

  Sylvie clapped.

  “Wonderful! I am so pleased I shall not have to drag you from the room unchanged and present you in that riding habit,” she said with a grin. She turned to sort through the garments on the chair. “I am wearing a blue silk dress with lace trim about the sleeves and hem of the skirt. It is new, and I think the blue will match my eyes nicely.”

  “I’m sure it will,” Mattie said with sincerity. Sylvie would look beautiful in anything. At the moment, she wore an afternoon tea gown of a soft yellow, which matched her hair. And she looked beautiful, of course. Mattie sighed. She could never hope to achieve Sylvie’s natural good looks any more than she could hope to attract a man as handsome as William, who could probably have his pick of hundreds of women.

  “This is perfection!” Sylvie said enthusiastically as she held up a rose-colored silk gown trimmed with antique lacing around the high waist and neckline.

  Mattie took a step back.

  “Oh, Sylvie! I couldn’t wear that. It’s so beautiful. Everyone would stare at me.”

  “Yes, of course, they will, silly!” Sylvie cried with delight. “That is the point. You want to be looked at.”

  Mattie shook her head firmly.

  “No, no, I definitely do not want to be looked at. People will already be staring at me, wondering where I’m from.”

  “Is it not wonderful?” Sylvie smiled brightly as she held the dress up against Mattie’s form. “Imagine all the eligible bachelors who will want to dance with you.” She pretended to sigh, and, clutching the dress in her arms, turned to search for undergarments.

  Mattie felt the blood drain from her face.

  “Oh, no, Sylvie, I can’t dance. Is that what a rout is?” she whispered. She stepped backward and sagged against the bed. She shook her head vehemently when Sylvie turned to stare at her. “I don’t know how to do your dances. They’re complic
ated—with steps and everything, right? People dipping and standing in lines and curtseying and stuff?” Mattie tried to remember every Jane Austen movie she’d ever seen.

  Sylvie’s smile drooped, and she sighed as she laid the clothing back onto the chair. She crossed the short distance between them and joined Mattie on the bed.

  “Yes, a rout is a dance, albeit smaller than a ball. The quadrilles do involve certain steps, and I cannot teach you in less than one hour,” Sylvie said with a downcast expression.

  She sighed again, as if in disappointment, but Mattie sighed with relief. No dancing for her, thank goodness, she thought! Never in her wildest fantasies did she ever imagine herself trying any of the intricate steps of Georgian-era dances.

  Both young women gazed at their feet for a moment, which stuck straight out before them on the high four-poster bed. Sylvie’s dainty feet were encased in pale, bone-colored slippers, and Mattie had disposed of her boots and stuffed her feet into her fuzzy slippers, though she still wore the blouse and skirt of the riding habit.

  “How do you dance in your time?” Sylvie asked, turning toward Mattie with a curious smile.

  “We just stand around with our partner and move individually for the most part,” Mattie said with a wry smile. “Or we dance slow…kind of like a slow waltz.”

  “Waltzing?” Sylvie said. “We dance the waltz and have done so for several years now!” She beamed and slipped off the bed, suddenly revitalized. “That settles it, then. You shall dance during the waltzes and plead fatigue during the quadrilles! I will inform William of our plan and enlist his aid in partnering you so that you do not have to concern yourself with a plethora of young men seeking to dance with you.”

  Sylvie bustled over to the chair and snatched up the rose-colored dress and undergarments once again. She held them out to Mattie, who sat frozen on the bed.

  “And behold, I will not insist that you wear stays, as you have expressed such an aversion to them,” Sylvie said. “I am very envious of your…freedom. Would that I could dispense with them as well. Come, Mattie. It is time to get dressed.” For a moment, Mattie saw the shadow of Mrs. Sinclair in Sylvie’s determined expression, and she gave in and jumped off the bed in response.

  “Okay, okay,” Mattie muttered as she took the clothing from Sylvie. “But I’m really, really nervous about all this. It would be much better to leave me upstairs.” Mattie couldn’t believe what she was saying, that she was willing to give up witnessing her first Georgian-era dance—something she’d dreamed about every time she read her romance novel. But at the moment, she would have given up every fantasy she’d ever had if she could just be a footman who served drinks and whom no one ever noticed.

  Sylvie smiled in sympathy and patted her arm.

  “I imagine you are frightened, Mattie, but you will do very well, I think, and I believe you will enjoy yourself.” She eyed Mattie askance. “Do you wish me to remain to lace you up, or shall I have one of the maids come assist? I think Mary must be with my mother.”

  Mattie nodded, still chastened by the morning’s efforts to dress. “Yes, please. I think I’m going to need help.”

  “Good.” Sylvie beamed. “I shall send a maid right away. Now, I must run to my room and complete my own toilette. I will return shortly.”

  Sylvie sailed out of the room, and Mattie dropped into an empty chair, holding the rose dress carefully across her lap as she stared at it with misgiving. The silk was exquisite, unlike any material she’d ever felt. She suspected the color would suit her coloring, but she never wore such festive colors as a rule. Roses, pinks and reds simply screamed “Look at me! I’m a girl!” and she liked to keep a less flamboyant profile.

  She looked toward the door and wondered what William was doing. Was he in his room across the hall dressing? Had he already dressed and gone down to his study to drink port or some such other manly Georgian thing? How she wished she were with him at the moment. Inexplicably, though her heart raced whenever he was near, she still felt more comfortable in his company than away from him.

  William had said he would not be able to be alone with her in the future, but they had walked to the stables alone. What had he meant? That he couldn’t come to her room as he had last night? Could they take walks together? Or was that out of the question as well? Would she need a chaperone every time? How could she possibly communicate with him when she needed to? Her throat tightened, and she knew a moment’s anxiety as if she’d been told she couldn’t talk to her best friend. She gave herself a shake. William was hardly her best friend, but he was the only friend she had at the moment. Well, besides Sylvie.

  A knock on the door heralded a young maid, who said she was named Jane. Of course, Mattie thought. She was in the Georgian era. There had to be a Jane somewhere.

  “Miss Sylvie sent me, miss,” Jane said with a short curtsey. “She said I am to help you dress and not to ask you any questions.”

  Mattie smiled shyly and nodded her head. She would have held out her hand, except that she still carried the clothing.

  “It’s nice to meet you, Jane. I appreciate you coming to help me. I’m lost with these garments. We don’t have these in…New York.” Mattie told the first lie of what she suspected would be many throughout the night. Or maybe everyone would ignore her, she thought. She hoped.

  “Yes, miss.” Jane, a tall, thin girl, hardly more than a teenager, bobbed another curtsey with an unreadable expression and stepped forward to take the garments from Mattie’s hands. She laid them out on the bed and turned back to Mattie.

  “So, where do I start?” Mattie sighed as she moved toward the bed to survey the clothing.

  Jane picked up a chemise and eyed it for a moment.

  “Well, miss, I think since you are already wearing your chemise and petticoats, you need only to slip on the dress.”

  Mattie shuddered.

  “I can’t wear these, Jane. I already wore them today when I went horseback riding, and I’m sure I smell like a horse.” She attempted a feeble chuckle, suddenly longing for the simplicity of her pink fuzzy robe, slippers, her easy chair and a romance novel.

  “It’s bad enough that I can’t take a shower—that is…wash up after being outside,” Mattie muttered almost to herself.

  “Would you like me to bring some hot water from the kitchen, miss?” Jane asked quietly. “We always have hot water ready. I could bring some to you.” She tilted her angular face and regarded Mattie with a serious expression.

  Mattie stared at her with something like adoration on her face.

  “Could you?” she breathed. “Is there time?”

  “We will have to make haste, miss, but yes, I think there is time to wash.” Jane turned and moved swiftly to the door. “I will return as soon as I can.”

  “Thank you, Jane! Thank you,” Mattie said to Jane’s departing back as she slipped through the door.

  Mattie paced the room for the next ten minutes, keeping an eye on the ornate clock on the fireplace mantle. She heard a knock and trotted over to the door to press her ear against it. She held her breath, hoping it wasn’t Sylvie coming to see if she was dressed and ready.

  “Miss,” Mattie heard a low voice on the either side. “It’s Jane.”

  Mattie pulled the door open, and Jane stepped in carrying a large pitcher of steaming hot water, several linen towels and a bar of soap. Over Jane’s shoulder, Mattie saw William’s door open. William, apparently in the act of dressing, wore only a pair of pale gold silk pantaloons and a white shirt unbuttoned at the neck.

  Mattie caught her breath as he paused in his doorway, a question on his face. His state of undress gave him a relaxed, casual air that seemed boyishly charming.

  “Is all well, Miss Crockwell?” His speech was contrastingly formal.

  “Oh, yes, Mr. Sinclair,” she replied airily, while she closed the door behind Jane so that it was open just a crack. She stuck her face around the corner of the door. “Just getting dressed,” she said.

&n
bsp; William raised one dark eyebrow.

  “It grows late, Miss Crockwell. I had planned to escort you downstairs when you were ready. Will that be soon?”

  Mattie blushed. She had hoped William wouldn’t come up with such a plan. There was no doubt everyone would stare at her if she showed up on his arm. Oh, to be a scullery maid, she sighed.

  “Well, I’d get dressed a lot faster if I could close this door.” She smiled slightly to soften the words.

  William’s lips twitched, and he nodded.

  “Thirty minutes, Miss Crockwell?”

  “I’ll be ready,” Mattie squeaked before she shut the door and turned to face the room.

  “Hurry, Jane, I only have half an hour to get ready.”

  “We will be ready, miss. Here is your water.”

  Jane had gone into the “room” that Mattie had dubbed the bathroom. An oil lamp lit the room enough for Mattie to see that Jane had poured steaming hot water into the basin on the dresser. Mattie threw a longing glance at the tub before approaching the dresser, where Jane had laid out the towels and soap.

  “How does one get to use the bathtub?” Mattie asked.

  Jane turned. “A bath would take much more time than you have available, miss. Had I known you wished to bathe earlier, I could have had footmen bring enough hot water up to the water closet to fill the tub.”

  Mattie chewed her lip. “Did everyone else bathe?”

  “No, miss, I do not believe so.”

  “Okay, I guess I’m good with a sponge bath.”

  Jane had taken one of the towels and dipped it into the water to moisten it when Mattie realized what the young maid was planning.

  “Oh, no, Jane!” Mattie exclaimed, and held up her hands as if in defense. “I’ll wash myself. Why don’t you wait for me out there?” Mattie nodded toward the bedroom with a red face.

  Jane bobbed a curtsey.

  “As you wish, miss.”

  She left the “water closet” and closed the door silently behind her.

  Mattie sprung into action and pulled off the rest of her clothing, taking care to lay it over the rim of the tub. She dipped the towel into the hot water, rubbed the lavender smelling soap into it and began the process of giving herself a sponge bath as if she were camping out. Not one romance novel that she’d read had covered this aspect of Georgian life, she muttered silently.