The whispers on the moor.., p.76
The Whispers on the Moors Collection, page 76
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 me, 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.
The carriage drew to a halt. Seconds seemed like hours as she waited for the coachman to open the door, and as her slippered foot landed on the road below, Cecily felt as though she had arrived in a fairyland.
Sparkling lanterns lined the walkway to the Pigeon’s Rest Inn. Garlands of spring roses and honeysuckle swung over the door, and yellow light spilled from paned windows in the blue dusk. Sweet strains of flutes, violins, and laughter danced on the evening’s warm wind. People, shadowed by dusk, darted to and fro.
After weeks of quiet and predictability, she grew anxious to learn more about the village she now called home. She pushed her thoughts about Mrs. Massey and Mr. Stanton to the side and focused on soaking in every detail.
As they began up the walkway, Mrs. Massey took her arm. The act of familiarity took Cecily by surprise.
Dozens of people were already inside. Cecily did not recognize most of the faces. A few she remembered from church service, but for the most part, she was in a sea of strangers. But it mattered not. For the first time in weeks she felt the cares of her daily existence fade away. She fussed with the borrowed fan looped around her wrist and flicked her hand nervously over her skirt.
Cecily had never been in the Pigeon’s Rest Inn. From what she had gathered from Rebecca, the inn was mostly used by travelers. But tonight, all the tables had been pushed aside to make a clearing for dancing. All around her, roses and greenery hung from the rafters and candles hung from the ceiling. Above them, musicians were assembled in the loft, their jaunty music showering down on the dancers below. The warm air whooshed past her as the dancing couples swooshed through their steps, their laughter mingling with the music.
“Now, it is important we make the appropriate introductions,” Mrs. Massey said. Cecily leaned closer to hear above the song.
“Do you see Miss Stanton?” asked Cecily, rising to the tips of her toes to see above the moving crowd, looking for Rebecca. She almost had to shout to be heard above the movement and voices. “I told her I would find her as soon as we arrived.”
“All in good time, dear.” Mrs. Massey flicked her own oriental fan open. “I promised Mrs. Trent I would introduce you to the necessary parties, and I intend to do just that.”
Cecily dropped back down so her feet were flat. But before she could move, two tiny arms hugged her around the waist. “Miss Faire! You came!”
Cecily looked down to see young Hannah, her fair curls pulled away from her sweet face and cascading down her back.
“Dear Hannah!” Cecily leaned down to return the child’s hug. “Now, stand back and let me look at you.” She held the child at arm’s length.
Hannah beamed. “Do you like my dress? It used to be Charlotte’s, but Mother adjusted it for me.”
“I adore it!” Cecily smoothed the sleeve of the child’s gown. “I am particularly fond of the blue sash.”
“I am too. Nathaniel got it for me. Mother says he spoils me, but how can such a pretty thing be spoiling me?”
Cecily laughed. “Well, I am sure that he thought such a pretty young lady needed a pretty blue bow. And I think he was absolutely correct.”
“Hello, Hannah,” Mrs. Massey interjected.
Cecily stepped back to include Mrs. Massey in the conversation. “Hannah was just telling me about her new sash.”
“Lovely, child.” But Mrs. Massey seemed preoccupied. “Where is your brother? Do you know?”
Hannah put her finger to the side of her face. “Um, he was over talking to Mr. Weymeir, but he’s not there anymore.”
Cecily could not help but smile at the child’s innocent observations. As she looked in the direction Hannah pointed, she saw him.
She tried to pretend it was the heat that made her heart flutter. Her eye caught sight of his freshly shaven jaw. The manner in which the flickering light played on his spontaneous smile and emphasized the lightness of his eyes.
She yearned for him to look in her direction as much as she feared it.
She wondered if Mrs. Massey had the same reaction.
But Mrs. Massey clearly did not see him, for she instructed Hannah to tell Mrs. Stanton they had arrived and then ushered Cecily across the room—in the opposite direction.
Around the room they went. Smiling. Nodding. She met Mrs. Donnelly. The Lerens and their three daughters. Mr. Felton.
They were all welcoming, but Cecily found it odd how their expressions altered when Mrs. Trent’s name was mentioned. How could it be that they all thought so poorly of her? Mrs. Trent was a bit eccentric, but these people seemed to not care for her at all.
And then Mrs. Massey led them around to Mr. Stanton.
Mr. Stanton was speaking with a young man, and Mrs. Massey joined their conversation as if she had been invited, her arm looped through Cecily’s, pulling her closer. Interrupting a conversation between gentlemen in such a brazen way made Cecily uncomfortable. She shifted from foot to foot and lowered her eyes. Not wishing to appear as uncomfortable as she felt, she gathered the courage to glance up at Mr. Stanton. He was already looking at her. As their eyes met, the corner of his mouth lifted in a smile.
She listened more closely to Mrs. Massey.
“And, Miss Faire, you already know Mr. Stanton, but this is Mr. Curley. Mr. Curley runs a farm on the other side of the vale.”
The men bowed in unison. Mr. Curley’s bold gaze held hers. She did not have the opportunity to return the greeting, for Mrs. Massey was already speaking.
“Mr. Curley, Miss Faire has not yet had the opportunity to dance, and I do believe that the musicians are about to take up their instruments again.”
Heat flushed Cecily’s face. She did not wish to be singled out. Nor did she feel confident enough in her abilities to dance.
But Mr. Curley’s eagerness made refusal impossible. He stepped forward, a broad smile on his round face, giving her a glimpse of his crooked teeth. “I would be honored. Miss Faire?”
Cecily cast a nervous glance toward Mrs. Massey and forced herself not to look at Mr. Stanton. “I would be delighted.”
She allowed herself to be led to the floor, to the thick sea of dancers and swishing gowns. She recognized the dance from her days at Rosemere, and that brought her a little confidence. But as she stood facing her partner, preparing for the dance to begin, she turned and saw Mrs. Massey with her arm draped through Mr. Stanton’s. Cecily had to sneak an extra glance. For even though it would be breaking every rule of decorum, it almost appeared as if she were pulling him to the dance! Mr. Stanton, on the other hand, appeared uncomfortable. His expression was resolute. Almost stern.
Before she could contemplate their relationship further, the dance started and she refocused her attention on Mr. Curley.
Despite his teeth, he was not an altogether unattractive man. His light hair fell over his broad forehead, which by some might be considered too large, and light lashes framed kind, if not overeager, eyes. He had a nice, easy smile. But she knew better than to soften toward kind eyes and warm smiles.
“And where are you from, Miss Faire?” He seemed to almost shout in attempt to be heard over the music.
“I am most recently from Rosemere School in Darbury.”
“Darbury? That is quite a distance. And do you find Wiltonshire to your liking?”
The music grew louder, a happy, lively tune, and yet his questions did not stop.
“I am very fond of it, yes,” she managed to say between steps.
But if he noticed her need for concentration, he did not let on. “And how do you like Mrs. Trent?”
“She is a very kind woman.” Cecily circled around and waited until she once again faced her partner.
“Is that so? I have heard she is quite testy.”
At this, Cecily stiffened. She did not like to hear unkind things about the mistress of Willowgrove. “I have found the opposite to be true.”
His expression narrowed, as if he did not believe her, but then it softened again, and he extended his gloved hand toward her for the next move.
Somehow Cecily survived the dance with no major mistakes. She only turned the wrong direction once, but it was barely noticeable against the backdrop of so many people and such loud music. As Mr. Curley led her from the floor, she felt quite proud of herself.
Mrs. Massey had been talking to Mr. Stanton during the length of the dance, and as Mr. Curley and Cecily approached them, Mrs. Massey locked eyes with Cecily. “You two looked absolutely lovely.”
The music began again, and Mr. Curley turned to Mrs. Massey. “Would you care to dance, Mrs. Massey?”
A look of surprise crossed Mrs. Massey’s face. “Oh, I don’t think so, Mr. Curley. I—”
But his rebuttal came quickly. “Oh, you cannot refuse! You cannot ask your friend here to dance without dancing yourself.”
If she was annoyed, she did not look it. “Very well.” She extended her gloved hand and placed it on his waiting arm. “Thank you, Mr. Curley.”
Mr. Curley led Mrs. Massey to the dance floor.
And that left Cecily alone with Mr. Stanton.
Nathaniel hated to dance. A silly waste of time, and yet another opportunity for his mother to try her hand at matching him with one of the local young ladies.
Even now, he sensed her watching his every interaction. Under normal circumstances, he would find any excuse not to attend such a gathering. But seeing as this event was to celebrate his sister’s engagement, he could hardly refuse.
And despite his general attitude toward such events, he had come almost willingly.
For he knew Miss Faire would be in attendance. And he noticed the moment she entered.
She was a mystery—a contradiction. Beautiful and bright, yet guarded and demure.
He watched as Hannah hugged her waist and as Mrs. Massey ushered her around the space, trying to maintain focus on the conversation he was having with Mr. Curley. Her vibrant hair was swept high off of her neck, soft curls bouncing with each movement. Her cheeks were flushed the most becoming shade of rose, and her full lips curved in an easy smile. Twice she had extended her hand in greeting, her every movement delicate and graceful. Heaven help him, he was no better than the rest of the men in the room, curious and infatuated with Mrs. Trent’s new companion.
He’d noticed her discomfort at their introduction. Mrs. Massey was always brazen—quite the opposite, he’d learned, of Miss Faire’s more reserved nature. He’d wanted to at least try to make her feel more at ease, but within moments, Mrs. Massey had her dancing with Mr. Curley. And as he watched them dance, her hand on his arm, Nathaniel could barely breathe.
By contrast, Mrs. Massey’s presence was suffocating. She’d taken hold of his arm the moment she arrived, and try as he might, he could not free himself. But now, the tide had turned. Miss Faire was standing next to him, her soft scent of rosewater teasing him, watching the dancers swirl around the room.
He stepped closer to be heard above the music and voices. “Did you enjoy your dance, Miss Faire?”
“I did, very much.” She turned away from the twirling couples to look at him. “But I am afraid I lack talent.”
“On the contrary, you looked quite at ease.” He had not meant for the compliment to slip so openly, but at his words, a flush of pink kissed her cheeks.
She toyed with the fan around her wrist. “Well then, I played a part well, for I have little experience dancing, really. At the school I typically took the gentleman’s part, and, well, I am afraid my lack of experience will betray me.”
He could not help but notice the necklace that she wore. The bright beads were entrancing against her cream skin. He nodded toward it. “Your necklace is lovely.”
She touched it with the tips of her fingers and smiled up at him. “I have you to thank for it. It seems you have gotten in quite the habit of assisting me with things I manage to break. First my trunk and then my necklace.”
He returned the smile. “It is my pleasure.”
She rolled a bead between her forefinger and thumb. “I told you it had belonged to my mother. I have such fond memories of her wearing it to church every Sunday. Losing it would have been like losing her again. So I thank you.”
He seized the opportunity to learn more. “When you dropped it, you said that you should never have taken it.”
“Did I?” She adjusted the necklace again.
“Yes.”
She looked out to the dancers. “The truth is my mother left this necklace to both me and my sister. When we were separated, I had the necklace. I am sure she has wondered what became of it all these years. I am so clumsy I am certain it would have been safer in her care. But one day I shall return it. I am sure she misses it, just as I would.”
She offered him a smile. He could not look away from her. Her statement was simple enough, a short explanation that, on the surface, appeared to be little more than a reason behind her distraught behavior earlier. But to him, it marked something very different. It marked the first signs of her breaking down the shell of her reserve—and the start of her letting him into her world.
