Marianna’spretty gowns, Hannah reminded herself. Since the accident, she had rotated between two of Marianna’s older,simple morning dresses—insisting they were the easiest to slip over her wrapped arm.
Mrs. Turrill pulled forth a dress of lilac sarcenet. “How about this frock? It must look so well with your coloring.”
Hannah eyed the crossover bodice warily. “That’s all right, Mrs. Turrill. I have no need to dress especially well today.”
“Now, I insist. Mrs. Parrish and the vicar’s wife are coming for tea this afternoon, remember?”
Were they? How had she forgotten? “I ... I am not sure...”
“Oh, do humor me, my lady. It is a pity to neglect such pretty things.”
Hannah climbed unsteadily from the bed and began washing for the day. She allowed Mrs. Turrill to help her into a fresh shift and then lace her stays and tie her stockings. When the housekeeper lifted the lilac dress, Hannah tried to demur once more. “Really, I don’t think the gown will suit me. I...”
Ignoring her protests, Mrs. Turrill slid it over her head and shoulders. Nervously, Hannah put her good arm through one sleeve, then Mrs. Turrill helped her carefully and gently manipulate her wrapped arm though the other. Hannah stood, facing the mirror, as Mrs. Turrill began working the fastenings behind.
Hannah’s palms began to perspire. She knew that she and Lady Mayfield had very different figures. Hannah was slightly taller and more slender, while Marianna had been far curvier. The nightdresses, shifts, and loose morning gowns were forgiving, but this formfitting dress made to Marianna’s measurements would surely give her away.
“I have not worn this dress before,” she mumbled. Perfectly true.
Mrs. Turrill asked, “Recently made, was it?”
“Mm-hmm.”
Finished with the fastenings, Mrs. Turrill looked over Hannah’s shoulder into the tall mirror. She pulled at the ribbon-trimmed waistline and at the extra material crossing Hannah’ssmall chest. “It doesn’t fit you very well, my lady.” She frowned. “Have you lost weight since your last fitting?”
“Since giving birth, yes. In the bosom, especially.”
The housekeeper’s brow puckered. “I’m not a dab hand with the needle, I fear. Not with something so fine.”
“Never mind, Mrs. Turrill. I shall give it a go as soon as I regain use of both hands. But for now, perhaps the sprigged muslin? That one will... still... fit me, I think.”
Later that morning, Edgar Parrish knocked on the open nursery door. In his arms, he carried a box of baby things saved from his own childhood—small gowns, caps, and stockings, a finely knit blanket, and a gnarled stuffed rabbit.
Hannah protested, “But you’ll want these for your own children someday.”
“Someday, my lady. Not today.”
“That is kind of you, Edgar. But I’m afraid we’ll spoil them.”
He shrugged easily and glanced around the nursery. “I know it’s been hard for you to set up a place for Danny here, what with your arm and your headaches.”
Must they all be so kind to her?
Hannah said, “I hope your mother doesn’t mind.”
A flicker of hesitation crossed his face. “No ... Though she doubted a lady like yourself would accept such humble offerings.”
“Of course I will. And gratefully.”
She smiled at him, and he returned the gesture.
When he left the room a few minutes later, Becky stepped to the window to watch him go. “Edgar is surely handsome, ain’t he?”
“I suppose so.” Hannah began sorting through the articles in the box. When Becky remained silent, Hannah looked up. The wistful expression on the girl’s face disquieted her. She said gently, “Becky, you know he and Nancy are courting, don’t you?”
Becky shrugged her thin shoulders. “Well, they ain’t married yet.”
“No. Not yet.”
