Love Finds You in Prince Edward Island Page 16

“Why didn’t you come out?”

  “I…” Peter looked so eager and welcoming. How could she say she’d seen enough of the prince for one day—wouldn’t that be disloyal to the Crown?—or that she didn’t want His Highness, or Peter, either one, to see her in her everyday clothes. “I wanted His Royal Highness to see me tonight and remember me in the clothes that are loaned to me. I didn‘t want him to take home a memory of a poor farm maid.”

  Peter’s face went very grave. “Some men wouldn’t mind holding that picture in their hearts.”

  She caught her breath. Was he saying he would cherish the memory of her? His eyes looked into hers, past them, and into her soul. Molly couldn’t move.

  He reached out slowly and paused with his hand not an inch from her sleeve.

  Molly stepped back. “Please. You are the earl’s man.”

  “Of course.” He drew back his hand.

  “And your master is not happy with my family just now. Papa said the earl seemed displeased to see him and Grandpa again when they came to the farm. They couldn’t have known it was our land or Lord Washburn never would have come there.”

  “You’re wrong, dear Molly.” He spoke softly, watching her intently.

  Molly’s heart lurched. She had to get away from this man. He made her feel all jumbled inside, and if she stayed, who knew what would happen? His rich brown eyes seemed to be pleading, asking something of her. Was this what Mum had warned her against? She choked out, “He said he would see Papa and Grandpa later today.”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you know—does he plan to do something to them? To tell the governor about the past? Grandpa thinks not, but Papa is worried.”

  “Tell him he needn’t be. Molly, Lord Washburn isn’t angry with your family. If anything, he’s upset with his own. Your father did not insult the earl this morning. The levee was perhaps not the best place to bring up a sensitive family matter, but I understand completely. He took the only chance he had.”

  “He said the earl walked out. Was the prince upset?” She put her hand to her mouth, covering her trembling lips.

  “I don’t believe anyone realized what was going on but Lord Washburn. And myself, of course. It’s true, my master was shaken at coming face-to-face with your father. I cannot speak for the earl, but I know he regrets the incident that links your family to his. However, it had nothing to do with him, and he cannot change things. That is what he will tell them when he meets with them.”

  “But is he angry? Angry with my papa and my grandpa for coming to the levee intending to speak about it? Does he think they intended to humiliate him? I’m sure that was not their purpose.”

  Peter let out a long, slow breath. “I spoke to the earl at length. He’s not sure what your family wants. I suggested… ” He paused and looked toward the window for a moment, then back at Molly. “Perhaps I shouldn’t tell you what he said, but I do believe he wants to help your family if he can. He asked me to find out where the Orland farm lay and seek to guide our party there this afternoon. He knew this matter had to be settled, though it is distasteful to him. But if there’s animosity to be shown—”

  “No, no! I’m sure there’s not.”

  He nodded. “Then don’t worry about the meeting. He is a gentleman, and he will not want to cause you and your loved ones harm. Come to the ball tonight, dear Molly. Perhaps he will ask you to dance and tell you that he doesn’t bear any grudges toward the Orlands.”

  Gazing up at his firm jaw and compassionate eyes, Molly believed it might turn out all right. “W–will you be there?” As soon as she’d asked it, she knew the question was too forward. She looked down at the rug and Peter’s gleaming shoes, feeling the fire in her cheeks.

  He reached out again. This time he placed one finger beneath her chin, gently easing her head up. His touch jolted her, and she gazed into his eyes once more.

  “Yes, I shall, and I hope you will save a dance for me.”

  She took two quick breaths before she could trust her voice. “Thank you, sir. I shall be honored. Now I must leave.”

  Peter opened the armoire and smiled when he saw the leather satchel there. He took it out, set it on the bed, and opened it. The earl’s cutaway coat looked to be in fine condition. Someone had folded it carefully, and it looked barely wrinkled. He could place it back into Washburn’s wardrobe now, and if he had a chance he would press it later, though he doubted the earl would wear it in Charlottetown. Tonight he’d wear his best tailcoat for the ball, and tomorrow they’d be off for Lower Canada—Quebec City, Montreal, and onward for the rest of the tour.

  He carried the bag through the door to the adjoining room, where the earl slept. After giving the coat a gentle shaking, he hung it in Washburn’s wardrobe. Once that was taken care of, he returned to his own chamber and placed his hat on the high shelf in his armoire.

  Peter could not have been more pleased with the way things had worked out. He considered it providential that Molly had chosen to return the borrowed clothing at the exact time he went to change into his dinner clothes. He gave silent thanks for the opportunity.

  The family connection batted at the edges of his mind. She was Anson Orland’s granddaughter. And he… Some might call him a distant cousin. Others might not. Some would do whatever they could to hide the affiliation. What would Molly do if she learned his true identity? And would he have to leave Prince Edward Island without revealing it?

  During his chat with the earl after the levee, Peter had decided to keep quiet for the present. Washburn’s agitation had convinced him that opening the subject in public would only cause his master more distress. Although it pained him to keep silent, Peter would do what he believed was best for the man who had helped him so much.

  Dressed in his white shirt and cravat, black knee breeches, and dinner jacket, he opened the armoire and reached for his best shoes. He smiled again as he lifted them out past the leather satchel. Dear Molly. How she must have quaked to venture in here with the bag. And he could imagine her horror when the prince showed up at her doorstep this afternoon. Her family must have had a frantic few minutes while he rode back and forth. He couldn’t blame her for not wanting to make an appearance then. How prosaic to meet your future dance partners while dressed in an apron and housedress even less attractive than those she wore at Government House. Let her keep the mystique she would radiate when she entered the ballroom tonight.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Molly tried to sit still while Rosaleen stroked a brush through her tresses. She wasn’t used to having someone else dress her hair.

  “This is the big night for you.” Rosaleen smiled at her in the small mirror propped up on Deborah’s dresser.

  “I suppose so.”

  “Listen to you! Why, when I was a girl, I’d have given my eyeteeth for the chance you’ve got. Will I get to dance with a prince tonight? No. After you’re ready, I’ll walk home in the rain and get a late dinner for my husband and four children, that’s what I’ll do.”

  “Oh, Rosaleen, I’m sorry I’m so glum.” Molly turned her head to look at her.

  “Uh-uh. Keep your neck straight. Pretend you have a bone in it, my mother used to say.”

  Molly chuckled and faced forward again. “I do appreciate that you’ve stayed later than you needed to for this. I hope your family won’t mind too much.”

  “They understand that as long as the prince is here I may be keeping odd hours.” Rosaleen tucked a pair of hairpins between her teeth and reached for a comb.

  Molly couldn’t work up any enthusiasm for the evening. The other maids were jealous of her, especially the young, single girls, but Molly dreaded dancing with the prince. What if she stepped on her gown or said something inappropriate? The thought of coming face-to-face with Lord Washburn frightened her even worse. He was supposed to be talking to her father and grandfather right now. What if he was angry with them? Would he express his displeasure to her at the ball? The only good thing about tonight would be Peter Stark. Now,
that dance she was looking forward to.

  He liked her, she was certain, but she felt she’d botched it with him. He’d reached out to her this afternoon and she’d kept her distance, as was proper. But did Peter want a proper woman? She hoped he did. Still, he was leaving soon, and she was not likely to see him ever again. So what was the point? She ought to have been able to keep her emotions better harnessed and not let them bolt off after a dashing young man who would not be on the island another twentyfour hours.

  She sighed and tried not to move her head. Would Peter do more than fulfill his duty and give her the promised dance? She hoped he would want to talk again, but he now knew more about her family than she had ever intended to reveal. Had he learned from his master that her grandfather was in exile for assaulting the earl’s father? He must not know that, she concluded, or he wouldn’t have treated her so kindly. He loved his master and was loyal to him. He probably wouldn’t want to spend time in her presence if he knew her grandfather’s transgression. Still, the earl’s own family wasn’t innocent either. Peter surely knew that but remained faithful. And what did she know about him, beyond that? She pressed her lips together, mentally ticking off his good qualities. He was charming, handsome, intelligent, and compassionate.

  She sighed deeply. What more would any woman ask?

  “Now what’s the trouble?” Rosaleen asked.

  “Nothing, really. It’s just that…well, a certain gentleman asked me to save him a dance tonight.”

  “You mean the Prince of Wales?”

  “No, though I suppose I may dance with him too.”

  “That’s the whole reason you’re going, or so I’ve been told.”

  “Yes.” Molly clasped her hands together. How much should she reveal?

  “Is this a local gentleman?” Rosaleen asked. “A sweetheart?”

  “No. Oh, no.” Molly looked up at her, forgetting that Rosaleen had told her to sit still. “It’s Mr. Stark.”

  Rosaleen smiled. “I wondered. He seems like a nice young man.”

  A brief rap came on the door.

  “Come in,” Molly and Rosaleen called together. They both laughed.

  Allison poked her head in the doorway. “What’s so funny?”

  “We are,” Molly said. “Are you done with work?”

  “No, but I have a half hour off. I need to be downstairs after that to assist the ladies when they view the illuminations.”

  “Are they going to the harbor?” Rosaleen asked.

  “No, the rain has begun again, so they’re staying here. They’ll either go out on the lawn with umbrellas or see what they can from the window.” Allison sat down on Deborah’s bed. “I heard some things.”

  “What sort of things?” Molly asked.

  “Oh, things like the prince giving Mrs. Dundas the stunning new diamond bracelet she’s wearing tonight.”

  “Oooh.” Rosaleen gave a deep sigh. “Isn’t that lovely? I wonder if he’s brought one to give each of the governors’ wives on his tour.”

  “It boggles the mind to think about it,” Allison said. “Do you really suppose he’s traveling about with a treasure chest full of jewels?”

  “You never know.”

  Allison leaned toward Molly. “Anyway, there’s something else that will probably interest you more.”

  “Oh? What’s that?”

  “I heard that Mr. Stark is leaving on the first ferry in the morning for Lower Canada. He’ll be checking all the arrangements for the prince and his party in Quebec and Montreal.”

  Molly’s heart sank. The first ferry would leave shortly after sunrise. So whatever time she had with Peter at the ball tonight would be the last she’d see of him.

  “And when does the prince leave us?” Rosaleen asked.

  “Mrs. Bolton said he’ll receive some officials in the morning and have luncheon aboard the Hero with Mr. and Mrs. Dundas and a few others before he leaves. The chef is going with them, and Cook is in a blithesome mood.”

  Molly smiled at that.

  Rosaleen patted the back of her hair and then put down the comb and brush. “There, and aren’t you the lovely lady, Miss Molly?”

  “Are you eating dinner with us?” Allison asked.

  “Perhaps you could get her a plate,” Rosaleen suggested. “She’ll have to get over to the Colonial Building in an hour.”

  “Oh. How am I to get there?” Molly looked anxiously at her friends. “Am I to walk?”

  “I hope not,” Rosaleen said. “Mrs. Dundas wouldn’t want you to, I’m sure. Why don’t I go and see if I can find Thompson and ask her to put the question to the mistress?”

  “I can do that when I go to get her supper,” Allison said. “You need to get her into that dress. You’re lovely in that shift, Molly, but it’s not at all the fashion.”

  Molly looked down at her chemise and homespun petticoat and laughed. “I should think not.”

  Rosaleen gave a nod. “Go, Allison. I’ll get her into the corset and crinoline, and after she’s had something to eat, you or Deborah can help us put the gown on her.”

  “I’ll alert Deborah. I’ll need to be back on duty soon.” Allison hurried out the door.

  Molly examined her reflection in the mirror. She didn’t know that she’d ever looked so pretty—hadn’t imagined she could. “Thank you so much, Rosaleen. You did a wonderful job.”

  “You’re welcome, my dear. Now, would you let me put just a dab of rouge on your lips? I don’t think your cheeks will need it. You have a lovely high color when you’re excited, and I expect when you walk into the ballroom you’ll be flushed with eagerness.”

  “I’m not sure I’d have called it eagerness.” Molly turned the mirror a bit and caught a different view of her coiffure. “Foreboding, perhaps.”

  “I’m sure the prince will find you a charming partner.”

  Molly turned her face upward and let Rosaleen apply the slightest bit of color to her lips. What did it matter, a hairpin here, a little lip rouge there? But for some reason, it mattered very much. Not for the prince’s approval, or even for Lord Washburn’s. But Peter’s view of her tonight would be the image of her that he carried for the rest of his life.

  Peter tapped softly on the polished door panel between his room and the earl’s. No response came, and he hesitated. The man was worn out from all the travel, dampness, and activity but mostly from his turmoil over the business with the Orland family. How odd that when Peter first encountered Molly and lost his heart to her, he had no idea she belonged to the clan that was so entwined with his own past.

  He knocked again, louder. Something like a snore issued from within. Peter turned the knob, feeling guilty—like a burglar with a conscience. But this was what servants had to do sometimes, and his master had specifically told him to wake him in time to prepare for the appointment with Anson and David Orland.

  He tiptoed to the bed and then shook his head. Why try to be quiet? The earl wanted to be wakened. He walked to the window, not trying to soften his steps this time, and pulled back the drapes. The gray late-afternoon light did little to brighten the room.

  He turned back toward the bed. In the dim recess beyond the velvet hangings, the earl still slumbered. Such a pity, when the man was obviously worn out. But there was nothing for it.

  Washburn lay facing the far side of the bed, and Peter walked around it. He bent over, touched the heavily embroidered coverlet, and shook his master’s shoulder.

  “My lord, it’s time to rise and dress for your meeting.”

  “What—what?” Washburn threw back the covers, sat up, and flung his legs over the side of the bed in one motion.

  “I’m sorry, my lord. You wished to be roused at this time.”

  “Yes.” Washburn yawned and brushed his hair from his forehead. “I fear you see me at my worst on this trip, lad.”

  “And perhaps at your best, my lord.”

  “Thank you. I shall try not to betray that trust.” He glanced up and met Peter’s gaze. �
�You know this is difficult for me. I didn’t expect to have to face it now.”

  “I think I do understand, my lord.”

  “Of course you do—better than anyone else could, except perhaps your mother. If I’d known…but I didn’t, and now there’s nothing to be done about it. The man has a right to speak.”

  Peter held up his Turkish dressing gown, but the earl waved it away.

  “No time for that. I suppose you let me sleep till the last possible minute.”

  “Well, I… Yes, my lord.”

  “Then let’s get on with it. I shall dress for dinner now and not have to change again after this appointment.”

  “That was my thought, and I’ve laid out your smallclothes.”

  The earl stood slowly and put both hands to the small of his back, grimacing as he stretched. Peter had shaved him that morning, and though he eyed his reflection critically in the mirror, Washburn did not ask to be shaved again. Peter brought over his clothing, item by item, and soon his master was dressed as a gentleman should be for a state dinner and ball. Peter tied his master’s flowing cravat, combed his hair, and brushed his clothing for any possible loose hairs or specks of dust.

  “You know, I was just a child when it happened,” the earl said.

  Peter paused with the brush in his hand, unsure how to answer. “Yes, my lord.”

  “I had no idea what was going on. All I knew was that my father got out of the carriage at the stable and a man jumped him and beat him. It was horrible.” He sighed, not focusing on anything in the opulent room. “I was five, and I only knew that a bad man was hurting my father, and Father was bleeding. The coachman and groom hauled Orland off him but… ” He turned his head and looked helplessly at Peter. “I’ve never forgotten.”

  Peter nodded, unable to imagine Molly’s white-haired grandfather brutally attacking another man.

  “I’m not saying that what my father did was right.” The earl examined his hands closely. “But still…he oughtn’t to have been beaten like that in front of his family. Hmm. I believe I have a hangnail, Peter.”