A Lady at Willowgrove Hall by Sarah E Ladd Read Free Book Online Page B

trees, she noticed yellow light spilling from two windows up ahead.
    Mr. Stanton’s voice was low, and he pointed toward the structure. “Laurel Cottage. There.”
    Cecily drew a deep breath and wiped the rain from her eyelashes. Nestled in a clearing stood a cottage, the white walls of which seemed to glow almost blue in the darkness. Upon closer inspection, the cottage was unlike any she had ever encountered. It was a large, symmetrical building, and the entrance was situated between two projecting wings with steep gables. The exterior appeared to be a mixture of stucco and weatherboarding. Dark timbers crossed the frame, and a steep, thatched roof gave way to stone chimneys jutting black into the night sky, the smoke puffing from them becoming one with the rainy haze. She paused to take in the sight, but Mr. Stanton continued ahead. Nerves danced within her. He had said he was the steward of Willowgrove Hall and that ladies were in the house. She should trust him, should she not?
    The dog came running back from behind them and wove around his owner as he walked toward the cottage. She gathered her skirts and hurried to catch up.
    Mr. Stanton called out to signal their arrival, and within moments the door swung open.
    And then chaos ensued.
    A young girl in pale green with blond hair gathered in a large, pink ribbon darted past her to the dog. A heavy woman in a white apron hurried to Mr. Stanton, and two young ladies clad in printed dresses stared at her for several moments before one reached forward and tugged on her arm, gently escorting her inside.
    Once inside, the older lady stepped in front of Mr. Stanton inobvious assessment of Cecily. “Oh, my dear! What is the meaning of this?”
    Mr. Stanton removed his coat, flicking water onto the clean wood floor, and handed it to the little girl bouncing beside him. “Allow me to present Miss Faire. We met on the road to Willowgrove. She is to be Mrs. Trent’s new companion.”
    Not knowing what else to say, Cecily self-consciously ran her hand down her pelisse, dipped in a curtsey, and tried to recall every bit of the polite conversation skills she had been taught at Rosemere. “My apologies for the intrusion. I fear I must look a sight.”
    But the lines on the woman’s face softened, and she motioned for Cecily to move closer. “Oh, you poor soul! You are soaked through! Come with me.” She took Cecily by the arm and pulled her deeper into the house, which, with the heavy wool skirt, was quite a feat in itself. “Charlotte,” she continued, “go tell Bessie to get some tea, and quickly.”
    Cecily allowed herself to be led into a room off the main hall, which she assumed to be the parlor. She scanned the room as discreetly as possible, trying to get a sense of her surroundings, for everything about her was in motion. The low-ceilinged room was centered around a large, stone chimneypiece with oak shelves stacked with tomes. A calico-covered sofa and two wingback chairs atop a woven rug formed a sitting area around the fire. Lobby chairs, a small table, and a long-case clock sat against the back wall.
    The older woman’s high voice recaptured her attention. “Well, who can believe this weather? A fine greeting for you, is it not? Here, permit me to take your bonnet, and we shall set about getting you dry.”
    Cecily had not realized she was trembling until she attempted to untie the soggy ribbon fixed beneath her chin. The knot felt too tight, her hands too weak. She looked around her. Two, no three females watched her with wide eyes.
    Cecily tilted her head. The steward still stood in the hall, his broad back to them, and removed his hat, revealing wet black hair. The sight surprised her, for judging by the depth of his voice, she had expected him to be graying, like the woman who had answered the door.
    One of the young women brought her back to the task. “Here, allow me.” The tallest girl, with fair hair and skin, and eyes that reminded Cecily of the