“I will see to all that you ask, my lady,” Warner answered gravely as he left.
* * * * *
The next two days found Clara extremely busy with the supervision of the holiday preparations. Menus were gone over with the housekeeper, Mrs. Burnby and the cook, Mrs. Dixon. Larders were checked for adequate food supplies. The master suite was cleaned and aired in preparation for Julian’s arrival.
Mrs. Copley arrived promptly from the village for her interview. Clara found her to be a sensible and caring woman in her forties. Sir Simon Wickfeld, who lived on a small estate a half-day’s ride from Bentley House had hired Mrs. Copley to tutor and care for his three daughters when they were small many years ago. At the same time, Sir Simon had employed Mr. Copley as his gamekeeper. Mr. Copley had died two years previously and Mrs. Copley’s three charges had been sent to finishing school in the early fall just two months before. Mrs. Copley had settled in a small cottage in the village, able to sustain her needs with money saved from the years in service with Sir Simon and his family. The reference Mrs. Copley had received from Sir Simon was quite glowing and Clara found herself being drawn to Mrs. Copley from the beginning of the interview. As a result, Mrs. Copley was offered the job of governess and she stated her intention of establishing herself in the nursery wing of Bentley House as soon as the cart could be obtained to bring her belongings from the village.
Shortly after Mrs. Copley left, Clara drank a pot of tea and nibbled on a few of Mrs. Dixon’s prize Mandarin orange tea cakes. Clara was already beginning to relax after her busy day when Susan, her maid entered her bedchamber to help her mistress prepare for bed. Several containers of hot water were brought to her chamber and emptied into her bath. Clara uttered a sigh of relief as she immersed herself in the warm water. Oil of Lavender was poured into the water by Susan. Then Susan scrubbed her back and arms. Clara rubbed the front of her torso with the scented oil. When this task was completed, Susan washed her mistress’s hair with special cleansing soap which was gentle on her scalp and would not dry out her long hair. When she was finished, Clara emerged from the tub to be wrapped in a heavy cloth by Susan. Clara walked over to the corner of the room and sat on a chair which was placed close to the fireplace. A merry fire burned brightly keeping the room quite warm.
Susan reached for a comb from the nearby dressing table. She combed her mistress’s auburn tresses as Clara leaned over in front of the warm fire. When her hair was sufficiently dry, Clara dropped the wet towel to the hearth and Susan assisted her mistress to don her white, cotton nightgown. With the nightgown securely buttoned, Clara walked over to pick up a book from her bedside table. The sound of knocking could be heard against the bedchamber door. Susan walked over to admit two servants to carry the used bath water from the room. As they exited the bedchamber, Clara informed Susan that she would no longer require her services that evening.
Susan nodded in agreement, took up the wet cloth from the hearth and left the room, wishing her mistress a good night as she went. Clara followed her and locked the door behind Susan.
As Clara walked back toward her bed, she paused to study her reflection in the mirror. Her hair fell in soft waves to her waist. She noticed the rise and fall of her full breasts against the cotton material on the nightgown. She moved one hand up to the buttons at her neck and studied the face that stared back at her from the mirror. The lids above her emerald-green eyes seemed heavy and languid. The warm bath had certainly made her feel relaxed and sleepy. She reached up with her free hand to stroke the soft skin on first one cheek and then the other. It felt warm and smooth to her touch. She moved her hand from her cheek to gather some strands of her long hair in one hand. She spread her fingers out wide and moved her hand down the length of her silky, auburn tresses. The reflection from the flames in the fireplace glowed like a hot, orange sun in her hair. Her gaze fell to her full, red lips. The woman she saw reflected in the mirror was certainly not unappealing she admitted to herself. But Julian had spent almost a year in the exotic land of India. The women there were dark-skinned with black hair. Would he have no appreciation for her own looks, often described as typical of English beauty with her milk-white skin and reddish-brown-colored hair any longer? She reached down inside the collar of the nightgown to pull out the turquoise necklace. Clara looked away from her reflection and studied the blue-green stone which lay like a warm caress in the palm of her hand.
She smiled wistfully at the stone and whispered, “Julian, while it would be rather daunting if you were not pleased to see me, I am so very glad you are returning home.”
Chapter Two
The next morning, Clara sighed as Susan put the finishing touches on her curls. “You know that all your efforts will be wasted when I put on my bonnet and join the others outside for the greenery search, Susan.”
“Oh, my lady, do not fret so! Your hair is so thick, it is certain to stay nice for a good while.” Susan smiled at her mistress with affection. “But do not be rollin’ around in the snow, my lady. If you be doin’ that, I cannot promise your hair will stay nice.”
“My goodness, did you say snow, Susan?” Clara pushed her chair back from the dressing table and ran to the window. A light dusting of snow covered everything below.
“It began snowing early this morning, my lady,” Susan answered as she joined her mistress at the window. “It looks as though it has stopped now.”
A knock on the door of the bedchamber interrupted their contemplation of the weather outside.
Susan hurried across the room to open the door. “It is Mrs. Copley, my lady.”
Clara bade Mrs. Copley enter. The governess was dressed in a plain muslin gown. “My dear Mrs. Copley, you have certainly made good time!” Clara exclaimed as the lady bowed before her. “Your charge has not even arrived as yet.”
Mrs. Copley blushed and smiled at her employer. “I was so excited about my new position here. I wanted to be settled in well before my little charge arrived, my lady. I hope that this meets with your approval?”
“Of course, Mrs. Copley. I appreciate your eagerness to begin your tasks,” Clara assured her.
“I am sorry to bother you in your private chamber, my lady. I wished you to be informed of my arrival before you left for the gathering of the Christmas greenery. I understood from Warner that you were leaving the house shortly,” she explained.
Clara smiled back warmly at the governess as a thought materialized in her head. “Would you like to join us and gather some of the greenery for the schoolroom and nursery, Mrs. Copley? We could use the extra help and I would appreciate the company.”
“Oh, yes, my lady. I do enjoy the Christmas holidays and I would dearly love to gather some greenery for the child’s rooms.”
“Then go and put on some warm clothing and I will see you outside in a short time. We are all meeting at the back of the conservatory,” Clara informed her.
“I will be very quick, my lady,” she replied as she left the room.
With a smile, Clara turned back to Susan. “Bring me my warm cloak, gloves and boots, Susan. I believe Christmas time at Bentley House is about to begin in earnest.”
* * * * *
When Clara arrived outside many warmly clad stable hands, gardeners and house servants greeted her. It was clear that they were all eager to begin the task of collecting greenery. Several of the housemaids were laughing coyly at comments and jests the men were making about who would collect the most mistletoe and who would be the recipient of the first kiss underneath it.
James, one of the footmen, stepped forward as she approached. He was carrying a ladder. “Good day, my lady,” he intoned with a bow. “Where do you wish us to begin gatherin’?”
Clara scrutinized the snow-covered area in back of the house. “I believe we shall find all that we need in the knoll at the top of the hill, James. Let us proceed there and determine the best place to construct a pile for all the greenery.”
With much excited chattering, the small group of servants accompanied
Clara to the knoll. She looked around in appreciation. The light dusting of snow had given the tree branches a sparkling white luster and this, combined with the red of the holly berries and the green of the mistletoe clumps, gave the surrounding area a decidedly festive air.
A large area in the center of the field was pronounced perfect for the greenery pile and the gathering began in earnest. James was directed by several of the gardeners to trees with mistletoe growing just out of reach. A few of the housemaids broke off from the group to pull off the holly from low-lying branches. Clara spied a bunch of mistletoe just beyond the area where James was now busily handing down bunches to the eager helpers’ outstretched hands.
“Would you like to accompany me to the bush just beyond where James is standing, Mrs. Copley?” The governess had chosen to stay by her side evidently because she was not yet acquainted with many of the household staff. “I believe I can spy a large cluster of mistletoe within easy reach. After all, it would not do for me to simply stand by and watch the proceedings.”
Mrs. Copley agreed with pleasure. “No, indeed, Lady Bentley. I always tell my charges that the fun is in the participation.”
Clara and Mrs. Copley remained occupied for several minutes with their task. The scullery maid named Josie brought them two small baskets when it became apparent that they would be gathering more greenery than it was possible to carry.
“This mistletoe reminds me of many happy Christmas holidays with Mr. Copley, my lady.” She looked up hastily from her gathering. “I am sorry to bother you with my reflections, Lady Bentley.”
Clara brushed a wayward strand of hair off her cheek before reaching for another branch. “It is not a bother, Mrs. Copley,” she assured her. “It sounds as if you and your husband were very close.”
“Yes, my lady. I miss him dearly, most especially during the holidays.” She nodded her head slightly as if to throw off her suddenly depressed thoughts. “I have heard that Lord Bentley is returning home after being away for almost a year. You must be very excited, my lady.”
Clara’s hand shook as she reached out to break a branch of holly off the tree. “There is anticipation, of course, Mrs. Copley. However, I cannot say I am excited about his return,” she answered frankly.
“But after almost a year, my lady? And I understand he left Bentley House for India two days after your marriage!” Mrs. Copley’s eyes suddenly widened and she briefly covered her mouth with one of her gloved hands in a gesture of embarrassment. “Excuse me, my lady. I had forgotten that many of your class have arranged marriages. I was presuming much when I inquired if you were excited to see Lord Bentley return home.”
Clara looked into the eyes of the new governess and saw what so many of that lady’s charges had seen before. There was something about her which seemed to make one feel that she would listen to your problems and make things better. As she noted this, Clara suddenly felt the need to confide in Mrs. Copley. All the years of doing without the advice of a mother or close female relative other than her deceased aunt, left Clara with an aching void inside. “Although Lord Bentley was put in a position where he was forced to marry me, I must confess I had loved him from the first time I saw him in London several years before,” Clara admitted in a rush of words.
“But, my lady how wonderful for you to be able to marry your heart’s desire!” answered Mrs. Copley, clasping her gloved hands in front of her.
Clara hated to dash the romantic sensibilities of the lady before her but she was determined to be frank. She steeled herself to admit the worst to the kind lady. “Lord Bentley does not know of my love for him, Mrs. Copley. He also spurned me on our wedding night,” she ended in a whisper and then quickly looked away.
Mrs. Copley answered her mistress’s astonishing statement in a whispered tone as well. “My lady, what can you mean that he spurned you on your wedding night? You are a beautiful lady and you love him. He could not have turned from you in disgust!”
Clara turned back to Mrs. Copley mortified to feel tears beginning to form on her lashes. “But that is exactly what occurred, Mrs. Copley! I wanted so much to please him,” she whispered in earnest as she brushed at a tear on her cheek. “I went to the vicar’s wife in the town close to my father’s estate for advice before my marriage. She told me to lie still and not to move when in the marriage bed. My husband would soon finish his business with me and leave in a better mood with my cooperation was what Mrs. Mitchell assured me.” Clara stared into Mrs. Copley’s eyes seeking some reassurance. “But Lord Bentley had barely come into the room when he left me in disgust. Before he departed he promised me that he would not bother me again. I have not seen him since that awful night.”
Mrs. Copley was silent for a moment. “My lady, I mean no disrespect when I ask you this but do you feel that these people, Vicar Mitchell and his wife, have a happy marriage?”
Clara was initially surprised by the question. However, a past incident came to her mind as she thought about the Vicar’s relationship with his wife. She had been in her father’s rose garden admiring the flowers in the spring when Vicar Mitchell and his wife had pulled up in their carriage. The vicar had greeted her warmly while Mrs. Mitchell had simply inclined her head slightly in Clara’s direction and then turned away. Vicar Mitchell had then inquired whether she had any news from her father. They had talked together happily for several minutes when suddenly Mrs. Mitchell interrupted their conversation to point out that they must return home in order for her husband to finish composing his sermon. It appeared to Clara that Vicar Mitchell had begun to question his wife’s statement but a look passed between the couple at that moment which effectively stopped the Vicar from uttering any form of protest. The two had taken their leave of Clara soon after. There was also the fact that the couple had no children.
“I must say I can recall instances where one would question if their marriage was truly happy,” Clara answered in a bemused tone.
Mrs. Copley sighed softly and then gave her mistress a warm smile in order to reassure her. “My lady, a man must feel wanted and loved. If a man’s wife lies still and frozen on their bed, most men will assume that his wife has a disgust of him. You must remember that fact and show your husband that you love him with frequent signs of affection as well as with the love you have in your heart. Eventually Lord Bentley will return the love you show him.”
As the truth of Mrs. Copley’s words became apparent, Clara became conscious of the turquoise pendant lying comfortingly on its chain on her chest. She reached inside the collar of her coat, pulled the pendant out and stared at it while the deep blue-green color of the stone reflected back into her eyes. She looked up to smile warmly at Mrs. Copley. The Christmas holidays suddenly seemed to be full of promise. Mrs. Copley’s words had given Clara an entirely new picture of what love in marriage could bring. The actions of Lord Bentley on their wedding night now seemed to be explained.
“Excuse me, my lady,” the scullery maid, Josie suddenly appeared at her side. “Warner sent John from the house to ask that I help bring hot tea and chestnuts to roast on the fire.”
Clara looked up to see that a large pile of greenery was stacked neatly in the clearing ready to be taken back to the house. James and several of the stable hands were busy starting a large bonfire on the other side of the clearing.
“Of course, Josie, go and help Cook pack a basket.” Clara rubbed her cold nose. “I admit that some hot tea would be greatly appreciated after all this cold work.”
After Josie left to do Clara’s bidding, Mrs. Copley reached for an empty basket. “I hope that I did not overstep myself, my lady, with my plain-spoken advice. I guess it is in my nature to wish everyone around me happiness.”
Clara hastened to reassure her. “I am indebted to you for saying what you did to me. So much is explained to me now and I hope, as you have said, I can use my newfound knowledge to someday receive my husband’s love in return.”
“I am certain you will be successful, my lady.” Mrs.
Copley indicated the empty basket she carried at her side. “I will gather some greenery for the nursery, my lady. I am anxious to begin decorating the rooms for my charge.” With that statement, she walked away leaving Clara alone with her thoughts.
Clara continued gathering bits of mistletoe from low-lying branches at the edge of the knoll. Occasionally she was conscious of the servants’ voices amid the crackling of the wood burning on the bonfire. But her thoughts were far away. A wistful smile slowly creased her lips as she once again recalled her actions on her wedding night. What an innocent fool she had been!
“Lady Bentley, I have returned.”
A man’s deep voice sounding perilously close to her ear abruptly jolted her from her reverie.
A pair of cool gray eyes looked into her startled emerald-green eyes.
“Julian!” His first name escaped from her lips in a sudden rush of emotion. Clara observed one straight black brow curve up in surprise as her husband realized she had addressed him by his first name. “I was busy gathering mistletoe for the holiday decorations in the house,” Clara hastened to explain.
As she chattered on about the greenery and described the excellent help she had received from the servants, Clara studied her husband’s beloved face. Except for a few wrinkles at the corners of his eyes and a slightly longer growth of hair, Julian had changed little over the past year. He continued to regard her with bewilderment as she came to the end of her discourse.
Clara suddenly became aware of a piece of mistletoe clasped in her hand. She was reminded once again of her conversation with Mrs. Copley and of her resolve to gain her husband’s love.
She took a deep breath and raised the sprig of mistletoe up as close as she could to the top of Julian’s head. She managed to reach a spot just behind his left ear. Well, it would have to suffice, she thought as she licked her lips nervously. No chance to back down from her course now.
“I wish you happy holidays, my lord.” The hand holding the mistletoe came down around his neck as she stood on tiptoe to place her lips against his.
A Cotillion Country Christmas Page 2
