“Yes, of course, your ladyship. I’ll show you to your room.”
We returned to the great hall and went up the grand staircase. There were cracks in the stone treads, and the red carpet runner was worn thin.
Mr. Wentworth’s back was stiff as I followed him through the echoing halls. Dozens of doors lined the corridor, but he stopped near the first door and opened it for me.
The windows in this bedchamber looked out at the sea, and the sunshine illuminated a small, intimate room with an old canopied bed. Edith was there, already unpacking my luggage, which must have been delivered during my tour.
“If you need anything, your ladyship, do not hesitate to call upon me.” Mr. Wentworth bowed and then left the room, closing the door behind him.
Edith and I stared at one another. Her face was still pale, and her mouth was drawn. I crossed the room.
“Are you unwell?” I asked.
Edith shook her head and tried to smile, though it didn’t reach her eyes. “Don’t worry about me, milady.”
“Oh, don’t. Please.” I placed my hand on her arm. I had been brooding over my own discomfort and homesickness, yet I had not once thought about how this move would affect Edith. She’d come all this way to be with me and had not complained once. “Please continue to call me Libby, at least when we’re alone.”
She shook her head, her hazel eyes wide. “They won’t like it. They were appalled that you call me by my first name. Already they’ve been speaking poorly of you belowstairs. You must call me Riley. And I must call you milady.”
Her distress was so alarming that I gave in. “Of course you want to be accepted by all of them. If it will make you more comfortable, I will call you by your last name.”
She nodded, relief in the softening of her brow.
There was much I would need to learn if I wanted both of us to be comfortable here for the next ten months—and much I would have to concede.
15
WILLIAMSBURG, VIRGINIA
AUGUST 16, 1774
When I woke up, I could hardly wait to find Mama and tell her the good news. She was not in the sitting room nor the office when I came downstairs that morning, so I continued my search.
Pushing open the back door, I walked the short path to the kitchen and found her with Mariah, pulling a waffle iron from the brick oven. I wasn’t aware of anyone else in the colonies with a waffle maker, but it was Mama’s favorite food from the 1990s and she had commissioned the blacksmith to make it for her. Pots, pans, and cooking utensils lined the walls. A work table sat in the center of the room and a bread table in one corner. This was Mariah’s domain, and it spoke volumes about her attention to detail, her cleanliness, and her love of order.
Dried herbs hung from the rafters, and hogsheads of salted meat sat in the corner, along with barrels of flour, sugar, and salt. Spices filled several containers on a shelf, and there were crocks of every imaginable shape and size. In the corner nearthe fireplace lived a pile of split wood, which was never low because Abraham replenished it each day.
“Good morning to you, Libby,” Mama said with a smile on her pretty face.
“Good morning.” I crossed the kitchen to peek over Mariah’s shoulder and see what she was preparing. “Clouted cream?” I couldn’t hide the pleasure in my voice. It was one of my favorite things to put in my tea or on my waffles.
“Aye, just for you, Libby.” Mariah grinned at me, teasing, since Abraham also loved clouted cream. She said the same thing to him.
“You’re just in time to take the sausages in to breakfast.” Mama nodded at a platter on the work table. “Are the girls down yet?”
“Aye. I sent them to the sitting room to wait for us.”
Mama opened the iron and took out the perfectly baked waffle. She set it on a plate with three others. Mariah put the clouted cream and a jug of maple syrup on the tray, and I placed the sausages next to them.
“Thank you,” I said to her as I lifted the tray and followed Mama back outside and toward the house.
The day was already stifling, though the hour was early. It had been one of the hottest months in my memory, and today would be no exception.
“Mama,” I said just above a whisper as we traversed the short path from the kitchen to the house. “I have very good news.”
She must have heard the excitement in my voice, because she stopped and turned to face me, a smile already brightening her face. “Aye?”
“There’s no baby,” I said it in the same whisper, though in my happiness, my voice had raised an octave.
