“Where does it lead?”
“There be two dressin’ rooms through t’ door, and they both connect to t’ mistress’s chambers.”
The young woman balanced the basin of water she was carrying against her hip and closed the door behind her. She then placed the basin atop a table between the two windows.
“What’s your name?” asked Olivia.
“Tabitha, miss. Tabitha Martin.” She wiped her hands on the linen apron tied around her waist. “Mrs.Milton said yer t’ dress in t’ yellow lutestring tonight.”
Olivia looked back to her trunks, which had yet to be unpacked. How odd it seemed that someone—anyone—would dictate to another adult what gown to wear. Perhaps this was how it was done, and she’d not risk angering Mrs.Milton for such a trivial request.
Olivia knelt in front of her trunk, unlocked it, pulled the shimmery gown away from the others, and shook out the folds. “I fear it’s quite wrinkled.”
“I thought it’d be when she said it was o’ lutestring, so that’s why I brought this.” Tabitha motioned toward the bucket of water. “Steamin’ hot water will get t’ wrinkles out. We’ll have to work quickly a’fore it cools.”
The woman hastened to position the gown above the steam, and then, at Tabitha’s direction, Olivia settled at her chamber’s small dressing table. The maid took down Olivia’s hair, brushed the chestnut locks, and then twisted it loosely high atop the crown of her head. She secured it with small pearly pins and then wove a length of delicate lace ribbon among the pins. She pulled a few carefully placed long, curly locks free from the style to frame her face.
Tabitha then assisted Olivia in doffing her heavy wool traveling gown and donning the much lighter primrose gown. After slipping her stockinged feet into a new pair of dainty slippers fashioned from soft kidskin, Olivia turned to assess her reflection in the narrow looking glass opposite the windows.
Surely a stranger was staring back at her.
Normally, her wavy hair was loosely bound and pinned at the nape of her neck, but having the hair higher on her head added height. The squared neckline was much lower than she was used to, but the dainty lace trim adorning the bodice added elegance. The gown’s shape, luster, and flounced hem transformed her from a mere antiquities purveyor’s daughter to someone much more refined.
A smile tweaked the corner of her mouth. Oliviafeltbeautiful. A sentiment that she had neither time, space, nor inclination for at home.
Another soft knock on her door interrupted her musings, and Tabitha answered it, revealing MissWainbridge. Without invitation she walked into the chamber in a billowy cloud of striking lavender taffeta. “I do hope I’m not interrupting.”
“N-no, no, not at all,” stammered Olivia. “We were just finishing.”
“Oh good. I was hoping to have a moment to speak with you, alone, if you’re agreeable.”
Tabitha dismissed herself, and a dainty smile softened MissWainbridge’s oval face once they were alone. “I only wanted to apologize for the manner in which you were greeted. My aunt’s manner was quite abrupt. I hope you weren’t offended.”
“I’m not offended in the least.” Olivia stood from the dressing table and turned to face her. “I think the journey was quite taxing for her.”
“That’s no reason why the conversation should have been so terse.” MissWainbridge stepped to the window, touched the curtains to peer down to the front drive, and then turned and trailed her gaze from the elaborate plaster molding, down the papered walls, to the polished floor. “I have loved this room from the moment I laid eyes on it. I do hope you find it satisfactory.”
Still gauging MissWainbridge’s trustworthiness, Olivia measured her response. “It is lovely. I feel quite at home.”
“Good. As you may know, my brother and I are fairly new to Cloverton Hall, and we are still becoming acquainted with it ourselves.” She joined Olivia near the dressing table, lifted a discardedlength of ribbon, and wove it absently through her long fingers. “I confess, I’m curious. My aunt told us you’re a friend of the family. How is it that you are acquainted?”
The sense that her hostess was prodding for information resonated. Intent upon not divulging too much information, Olivia said, “My parents and your aunt and late uncle were friends.”
“They must be very great friends for her to invite you to accompany her. And you must be a saint.” MissWainbridge’s airy laugh sounded like tinkling bells, and she shook her head, causing her clinquant earbobs to sway. “I’m sure you’ve gathered that my aunt is not fond of many people—myself and my brother included.”
Olivia pressed her lips together.
“My aunt is very well respected,” MissWainbridge continued matter-of-factly. “And it is most kind of her to preside over our party as hostess. I’m certain that her presence here has eased the minds of many mothers permitting their daughters to attend. I don’t mind sharing that it’s very important to my brother that this party be a success.”
MissWainbridge leaned to assess her own reflection in the looking glass and smoothed a perfectly shaped curl at the side of her face before returning her attention to Olivia. “Have you been to Yorkshire before?”
“No, I have not.”
“We are quite isolated here, I find. You reside in London, if I’m not mistaken.”
“I do.”
“I was in London for the entire Season. My brother took a house there, in Mayfair. I wonder that I never saw you there, at gatherings or shops or outings.”
