hoped to keep her past, and her indiscretions, a secret, but they seemed intent upon chasing her from place to place. “I am surprised to see a familiar acquaintance, that is all.”
“A coincidence, indeed.” Rebecca looked back over toward Andrew’s retreating figure, lifting a delicate hand to shield her eyes from the sun. “You had no idea he was here?”
“None.”
Rebecca’s brow furrowed. “Very odd. How are you acquainted with Mr. Moreton?”
“I-I . . .” Cecily stopped. This should be an easy question to answer, and yet the words were difficult to find. “My father was employed by his family’s estate, Aradelle Park, many years ago. Our cottage was on the grounds. If I knew of any connection to the Trent family, I surely forgot it long ago.”
Rebecca looped her arm through Cecily’s once more. “Mr. Moreton’s lived here for so long I had quite forgotten where he was from.”
“Here? So long?”
“Yes. I can remember him being here from time to time since I was young, and he has made Willowgrove his home for the past several years, although he is rarely at home. Quite a traveler, he is. What a coincidence!”
Against her better judgment, Cecily glanced back over her shoulder to the direction he had walked.
As if reading Cecily’s thoughts, Rebecca spoke. “That is Mrs. Trent, in the black gown.”
Cecily’s gaze brushed past the older woman to a young woman clad in a gown the color of sunflowers who, as Andrew approached, took the arm he extended. “And who is that on Mr. Moreton’s arm?”
“That is his intended, Miss Pritchard. And her mother, Mrs. Pritchard, is to her left.”
Intended. The word slammed her.
Cecily’s heart sank like a stone plunging to the sea floor.
She was the person he was supposed to marry.
Or at least she had been in another world.
If Rebecca noticed any change in Cecily’s countenance, she possessed the politeness to pretend that she did not. “Come now. Let me take you inside.”
They continued toward the servants’ entrance. It took every ounce of self-control not to run to Andrew. To demand answers. But she was not sure what she would ask him if given the opportunity.
She watched Andrew as he laughed and said something to the elegant, slender woman next to him. He had not seemed the least bit affected to see her. He had moved on. If only her wounded heart could follow his lead.
10
C ecily was grateful that Rebecca walked before her once the path narrowed and wound through the kitchen garden, for tears blinded her eyes so completely she was afraid that she might stumble. The pebble path and green spring grass blurred in and out of focus as she placed one foot in front of the other.
Later.
She could cry later, once she was alone. But for now, she had to be brave.
For whatever force caused Andrew to cross her path again, she must put her feelings aside. She was about to meet the new people in her life—the people she would encounter today and each day thereafter.
After making sure Rebecca’s back was still to her, Cecily wiped tears away from her face, looked again into the breeze to allow the cool air to soothe her features, and drew a deep breath.
She followed Rebecca through a door into Willowgrove’s kitchen—a large, bright room with high ceilings, white walls, andlarge, mullioned windows that stretched the height of the space. Scents of thyme and rosemary encircled her the moment she entered. Pots of copper and iron lined the walls and a large, open fireplace crossed the back wall with a smokejack above it. A long, wooden table ran the length of the room, and at it sat several young women, all dressed in gowns of gray with white aprons, chopping carrots and potatoes.
“Entering through the kitchen is not the greeting you expected, to be sure. But with all things considered, this might be more prudent. Through that door there is the larder, and then just beyond it is the butler’s pantry, should you need his assistance at any
“A coincidence, indeed.” Rebecca looked back over toward Andrew’s retreating figure, lifting a delicate hand to shield her eyes from the sun. “You had no idea he was here?”
“None.”
Rebecca’s brow furrowed. “Very odd. How are you acquainted with Mr. Moreton?”
“I-I . . .” Cecily stopped. This should be an easy question to answer, and yet the words were difficult to find. “My father was employed by his family’s estate, Aradelle Park, many years ago. Our cottage was on the grounds. If I knew of any connection to the Trent family, I surely forgot it long ago.”
Rebecca looped her arm through Cecily’s once more. “Mr. Moreton’s lived here for so long I had quite forgotten where he was from.”
“Here? So long?”
“Yes. I can remember him being here from time to time since I was young, and he has made Willowgrove his home for the past several years, although he is rarely at home. Quite a traveler, he is. What a coincidence!”
Against her better judgment, Cecily glanced back over her shoulder to the direction he had walked.
As if reading Cecily’s thoughts, Rebecca spoke. “That is Mrs. Trent, in the black gown.”
Cecily’s gaze brushed past the older woman to a young woman clad in a gown the color of sunflowers who, as Andrew approached, took the arm he extended. “And who is that on Mr. Moreton’s arm?”
“That is his intended, Miss Pritchard. And her mother, Mrs. Pritchard, is to her left.”
Intended. The word slammed her.
Cecily’s heart sank like a stone plunging to the sea floor.
She was the person he was supposed to marry.
Or at least she had been in another world.
If Rebecca noticed any change in Cecily’s countenance, she possessed the politeness to pretend that she did not. “Come now. Let me take you inside.”
They continued toward the servants’ entrance. It took every ounce of self-control not to run to Andrew. To demand answers. But she was not sure what she would ask him if given the opportunity.
She watched Andrew as he laughed and said something to the elegant, slender woman next to him. He had not seemed the least bit affected to see her. He had moved on. If only her wounded heart could follow his lead.
10
C ecily was grateful that Rebecca walked before her once the path narrowed and wound through the kitchen garden, for tears blinded her eyes so completely she was afraid that she might stumble. The pebble path and green spring grass blurred in and out of focus as she placed one foot in front of the other.
Later.
She could cry later, once she was alone. But for now, she had to be brave.
For whatever force caused Andrew to cross her path again, she must put her feelings aside. She was about to meet the new people in her life—the people she would encounter today and each day thereafter.
After making sure Rebecca’s back was still to her, Cecily wiped tears away from her face, looked again into the breeze to allow the cool air to soothe her features, and drew a deep breath.
She followed Rebecca through a door into Willowgrove’s kitchen—a large, bright room with high ceilings, white walls, andlarge, mullioned windows that stretched the height of the space. Scents of thyme and rosemary encircled her the moment she entered. Pots of copper and iron lined the walls and a large, open fireplace crossed the back wall with a smokejack above it. A long, wooden table ran the length of the room, and at it sat several young women, all dressed in gowns of gray with white aprons, chopping carrots and potatoes.
“Entering through the kitchen is not the greeting you expected, to be sure. But with all things considered, this might be more prudent. Through that door there is the larder, and then just beyond it is the butler’s pantry, should you need his assistance at any
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