Clarissa pulled out a pair of black leather shoes with rounded toes. Mrs. Taylor had insisted on purchasing them for her almost five years ago. Clarissa had taken good care of them. They were worn for Sunday services and the parish Cotillion Dance. Now they would see her marry.
Finally, the women helped Clarissa don the cream muslin, slipping it over her hair and shoulders with the care of handling a work of art. The dress fit perfectly. Mrs. Yarborough had also generously sent a yard of emerald green ribbon for Clarissa to tie under the bodice.
Clarissa looked at herself in the glass and couldn’t remember ever appearing so regal. She even felt taller . . . and wondered if it would make a difference to Lord Marsden to see her this way.
Mrs. Warbler came behind her and placed her hands on Clarissa’s shoulders. “He will consider himself a lucky man,” she predicted. “And he is. But there is one thing you need to complete the ensemble. Jane, will you please leave us?”
The moment the door shut, Mrs. Warbler surprised Clarissa by, with great solemnity, placing a long gold chain with a small medallion around her neck.
“What is this?”
“The chain is another gift from the matrons.”
“You all have already given me so much,” Clarissa protested.
Mrs. Warbler turned her around. “My dear, we are so proud of what you have become.”
“You wanted me to marry Mr. Thurlowe.”
“Mr. Thurlowe is the one who offered. However, I will at last confess that your suspicions were correct. When Lord Marsden appeared the other day with the baby and acted so completely at sixes and sevens, well, I secretly hoped this would happen. There has always been something between the two of you.”
“Yes, dislike.”
“Sometimes dislike is a stronger attraction than we give it credit. And it isn’t such a stretch of the imagination for an earl to choose a godly minister’s daughter—”
“Are we talking about the Earl of Marsden? The man who refuses to step inside a church?”
“He is today. To marryyou. Nor am I surprised, although this is definitely a quicker timeline than I saw coming, and yet, I believe all will be good for the two of you. Now, please sit. I have something to tell you that may be upsetting.”
Clarissa took the chair next to the desk, both curious and alarmed. Mrs. Warbler pulled the other chair up so that they were next to each other, cozy-like.
“You are making me nervous,” Clarissa warned, touching the chain’s small medallion resting against the soft material of her bodice. The weight of it felt comforting.
“Iamnervous,” was the response. “I wish to speak to you about your mother.”
“My mother?” Everyone had always claimed they knew nothing about her parentage.
“She owned the medallion that is on that chain.”
Startled, Clarissa lifted it up to look at it better. It was no bigger than the nail of her little finger and seemed very old, the color dull compared to the newer chain. There was a faint engraving. She turned it toward the light in the window. She could make out aPon one side in a lovely script. On the other was the outline of a flower. A lily.
“What do you know about my mother? Did Reverend and Mrs. Taylor know? Why has no one told me anything?” Clarissa couldn’t believe that people she had known all her life had kept this secret.
“Reverend and Ivy Taylor didn’t know anything because the dowager”—she referred to the Dowager Duchess of Winderton—“and I kept it all a secret.” Mrs. Warbler looked at the tray of half-eaten foods in front of her as if wishing there was sherry. Then, with a heavy sigh, she said, “She died, Clarissa.” Mrs. Warbler’s voice was as gentle as she could make it.
Died. Of course. Why else would she not have come for her baby? There had been many times in her childhood that Clarissa had dreamed about her mother striding into Maidenshop and claiming her. That she hadn’t meant that she couldn’t. And yet some mothers could give up a child. Such was Dora’s lot. Still, death—?
Clarissa discovered her feelings about this piece of information distant and somewhat vague. “Did you know her?”
“Not at all. And we didn’t withhold this information as a jest. The duchess suggested it best to keep the news to ourselves.” She sighed heavily again and said, “A young woman was found wandering on Winderton lands. She was delirious and holding a wee babe. The old duke was out of town. The current one hadn’t even been born yet. Lucy was still new to her title and she sent for me. She was concerned the woman was going to die.”
“What was she ill from?”
“She had a fever...anda broken heart.”
“A broken heart?”
“Yes, apparently she was in Maidenshop hoping to reunite with the father of her baby.”
