“Yes, of course.” She hurried to exit. But as she did, she couldn’t help but glance once more back at the nursery. Mismatched furniture draped in sheets filled the room. Catherine pressed her palm to her mouth. Yellowed wallpaper peeling up in the corners covered the walls. A dusty bassinet and one broken leg sat in the corner. She shook her head. Had she imagined an entire room? Sunlight streamed through the window, mocking her.
“My lady?” Mrs. Morgan prompted.
“Coming.” Catherine tore her gaze away and followed Mrs. Morgan down the hall between beams of sunlight pressing through the shuttered windows. The visions had never been this bad before, and they were becoming more vivid. Her thigh throbbed where she’d struck it on the rocking chair.
She needed to get out of this house, feel the wind against her face and the sun on her skin. Too long indoors always made her restless. That must be why the visions had gotten so bad.When she married Edward, she never thought being a lady would be quite so complicated. While Catherine might be a failure, Mrs. Morgan moved with surprising speed to prepare her for a walk. It took mere minutes to summon Miss Larson with Catherine’s coat and boots and a second maid with a basket to deliver to Mrs. Rosewood—since she was going out anyway.
Basket slung over her arm, she stepped out onto the circular drive. Gravel crunched beneath her boots, and she inhaled the scent of damp soil. She took her time and enjoyed the gentle squish of mud under her boots as she strolled down the road. Shallow puddles had formed in the grooves left by carriage wheels, and frogs croaked nearby. The knot of tension in her chest loosened. Everything would be fine. She would be fine.
At the end of the lane, a low, stone wall encircled a small cottage with white siding and tall gray roofs. Ivy spilled out of pots on the front porch and dangled, covering the white banisters. Even if Mrs. Morgan hadn’t given her directions, Catherine would have guessed it was Mrs. Rosewood’s cottage. It exuded the same warm energy as its mistress. A wooden slatted gate opened onto an herb garden where bees buzzed, bouncing among dewdrop covered petals of early blooming flowers. In some of her darkest moments at Elk Grove, she imagined a life in a cozy cottage like this. Days spent working in her garden, a loving husband who would come home and swing her in his arms in greeting.
Catherine adjusted the weight of the basket and knocked on the green door.
The patter of footsteps preceded a muffled, “Coming.” The door swung open. Mrs. Rosewood, wearing an apron with a pattern of flowers, answered the door. “Oh, Lady Thornton, what a pleasant surprise.” She stepped aside to let Catherine inside.
The foyer was intimate but brightened by minty green wallpaper with a design of intertwining vines. A vase of yellow daffodils sat on the nearby credenza. It should have been too early for such blooms. There had been flowers on the table at dinner; perhaps Mrs. Rosewood had a greenhouse and provided them. She’d love to see it and ask her for her gardening secrets.
“Lord Thor— Edward, asked me to bring you a few things.” Catherine held up her basket.
“Oh my, he is so thoughtful. Here let me take that from you. Will you stay for tea?” She unburdened Catherine with a smile.
“Yes, thank you.”
Women’s laughter escaped from behind the partially closed door. Mrs. Rosewood glanced toward it. “You’re just in time. I was just about to bring out tea for my other guests. Please sit, and I’ll join you momentarily.” She nodded her head toward the room as she carried the basket toward the back of the cottage.
“Aunt, who is it?” Lydia poked her head into the foyer. She looked at Catherine and then back into the room beyond. A sly smile spread over her face. “Catherine, how wonderful to see you.”
She wanted to run, but her feet were rooted to the spot. Lydia already had reason to not like her; she shouldn’t add rudeness on top of it. If she wanted to overcome her fears, she had to face them. Lydia was disappointed that Edward hadn’t married her best friend. But maybe they could still be friends if Catherine only tried.
Lydia twirled, throwing the door open wide. “Mary, this is her, the woman I was telling you about.”
A pretty blond sat on the sofa. She had a flushed round face and sparkling blue eyes.
“It’s lovely to meet you,” she said as she stood to greet her.
“Catherine, this is Miss Ashton. I told you about her at dinner the other night.” Lydia’s smirk made Catherine’s insides squirm. This was her, the woman Lydia hoped Edward would marry. If Edward was the hero of a novel, Miss Ashton looked like the perfect heroine. No wonder Lydia had wanted them to marry. They would have been an ideal match. Catherine twisted her hands together.
Her throat felt suddenly tight.
“Come sit with us,” Lydia said as she plopped down on the sofa next to Miss Ashton and patted the seat opposite her.
Catherine dragged leaden feet over to the sofa. Under normal circumstances, she wasn’t a great conversationalist. But sitting this close to Miss Ashton and seeing her dewy skin and perfect posture, she felt the curve of her slumping shoulders and her sickly pale skin stand out even more in contrast. She threaded her fingers together and rested them on her lap to keep herself from fidgeting.
“How are you enjoying Thornwood so far?” Miss Ashton asked.
“It is lovely,” Catherine murmured.
“It must feel strange coming in as an outsider,” said Lydia. “Mary and I have grown up with the foggy forests, and strange superstitions of the locals.” She laughed, but Miss Ashton didn’t join her. “Mary, remember that time I dared you to go into the woods, and you swore you saw a man there?” she asked Miss Ashton, shaking her head. Her body turned as if to box Catherine out.
Catherine’s head perked up,and she studied Miss Ashton. She’d seen a man in the woods? It must be a coincidence, surely.
Miss Ashton even blushed prettily as she stared at her folded hands. “I went missing overnight. My mother was so angry with me when they found me the next morning curled up in the roots of an old oak.”
“Edward nearly lost his mind with worry. I remember he stayed out all night searching for you. Was that the night he got bit by that wild dog?” Lydia asked.
Miss Ashton laughed thinly. “Was it? I don’t remember.” She glanced toward Catherine, and when their eyes met, she jerked her head away to look out of the window instead.
“At least it wasn’t a Thorn Dweller’s moon.” Lydia laughed harder, but she was the only one doing so.
