Love Finds You in Prince Edward Island Page 18
When the two visitors were out of the room, Washburn said softly, “Close the door please, lad.”
Peter shut it and turned to face him.
“I apologize.”
“For what, my lord? I thought you handled the situation admirably.”
“I didn’t know what to do, though—what would be best for you. For although I do care about the Orlands—and in particular, Mary Orland’s daughter, Catherine Stark—you must know that most of all, I care about you.”
Hot tears seared Peter’s eyelids. “Thank you, my lord.”
“Ah, my boy.” Washburn went to the small table and poured himself another glass of sherry. “If my son had lived, I would wish him to be like you. Not only that, I would wish him to know you and enjoy your company as I have.”
A lump formed in Peter’s throat.
His master sipped the wine and cocked an eyebrow at him. “Should I have told them tonight? I sensed you weren’t ready.”
“I don’t know. I shall leave at dawn. I suppose I have missed my only chance to spend time with…” He cleared his throat. “With my family here in America.”
“Yes. I hope you don’t regret it. If we could stay a few more days… But we must go where Prince Albert Edward goes, and you must precede us. Thus the ferry, before the rest of the suite has risen.”
Peter bowed his head. What had he just tossed away? He felt like running down the hall and out the carved front door to catch the Orlands as they climbed into their farm wagon.
“Well, there’s tonight,” Washburn said. “Tonight at the ball.”
Chapter Seventeen
Deborah burst into the tiny bedroom, panting. “I declare, those stairs get longer and steeper every day.”
“Catch your breath and tell us what you think of Miss Orland,” Rosaleen said.
Deborah looked her over, and Molly felt vulnerable in her shift.
“Well, your hair looks lovely, and I must say you look sophisticated, but we’ve got to do something about your wardrobe.”
Rosaleen joined Deborah’s laughter and indicated the elegant undergarments strewn on the bed. “Her finery awaits, and the two of us shall put it on her, layer by layer.”
“How much time do we have?” Molly asked. “Allison said I was to be downstairs by nine to ride over to the Colonial Building with Thompson.” Since the ball was not being held at a private residence, the lady’s maid had been invited to attend and be ready to wait on Mrs. Dundas if she needed anything.
“An hour, then. Wish I were going.” Deborah’s lips drooped as she picked up the sateen corset cover. “You and I shall never have fittings so fine as this, Rose.”
Rosaleen smiled. “Isn’t it wonderful that Molly has a chance to wear them?”
“I was astounded when I saw all the things Thompson sent up,” Molly admitted. “If I tear so much as a stitch, I’ll be mortified.”
“Don’t fret,” Rosaleen said. “Just try to enjoy the evening.”
“Yes, you may never get another chance.” Deborah held up the white silk stockings. “I wonder how much these cost.”
“Here, now, don’t be so cheeky.” Rosaleen snatched the stockings from her. “Put these on, Molly, and I shall tie your garters.”
Molly laid aside the hand mirror. The stockings were followed by cotton drawers and a thin lawn chemise. Next, Rosaleen took the corset from the bed and smiled at her.
“Raise your arms.” She molded the corset to Molly’s figure and fastened the hooks. “Now turn around and I’ll tighten the laces. Tell me if the stays dig into you—though this is so well made, you’ll probably barely know it’s there.”
“I doubt that.” Deborah scowled at the garment. “But I suppose it would be worth it to squeeze yourself into all these clothes to get to go to the ball.”
Molly smiled at her. “Believe me, if it were possible, I’d trade places with you.”
“Is that so?” Rosaleen eyed her knowingly. “Something tells me you wouldn’t really. All right, let’s get the camisole next.”
“If I had a prince ogling me and wanting favors, I wouldn’t fuss about it, I’ll tell you that.” Deborah held out the corset cover, and Rosaleen positioned it so Molly could slip into it.
A quick tap on the door preceded the entrance of one of the scullery maids. In her black uniform and apron, the diminutive girl looked to be younger than Kate. Her braids hung over her shoulders. She stared at the three women and settled her gaze on Molly. “It’s true? They’re letting you go to the ball?”
Molly opened her mouth, but before she could speak, Deborah jumped in.
“Yes, it’s true, Dora. Shouldn’t you be down in the scullery, washing up?”
Dora hiked up her chin. “They be serving dinner now. I’ll get plenty of dishes to wash later. Though I’m not allowed to wash the prince’s china. Lizzie does that.”
“Oh, what do you get? The stuck-on pans?” Deborah sneered at the girl, and Molly felt sorry for her.
“I am going to the ball tonight, Dora, and I wish all the maids could go.”
Deborah sniffed. “They wouldn’t let her go. She’s only twelve.”
“Well, I’m sure there will be another ball in Charlottetown someday. Perhaps you’ll get to go then,” Molly said.
“All right, Deborah, time for the first petticoat.” Rosaleen pointed to the garment she wanted. “The light cotton one first. Molly, lift your arms. Help me, Deborah. Up and over!”
Dora stood with her mouth gaping as they dressed Molly.
“Time for the crinoline,” Rosaleen said. She and Deborah lifted the awkward hoop frame. Molly stepped into the middle, and the other women adjusted it and fastened the waist. “Now a petticoat to keep the gown from snagging on your hoops.”
“Now the dress?” Molly asked a moment later.
“No, one more petticoat. We want a smooth look to your skirt.”
“You should be a lady’s maid, Rose.”
Rosaleen laughed. “I used to aspire to be one. That was before I married my husband. Ah well, it was a dream. Marriage is better, if I do say so.”
Molly swirled about, making the white underskirts and hoops of the crinoline sway. “These are heavy. I won’t be able to walk, much less dance.”
“Would you stop complaining?” Deborah tugged at the closure on the last petticoat once Molly stood still. “It’s bad enough you’re going, but then you let on you don’t want to and that you hate wearing all these beautiful clothes of Thompson’s.”
Rosaleen darted a frown at Deborah. “Come, now, there’s only the gown, shoes, and gloves left.”
“I’ve got a question,” Dora said.
“Oh, hush and get back to the kitchen,” Deborah told her.
Molly smiled at the girl. “What is it, Dora?”
The scullery maid eyed Molly’s wide skirt cage and then the narrow doorway to the bedchamber. “I just wondered…how are you going to get out of this room in that thing?”
Peter stood behind the earl’s chair at dinner that evening. The state dining room at the governor’s mansion was full of dignitaries and their wives. Mr. Reynold had invited Peter to eat in the servants’ hall, but the house servants would be eating late—after the Dundases and their guests left for the ball. He declined the invitation, determined to wait until supper was served during the ball.
He told himself he didn’t want to cause the cook more work, but he had other reasons for not eating at Government House. Molly wasn’t serving in the dining room tonight. If he ventured into the kitchen to eat with the servants, would he see her there? She would probably dine with the other servants tonight. He didn’t want to embarrass her or betray his feelings for her with other members of the staff looking on. Though Washburn said he needn’t stay, Peter was perfectly content to stand at the ready. If his master had the slightest need unmet, Peter would gladly fulfill it for him.
After dinner, the aristocrats briefly viewed the fireworks from the lawn at Fanning Bank, rather than
venture down to the harbor in the rain. At last they were ready to depart for the ball. Mrs. Dundas left first, accompanied by her husband, so they would be on hand to greet the prince when he arrived. The others would follow in carriages. Peter held his master’s coat and hat for him in the grand hall and saw Washburn out to the carriage he would share with Newcastle, St. Germains, and several others.
Although he held an invitation to the ball, Peter waited in the entry to the Colonial Building until all the titled guests and local dignitaries had entered. Then he ventured in. The improvised ballroom was the legislative chamber to the right, while the council chamber at the opposite end of the building had been designated a reception room. Peter stood in the shadows, a couple of yards down the passage, where he could observe the arriving guests.
The prince stood with Mrs. Dundas just inside the ballroom, ready to open the ball with his hostess. After that first dance, the prince would pick his partners from the ladies in attendance, according to a prepared list. He would dance with as many ladies as possible, showing no partiality. But Peter wanted only one partner.
Two women entered together—a short, petite brunette in bright plumage of striking magenta silk with green ribbons and ruffles. Peter recognized her as Mrs. Dundas’s lady’s maid. She accompanied her mistress to most social events. With her was a taller, more beautiful young woman. The blond hesitated and said something to her companion then relinquished her shawl to a footman, keeping only her fan in her gloved hands.
Peter inhaled slowly, savoring the moment. Molly. Her gown was of purest white, relieved only by rosettes of blue and a panel of what appeared to be intricate embroidery and lace at the hem. Nothing could have suited her better. The contrast to her daily uniform of dreary black was complete—she looked young, feminine, and eager, though a bit timid, as she gazed about her with eyes shining. The pristine gown set off her neatly coiffed blond hair and glowing complexion.
Where did she get such a dress? He didn’t care. He only rejoiced that she was wearing it and that she had arrived. This night would be memorable for him if it ended right now. For her, it must be the culmination of a dream. Her weeks of service at Government House now ending in this splendid event—what island girl did not envy her?
Molly and the lady’s maid paused a moment in the doorway, and the steward in clear tones announced their names. “Miss Thompson and Miss Orland.”
The ladies crossed the threshold. Peter had the briefest glimpse of them curtsying before Mrs. Dundas. A man in a dress uniform and a woman wearing a magnificent dress with an emerald skirt yards wide filled the doorway and blocked his view.
When the ballroom was full nearly to bursting, the steward looked about the hallway and nodded to him. “Going in, Mr. Stark? His Royal Highness and Mrs. Dundas will open the ball momentarily.”
“Yes, thank you.” Peter stepped forward. “You needn’t announce me. I’ll slip in and find Lord Washburn.”
“As you wish.”
St. Germains stepped aside and let him pass unheralded into the chamber. Peter stepped up before Mrs. Dundas.
“Dear lady, thank you for inviting me.”
“It’s my pleasure, Mr. Stark. I hope you enjoy the evening.”
Peter bowed before the prince and gravitated to the wall beneath the gallery, where the musicians were stationed, overlooking the dancers. He gazed about the ballroom. Local matrons had taken great pains to transform the chamber into a festive bower. Bunting, spruce boughs, and British flags hung all about the room. Swags of floral garlands hung between the green-draped windows and wound up the graceful white columns. Even the staid portraits of the island’s statesmen were draped with gay streamers. Across the room, Lord Washburn conversed genially with another gentleman and looked to be perfectly at ease, so Peter didn’t see a need to approach him yet.
Lord St. Germains took a few steps into the center of the room and announced, “Ladies and gentlemen, your hostess, Mrs. Dundas.”
Mary Dundas smiled and looked about the throng of eager islanders and visitors. “My dear friends, it gives me the greatest pleasure, with the help of His Royal Highness, Prince Albert Edward of Wales, to open this ball in the name of our sovereign, Queen Victoria.”
Cheering and clapping erupted, nearly drowning the first strains of the quadrille played by the orchestra in the gallery. The prince, resplendent in his evening clothes, led out the lieutenant governor’s wife. Other couples of high social standing took the floor as well, to follow them in the intricate dance. Peter saw that Molly’s hand was claimed early by a man twice her age. His master found a partner with one of the ladies who had attended dinner at Government House.
Although they’d had no practice together, the Prince of Wales danced well with Mrs. Dundas and set a spirited pace for the dance. The couples walked together, separated, reunited, and wove across the floor.
When the music stopped and a new tune began, gentlemen quickly sought new partners. Dundas claimed his wife’s hand, and the prince turned to the wife of a prominent legislator. For many long hours, Mary Dundas had pondered the list of partners with whom the prince would dance, and after the royal party’s arrival at her home, she had sat down with the Duke of Newcastle and Lord St. Germains to review her choices. Some were obligatory—but later in the evening, the young prince would get to waltz or polka with several single women, much to those ladies’ delight.
Peter kept his post beneath the gallery. He kept track of Lord Washburn’s movements—the earl was now leading the wife of a local judge onto the floor. His master seemed to be doing fine, and so Peter turned his attention elsewhere. Molly stood a bit apart from a cluster of ladies, but only for a few seconds. Before Peter could move toward her, Captain Grey, equerry of the prince, approached her and bowed gallantly. Molly’s face flushed a delicate pink, and after a moment, she placed her hand in the captain’s.
Peter leaned back against the wall and smiled. Did Grey know she was one of the housemaids who’d cleaned their rooms and served their luncheons? He doubted it. Grey and his friend, Major Teesdale, had spotted a pretty girl and probably flipped a shilling to see who requested a dance with her first.
The colors of the ladies’ dresses made a constantly changing mosaic as the guests whirled about. Molly’s white gown, one with hoops of medium width, was easily spotted between the men’s dark suits and the vibrant colors worn by the women. Peter watched closely as Grey led her about in time to the music. Molly’s dancing was adequate but not polished. Grey didn’t seem to mind. He chattered constantly down at her, and Molly smiled up at him—but with polite interest, not affection.
Noting that the couple moved gradually away from the entrance, Peter judged where he thought they would land when the tune ended and worked his way around the edge of the crowded room.
He wasn’t far wrong, and Captain Grey and Molly came to a halt only a couple of steps away from his new position, laughing and panting a bit as they applauded.
Next to him, Governor Dundas said to the duke, “Let’s see, I believe His Royal Highness is to dance with Mrs. Mayfield next.”
The prince manfully worked his way down the prearranged list of local dignitaries’ wives. After that, he would be free to dance with the single girls. His next partner was the mayor’s wife. To Peter’s surprise, Captain Grey dared to cut in on the prince halfway through the number. Prince “Bertie” laughed and whirled away to snatch a pretty young woman from her partner. Peter realized that securing a dance with Molly might be more difficult than he’d anticipated. He was determined to have his turn with her before the prince was able to approach her.
When the music ended, he drew a deep breath and took one stride toward her. Out of nowhere, Major Teesdale stepped up before Molly.
“Miss, I’d be honored if you would grant me this dance.”
Peter watched in chagrin as the major whirled her onto the floor.
“Annoying, isn’t it?” Grey said in his ear.
“Uh, yes, sir.”
Peter frowned in concentration as he followed Molly and Teesdale’s progress. He hoped he didn’t have to chase her about the room all evening to get a dance. As he gazed at them, Teesdale swung Molly around, and for an instant she faced Peter. Her eyes widened as her gaze met his, and her mouth opened slightly. A bolt thudded in Peter’s chest. He managed a smile, and then the major waltzed her away again.
After a quick glance about to be sure that Washburn was pleasantly occupied, Peter sauntered along the wall, again aiming for the best place to intercept the couple at the exact moment the last bars of the tune sounded.
The music ended sooner than he’d expected, and by the time he reached the spot where she’d been, Molly had been whisked away by a junior legislator. Peter watched sorrowfully and began plotting a new strategy.
He mustn’t neglect his duties. After the next dance, he promised himself, he would seek out the earl and ask if he needed anything, should that seem appropriate. But first…
He watched Molly and her new partner glide about among the other couples. There wasn’t room to sweep across the floor, but no one seemed to mind the cramped quarters. Nobody would volunteer to leave the gathering to give the other dancers more space.
When the melody came to a stop, a half dozen men surrounded Molly. Peter could never get through that crush and claim her hand. He watched in despair as she blushed, smiled, and chose one of the supplicants.
Molly staggered to a chair between numbers, hoping for a moment to catch her breath. She longed to slip off the borrowed shoes, but that would be most vulgar. She wasn’t used to dancing, and her feet throbbed.
She opened her fan and waved it before her face. The temperature in the room had risen due to all the people and the activity. She found it just short of unbearable.