Love Finds You in Prince Edward Island Page 15

  Mrs. Orland approached Peter. “May I serve you now, Mr. Stark?”

  “Oh, no thank you.” Though light ale was a common drink among men of nearly any religious persuasion in his culture, Peter never drank it. He didn’t want to insult the Orlands, but he’d promised his mother long ago that he would not indulge in alcohol. He intended to keep that promise.

  Mrs. Orland looked deeply into his eyes. “Our Molly says some gentlemen only drink water. I’ve a pitcher of nice, cool, sweet water from our well.”

  Peter felt the tension flow out of him. “Thank you, ma’am. That would be most welcome.”

  She brought it to him in a heavy china cup, and he downed it. “Thank you. That was most refreshing.”

  She smiled at him. “You’re very welcome. And it’s pleased I am to meet you.” Mrs. Orland took the cup and carried her tray around to collect the others from the mounted men. The prince had meantime engaged David and Anson in a lively conversation about the dairy business.

  The driver of the first carriage halted his team, apparently waiting for instructions.

  The prince looked over at Dundas. “I supposed we must push on, or we’ll hold up someone.”

  “I’d be happy to show you the byre, Your Highness,” Anson said with a bow. “We keep our place clean and have the best producing cows on the island.”

  “Thank you,” Dundas said, “but as His Highness indicated, I fear we’ve overstayed the time we allowed for this outing. It was a pleasure furthering our acquaintance with you gentlemen and your family.” He and the prince nodded and smiled and turned their horses toward the road, and the others followed. Peter hastened to mount his roan.

  “Mr. Stark.”

  He bounced into the saddle and looked down at Anson Orland. “Yes, sir?”

  “Thank you for bringing us to the prince’s notice.”

  “ ’Twas none of my doing.”

  “Ah. Well, then, thank you for all the small kindnesses you’ve done us. You are welcome here any time, sir.”

  Peter nodded and looked over the rest of the family, who stood watching him or gazing toward the carriages in the roadway. “It’s been my pleasure.” He swung the horse around.

  Molly’s family. The prince hadn’t realized whose fields and cattle he’d admired, of that Peter was certain. It was God’s doing. And by it, Peter had had a chance to see the rest of Molly’s kin and deepen his regard for her family. Molly’s mother had looked him over cautiously at first, but he’d felt sure Molly had spoken to her about him. Her expression had changed to welcome and warmth. He hoped the Orlands liked him as well as he liked them.

  An elegantly clad arm beckoned to him from the window of the carriage in the yard. A thin drizzle had begun to fall again. Peter’s horse minced its way across the mud to where the coachman held the team. The Earl of Washburn leaned out the window.

  “How may I help you, sir?” Peter bent down so the earl could see his face without twisting his neck.

  “Mr. Mulgrave here tells me this is the Orland farm.” The earl gazed out at him innocently, as though he’d not instructed Peter to try to steer them there.

  Peter could play along for the sake of the others in the coach. “Yes, sir. The prince asked to stop and meet the husbandman. Mr. Orland offered him a glass of ale.”

  Washburn’s eyes went wide. “I saw that.”

  Peter smiled. “He said it was an excellent brew.”

  Washburn flicked a glance beyond Peter. “I believe that’s Orland coming toward us. If he asks—”

  “Ho, Mr. Stark!”

  Washburn drew back from the window.

  Peter looked behind him. The rain had increased, and a stream of water trickled off his hat and down the back of his neck.

  Anson Orland walked up to stand beside the horse and looked toward the carriage window. “If you’ve got Lord Washburn in there, sir, I’d like to have a word with him. I missed being able to this morning.”

  “Well, I...” Peter clamped his lips together, unsure what to say. Washburn seemed to blow hot and cold as to whether he would verse with the Orland men or not. Peter half expected his master to yell, “Drive on!”

  Instead, Washburn’s grayish face appeared at the window. He glanced at Anson Orland then beckoned to Peter.

  Peter jumped down from the horse and stood close to the window. “What would you have me do, my lord?”

  Washburn sighed. “I fear I shall have to deal with these people one way or another.”

  Anson stepped closer. “I’m glad to see that Your Lordship is feeling better.”

  The earl looked helplessly at Peter.

  Before he could speak, Anson continued. “It’s redress I’m seeking, my lord.” Despite the rain that was now almost a downpour, the old man pulled the cap from his head. “I’m sure you’re aware, sir, of the wrong done to me many years ago by your father, who was then Earl of Washburn.”

  “What’s the meaning of this?” came Newcastle’s gruff voice from within the carriage.

  Washburn turned away from the window for a moment and spoke to his companion. When he turned back, he said, “Mr. Stark, make an appointment with this gentleman, please. I’ll see him later this afternoon at Government House if he can come, or if not, in the morning, before we take ship.”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  Peter stepped back from the carriage, tugging the horse’s reins so that the animal backed up, and laid a hand on Anson’s sleeve. “If you please, Mr. Orland.”

  Anson hesitated, then nodded and took a step back.

  Peter called to the coachman, “His Lordship wishes you to drive on.”

  As the coach left the yard, Peter faced the Orland men in the unrelenting rain. Mrs. Orland and the two younger children had gone inside, he noted, but Anson, David, and Molly’s eldest brother remained, all waiting with stony faces for him to speak.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Molly watched the heavy carriage lumber up the lane to the road. She exhaled and realized she’d held her breath, fearing the wheels would mire and the aristocrats would be stuck at the farm. Peter turned in the saddle for a moment. She ducked behind the curtain but didn’t take her eyes from him until he’d trotted up the lane and out of sight, down the road behind the carriages.

  The family had taken heroic measures in the three minutes’ warning they’d received. Katie had run in from the dairy and told her mother the prince was coming. Mum had called to Molly up the stairs, and she and Katie had dashed about the kitchen to help their mother gather cups and prepare the refreshment—but Molly had begged not to be included when the prince met the family.

  “I’ll see him tonight,” she’d said. “I don’t want him to see me now—like this.” She looked down at her worn housedress.

  Her mother had given in and sent her back upstairs. By then Nathan and Joe had come to carry the tray and pitchers. The rest of the family piled out into the spongy yard to meet the distinguished visitors while Molly hid upstairs and cracked her window open so she could hear what went on.

  Now it was time to put on her maid’s costume and go back to Government House so she could prepare for the ball.

  She put a cloak over her black dress and covered her hair with the hood. Her mother had put her best pairs of stockings and gloves in a bag, along with her marcasite necklace. It wasn’t a valuable piece, but it was the finest item of jewelry the Orlands this side of the Atlantic owned. Molly hadn’t told her that Thompson had promised to lend her silk stockings. If Rosaleen thought Mum’s gloves looked all right with the gown, she would wear those.

  She went down to the kitchen. Kate stood before a dishpan of soapy water, holding up Grandpa Anson’s favorite tankard, while her mother sat peeling beets.

  “The prince drank out of this cup,” Kate said dreamily.

  “Well, wash it up,” her mother said. “Your grandpa will want it at supper.”

  Kate’s eyebrows drew together. “Oh, we can’t wash it.”

  “Whyever not?”
Mum asked.

  “The prince himself drank from it.”

  “Don’t be silly.”

  Kate looked into Molly’s face. “Isn’t the prince handsome?”

  “He’s a beautiful boy.” Molly squeezed Kate. “Best wash the tankard, though. You’ll always have the memory.”

  Mum rose and gave her a hug. “Have a wonderful time tonight.”

  “Thank you.” Molly’s unsettled stomach discouraged her from even thinking about eating, and she doubted she would be able to relax and enjoy her surroundings tonight. Perhaps if the prince danced with her early in the evening, she could sit and watch the others dance and memorize the scene. Kate and her mother would want to know all the details tomorrow.

  She said good-bye to Mum and her sister and went out to the barn, carrying the small canvas bag with her extra clothing inside her cloak. Her grandfather and Nathan had harnessed Piney, the smartest of their farm horses, to the wagon and placed Peter’s bag in the back.

  The rain had slackened, and Nathan drove her to town in a light drizzle. Now and then a ray of sun struggled through the clouds. In town, people thronged the sidewalks, carrying umbrellas toward the governor’s mansion.

  “I hope Mrs. Dundas’s party wasn’t drowned out,” Molly said as they approached the side gate of Government House. Beyond the fence, hundreds of people pressed together and listened to the regimental band playing a march. Footmen and maids hurried about, carrying trays of refreshments to the serving tables.

  “I don’t suppose people mind the weather much if they get to see the prince,” Nathan told her.

  Molly gathered her skirt and hopped down, and Nathan handed her the satchel.

  “Now remember,” he said. “I’ll be waiting in the porch at the Colonial Building from ten o’clock on, no matter how late it gets.”

  “You’re a good brother.” Molly smiled up at him. “Thanks. I hope you’re not too uncomfortable.”

  “Ha. Like as not, I’ll fall asleep. Maybe I should take a pillow.”

  Molly laughed and went in through the gate. No one said a word to her as she skirted the crowd and slipped in through the entrance to the laundry with the leather satchel tucked against the folds of her skirt. One of the laundresses looked up and smiled without stopping her work. But in the damp passageway leading to the kitchen, she paused, knowing she couldn’t get to the back stairs without being seen. Perhaps she could stash the satchel in a cupboard and retrieve it later.

  She tiptoed forward and peered into the kitchen.

  “What are you doing?” hissed a voice behind her.

  Molly jumped and whirled around, banging the satchel against the door frame.

  Allison, in her black dress, white ruffled apron, and cap, eyed her with fascination. “Is that…his?” She pointed to the satchel.

  “Yes, and I need to get rid of it before I go to prepare for the ball.”

  “Mrs. Dundas’s party is in full swing in the back gardens.”

  “Yes, I saw the crowds.”

  “Well…” Allison looked over her shoulder. “Give it to me. I’ll run it up the front stairs.”

  Molly arched her eyebrows. “You’re joking.”

  “No. All the guests are out there. The mistress came in a few minutes ago and walked out on the prince’s arm. They’re all out there, I tell you.” She raised her head for a moment. “Listen.”

  Molly turned back toward the rear entrance. Strains of full, brassy music wended through the passages. “The band is still playing.”

  “Yes. So give that here.”

  “Won’t you be missed?”

  Allison winced. “Maybe. I’m supposed to be getting more tea cakes.”

  Two other maids hurried in from outside and squeezed past them.

  “All right, take it yourself,” Allison whispered. “Run right up to the gentleman’s room and tuck it in his armoire. No one will be the wiser. If someone does see you on your way, they’ll think you’ve brought a petticoat and some shoes for the ball.” She slipped into the kitchen and left Molly alone in the passage.

  Her heart pounding, Molly turned and followed the hallway to another door. This one led into another nicer passageway—one with gilt-framed paintings on the walls and deep carpeting on the floor. She tiptoed along it to where it opened on the great hall. Allison was correct. The hall was deserted.

  “Just act as though you’ve been commanded to run this errand for the mistress,” she told herself. She threw back her shoulders and skittered across the empty room to the stairs. As she reached them, the door to the dining room opened and Eustace emerged.

  “Say, Molly! Haven’t seen you all afternoon.”

  She tossed him a regretful smile. “Sorry, Eustace, I can’t stop. I’m on an errand.”

  She turned away and began mounting the stairs.

  Eustace walked over to the newel post at the bottom of the staircase. “I heard you’ve been invited to the ball. As a guest of the prince.”

  She hesitated. “Yes, Mrs. Dundas arranged it. I really must be going.”

  Eustace said no more, and she went on up the stairs hoping he wouldn’t ask what was in the satchel. When she reached the landing, she glanced back. He was walking into the passage that led to the kitchen.

  She exhaled and quickened her steps, sliding past the family’s rooms and the guest chambers. At the end of the main hallway, she turned into the wing where the lesser guests were staying—the doctor and General Bruce, along with Peter Stark.

  At Mr. Peter’s door, she paused and listened. The entire wing was eerily quiet. She tapped softly on the door then opened it and peeked in. As she had expected, the room was empty. She whisked inside and closed the door behind her.

  She’d seen the elegant room when she and Rosaleen had cleaned it, but that was before he had taken up residence. Crossing to the armoire, she forced herself not to look about too much at his personal belongings, but she couldn’t help noticing a pair of men’s dress gloves lying on the dresser—perhaps to be worn to the ball tonight?—and a book bound in green leather on the night table. She glanced over her shoulder again before opening the wardrobe doors. There was just enough room at the bottom to squeeze in the satchel beside his tall riding boots. She smiled at the sight of them. Those boots had played a significant role in their acquaintance.

  She closed the armoire and hurried back to the door. She must show up in Deborah’s bedchamber on the third story at four o’clock, and she had only ten minutes to spare. Against her better judgment, she paused for a peek at the book’s title. He was reading an American author, Oliver Wendell Holmes. Had he chosen the book because he would soon be in America and wanted to be able to discuss their authors with his hosts—or simply for pleasure?

  She cracked the door to the hall open and put her eye to the slit. With a gasp, she drew back and closed the door. Peter—Mr. Stark—was striding down the carpeted hall toward his room. Unfortunately, the door gave a telltale thud as it hit the jamb.

  She stood still with her hand on the knob, holding her breath.

  After what seemed an eternity, a gentle rapping came on the door panel near her face, and the crystal knob turned slightly beneath her grasp.

  She gulped and stepped back. The door swung slowly open, and Mr. Stark peered in at her.

  “Hello.” A smile started in his eyes and drew his lips upward. “What a pleasant surprise.”

  “I—I—” Molly looked down at the rug. “Forgive me, sir. I was returning the—the—”

  “Oh, that.” His smile took on a conspiratorial air. “I did wonder about it. Your grandfather looked fine today, but I confess I thought your father looked even better.”

  Molly thought she would choke. “I’m so sorry. They weren’t both intending to use it, but Grandpa missed the earl, and…” She let her words trail off and instead gazed into his laughing brown eyes.

  “It’s all right. May I come in?”

  She realized he still stood in the doorway, with her blocking hi
s entrance to his own chamber. “Oh, I’m so sorry. Please—I must—”

  She stepped back and Mr. Stark stepped forward. She dodged to her right, but he moved to his left at the same time, and they nearly collided. He grabbed her arm to steady her. A shock of awareness shot through her.

  “There we go,” he said. “I’m sorry. I’m not usually such a clumsy oaf.”

  “Oh, please, it’s entirely my fault. But I must go. Quickly.” Had he ever seen her when her face was not crimson with shame?

  “Of course. I won’t keep you, but—I heard you’ll attend the ball tonight.”

  Her lips trembled. “Y–yes. I’ve been told to do so.”

  “You don’t wish to go?” Mr. Stark frowned as he spoke, and she wondered if he would be disappointed in her answer.

  “I suppose every girl on the island wants to go, but…well, it’s not my place, sir.”

  “Nonsense. This is the colonies. You’re not in service for your whole life, are you? I thought this was a temporary job.”

  “So it is.”

  “And your father and grandfather are respected men in the community.”

  She straightened her shoulders. “Indeed they are, sir.”

  “Well, then, if you’ve been invited, what’s to stop you? I daresay those other young ladies you spoke of had to buy tickets to get in the ballroom. But you’re going on the invitation of the prince himself.”

  She sucked in a breath. “Is it that way? I’d heard it, but I didn’t quite believe it, though I feared it was true.”

  “Why did you fear it?” Mr. Stark cocked his head. “You don’t wish to dance with the prince?”

  “I was told Lord Washburn made the request. I thought perhaps it had something to do with my family. That perhaps he was…angry because of what my father said to him this morning. But then when folks began saying the prince asked for me, I admit it scared me a little. And when you came to the farm this afternoon…”

  “You were there?”

  She hesitated then nodded miserably.