The Vicar's Daughter Page 2

  Cassie looked from her sketchpad to Mama, who had settled on the other side of the fireplace. She had picked up a piece of knitting while she waited for Lenora and Father to get ready. Scarves and gloves were still a welcome item in the spring, and Mama filled one of her duties as the vicar’s wife well by keeping members of the parish in constant supply.

  Mama was a handsome woman. She had borne ten children, eight of whom had survived infancy. Her thick brown hair was peppered with gray, but it added distinction to her features, and her eyes were as clear and snapping green as they had ever been. She was nearly fifty years old, and had worked harder than most women of the class into which she’d been born, but continued to look regal and aristocratic. Especially when she was dressed for an event such as this one.

  Cassie sometimes wondered if Mama regretted marrying a clergyman, which had lowered her station—Mama’s father had been a landholder of some distinction—but Cassie felt guilty as soon as the thought entered her head. Her parents had fallen in love, and nothing else had mattered. Ever. Perhaps Cassie could be as blessed . . . if she was ever given the chance to enter society.

  Mr. Bunderson would be at the Dyers’ ball. He would dance all night, but not with her.

  “You could help your sister,” Mama said.

  “Young can get Lenora ready well enough.” Cassie had never helped Lenora before, and it felt too cruel to consider helping her sister prepare for an evening Cassie was forbidden from enjoying.

  Cassie returned to her sketchpad, wishing it was six o’clock already so she might be alone after all. Her own company was preferable to the tension she felt in her parents’ presence of late. If the fireplace in her room were larger she would spend more time shut away from everyone.

  “I didn’t mean help Lenora prepare for the evening,” Mama clarified, settling her knitting in her lap. “At least not in regard to hair and dress. What I meant is that you have the confidence she lacks. I have been thinking of the discussion we had regarding tonight’s ball and have wondered if you could encourage Lenora to hold herself in such a way that will keep her discomfort from taking over, especially as this is the first event she will be attending after the Carters’ ball and her embarrassment there. That you have been keeping your distance from her has not gone unnoticed by any of us.”

  Cassie keenly felt the accusation of her mother’s comment, but reminded herself that she did not deserve all the blame. She and Lenora had never been close. Then again, they had never been this distant.

  “Or,” Cassie ventured, “you could let me debut so that I might serve as her companion at these events. I would be far more helpful to her if I could advise in a moment of need.”

  Mama let out a breath and returned to her knitting without saying another word.

  Cassie returned her smug attention to the sketch where she began to add the feather-soft lines of the sheer curtains that fell in graceful folds beside the diamond-paned windows. The unique architecture of the ­vicarage—built nearly a hundred years ago and meticulously cared for ever since—presented endless scenes worthy of sketching.

  After a few moments of self-satisfaction regarding her clever comment, Cassie’s hand began to slow as her thoughts began down a different road, one unexplored amid her fits of frustration.

  Could I help Lenora?

  She rested her pencil in her lap and stared unseeingly at the unfinished drawing before her. Cassie was comfortable around strangers and felt buoyed up by crowds. Lenora, on the other hand, preferred small parties with familiar people, if she had to socialize at all. She would never find a husband that way, but what if Cassie could help Lenora overcome her anxiety? What if, instead of pouting and grumbling, Cassie helped Lenora make a match? That would free Cassie to pursue a match of her own.

  The idea came with a rush of invigoration, an eagerness to do something—anything—to change the situation she found herself in now. The possibility that Cassie could take action of any kind on her own behalf was like taking a breath after holding it as long as she could.

  Cassie put her sketchpad and pencil on the end table and rose without saying anything to her mother. She did not want Mama to take credit for this decision. Mama’s eyes followed her across the room, however, and Cassie rankled at the sense of victory she felt emanating from the other side of the room. Such victory wasn’t as important as what Cassie was going to do, however, and so she refused to let Mama’s ownership of the suggestion dissuade her.

  Cassie headed to the second floor in search of her sister. Embarking on this new plan felt something akin to crossing enemy lines, but the end justified whatever means, humility, and effort were required on her part. Her parents were stubborn and unbending, but she would prove herself just the opposite by helping Lenora do what she could not do on her own.

  When Cassie was a child, the vicarage had been bursting at the seams—three sisters to a room while her two brothers shared a room—and it had been impossible to find individual space, which was what often drove Cassie to find activities outdoors. Now that only Lenora and Cassie lived at home, the house sometimes felt overly spacious. The sisters had their own bedchambers—for which Cassie was grateful—but as she approached Lenora’s door, she wondered if their physical distance had led to loss of intimacy and affection. The consideration increased Cassie’s determination to help her sister if she could. It was exhausting to feel so bitter all the time.

  Cassie knocked on the door, and Lenora gave the invitation for her to enter in an anxious voice. Young was fastening the buttons of Lenora’s dress—the mush-colored one Cassie had thought ugly when she’d first seen it two seasons ago.

  When each Wilton daughter had her season, she was outfitted with a reasonable selection of gowns and accessories that would present her appropriately. Typically Mama sewed the family’s clothes, but not when it was a daughter’s season.

  Lenora had met with a dressmaker, a milliner, a glover, and a cobbler and yet had ended up with what Cassie considered the most lackluster wardrobe she’d ever seen—a wardrobe that Lenora had not added to in two years beyond a few things Mama had made. All the gowns Lenora owned were in muted shades with minimal trims and adornments.

  This particular dress looked as though it should be either white or gold but had gotten stuck in-between. It had a high neckline, tulip sleeves, and an unadorned hem that brushed the floor. The string of pearls at Lenora’s neck only managed to enhance the plainness. She looked like a sheaf of wheat, and in an instant, Cassie knew exactly how to help her sister. Cassie not only possessed confidence and manners, but her love of color and design could do Lenora some good. Hadn’t Cassie thought so a hundred times? Now was the time to act upon her God-given gifts for her sister’s benefit. And, ultimately, her own.

  “You should wear Victoria’s pink ball gown with the sheer sleeves,” Cassie said as she approached.

  Lenora wrung her hands while looking from her reflection to Cassie’s, her eyebrows pulled together. She said nothing.

  “Remember the ball gown Victoria wore during her season? With the silver rosettes and sheer sleeves.” The older sisters often left a few gowns behind for their younger sisters’ use—dresses they would no longer wear for one reason or another in their married lives. The styles were sometimes outdated by the time a new sister was ready, but Mama would change the neckline here, or fashion a new sleeve there, and another sister would get her turn with a dress the family did not have to pay for. Victoria’s pink dress was both lovely and timeless—Cassie had had her eye on it for years—but it was not something Lenora would consider for herself.

  “I couldn’t,” Lenora said, shaking her head nervously. “It is too fine and hasn’t been fitted.”

  “You are near enough to Victoria’s measurements that it would fit, I think, and you are going to a ball. You won’t feel out of place in a ball gown at such an event as that.”

  “It is too . .
. bright.”

  Cassie laughed. “It is the color of Mama’s lilies and perfectly appro­priate.”

  “It would be . . .” She looked at the floor and took a breath. “Noticed.”

  The sincerity of her comment pricked at Cassie’s heart. “You are supposed to be noticed.” Sympathy rose in place of the judgment that had clouded her vision for so many weeks, and she realized how cruel she had been for considering only her situation. Though she’d come up here for her own benefit, she felt her heart turning. She truly wanted to help Lenora for her own sake.

  Young stepped back from the mush-colored dress, and when Cassie met the maid’s eye, Young nodded her agreement. Cassie was glad for the support.

  “May I be honest with you, Lenora?” Cassie asked, cocking her head to the side and looking deeply at her sister.

  Lenora paused as though the question required great consideration, but then nodded.

  “This dress”—Cassie waved her hand up and down—“does not flatter you.”

  Lenora’s cheeks instantly reddened, and Cassie hurried to stave off the embarrassment she had inflicted. “I know you like the dress because it does not stand out, but I fear it draws more attention to you than another dress more appropriate for the occasion would. A ball is a formal event, and though there will certainly be a spectrum of presentations, you want to look your best, don’t you?”

  Lenora looked down at the dress as though aware of its lack for the first time. Cassie met Young’s eyes and gave her a quick nod. The woman who served as kitchen, chamber, and personal maid to the household turned and left the room. The pink gown was kept in a wardrobe in their brothers’ room with a handful of other gowns Lenora had never even looked at.

  “I feel so . . . loud in colors,” Lenora admitted, and Cassie felt an additional rush of tenderness for her sister. Despite Cassie’s irritation, whatever Lenora felt was real inside her own head and heart.

  “You are not loud,” Cassie said. “And I think you will feel more comfortable if you present yourself like the rest of the girls.”

  “What if I disgrace myself again?” Lenora glanced from beneath her lashes and then let out a heavy breath, dropping her arms to her sides in surrender. “Oh, Cassie, I can’t stand this type of evening! All those eyes on me feel like knives. I know everyone thinks me quite addled. The stupid vicar’s girl who cannot make decent conversation. I feel as though I might fall from the edge of a cliff at any moment.”

  Cassie lifted her eyebrows. Could a ball truly feel so menacing? It was exciting to have people notice you, compliment you, want your company. How could those things be painful? But Lenora’s sincerity testified that this was exactly what she experienced. Cassie reached for Lenora’s hand and led her to the window seat beside the rain-streaked glass. They sat, facing one another. “What is it, exactly, that is frightening? Can you separate the specific portions that feel threatening?”

  “I don’t know,” Lenora said, shaking her head as she looked at her hands now pleating the mush-colored dress. The fabric was soft with age and no longer held the crispness of its original design. The softening likely made it more comfortable to wear, but it did nothing to improve the appearance. “I feel as though everyone knows I do not fit, that everyone wishes I hadn’t come. I feel so very judged, especially after what happened at the Carters’ ball.”

  “Such fear of judgment is not true. And everyone is ill from time to time. I’m sure that is all they think—that the evening was an unlucky one for you. The Carters’ ball is a distant memory if it is a memory at all for anyone there. Everyone loves you, Lenora. Your gentle spirit is acknowledged and appreciated among our friends and family.”

  Lenora wiped at her eyes. “If I am behind a piano or in my own home I am well enough, but when I walk into a room, I am like a simpleton who can’t find words or manners so I say nothing at all rather than risk saying the wrong thing.”

  “I’m sorry it is so difficult,” Cassie said, more sincere than would have been possible half an hour ago. “I wish I knew a way to help you.”

  The comment seemed to soften Lenora’s fears, and she looked up at her younger sister. “You do?”

  Cassie nodded, saddened that her treatment had led Lenora to question their sisterly affection. “You’re my sister. I would do anything I could to help.”

  Young returned with the pink ball gown draped over both arms.

  Lenora immediately began wringing her hands, her brows pulled tightly together as she inspected the dress as though she had to eat it rather than wear it.

  “Just try it on,” Cassie said, standing and pulling Lenora to her feet. “If it does not fit well enough, you don’t have to wear it, but I think you’ll find yourself feeling more comfortable when you are equal to the others in attendance. And I am sure the color will brighten your mood—color always does for me.”

  Lenora was hesitant, but with Cassie and Young encouraging her, she surrendered without a fight. The dress was somewhat tighter at the bust than it had been on Victoria, but Cassie downplayed Lenora’s complaint—every asset must be employed this evening, even if she was a vicar’s daughter. The dress was also an inch too long, but Young found a pair of shoes in the back of Lenora’s wardrobe that had a thicker sole than the typical dancing slipper.

  Cassie loaned Lenora her pearl headband and helped set it in her hair. Young avoided the rather severe bun that was often Lenora’s style of choice, and instead created a softer chignon that, even to Cassie’s critical eye, was perfect for the shape of Lenora’s face and eyes. By the time they had finished, it was too late for Lenora to argue her way into a different choice.

  Lenora stood before the looking glass and bit her bottom lip. She looked entirely different than she had with her dowdy hairstyle and mush-colored dress. The pink brought out her blue eyes—like Papa’s—and matched the color in her cheeks.

  “You look beautiful,” Cassie said in a quiet voice.

  Lenora started to turn away, wringing her hands. “I don’t think I can—”

  Cassie took Lenora’s shoulders and faced her directly. “You are beautiful, Lenora. And smart and good and kind. Any man would be lucky to have your attention tonight.” Not for the first time, Cassie found it odd that Lenora was the older of the two.

  Lenora looked at her like a desert flower, desperate for rain. “Do you really think so?”

  “I know so,” Cassie said with a nod and a smile, hoping her words might sink into the root of Lenora’s fears. When Lenora’s brow smoothed and the smallest glimmer of a smile appeared upon her rosebud lips, Cassie continued. “Now, in addition to knowing that you look beautiful and are equal to every woman there, remember to be mindful of your breathing—don’t hold your breath when you feel nervous. ”

  Lenora let out the breath she had already been holding and nodded, eager for the advice from her younger sister with no society experience.

  “And smile.” Cassie smiled by way of example. “Not only will you feel more comfort, you will have the added benefit of helping to put those around you at ease as well. Everyone will be nervous tonight; your calmness will be a blessing to all.”

  “Breathe and smile,” Lenora said as though the words were a Bible verse she needed to memorize. “Breathe and smile.”

  “I have a very good feeling about this ball, and I cannot wait to hear all about it. You must come to my room when you return; wake me if I’m asleep.” Cassie had never made such a request before, but she liked the idea of building a different relationship with her sister. They were both grown women now, and should work together for each other’s good.

  “Alright,” Lenora said, nodding quickly and looking at herself in the mirror once more. She pulled at the flowing skirt, then took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Breathe and smile,” she said quietly to her reflection. She met Cassie’s eyes and lifted her chin with the most confidence Cassie had ev
er seen in her before. “I can do this.”

  Evan Glenside watched the footman fill his uncle’s wineglass a fourth time and wished he could suggest it be his last. But up until a year ago, Evan had only known Uncle Hastings by name. He was actually Evan’s great-uncle, and they had met for the first time when the man had shown up unexpectedly at the London accounting office where Evan worked as a clerk. In the year since, they had corresponded a great deal, and this was Evan’s third visit to the estate that would one day become his own. Still, Evan did not feel comfortable enough to comment on the man’s drinking.

  Three heirs presumptive between Uncle Hastings’s estate and Evan’s humble circumstance in life seemed like secure insurance against Evan taking the position. However, the untimely demise of all three heirs over the last five years had changed Evan’s future dramatically. He was intimidated, but grateful for the opportunity, eager to rise to his new circumstance, and heartened by his uncle’s accepting nature. But he wished Uncle Hastings was not a drunk. A kind drunk, by any measure, and a good man, but a drunk all the same.

  “You will enjoy the Dyers,” Uncle said with the familiar evening slurring of his Rs. “They are good people with deep roots here in Leagrave. Lady Dyer was a great friend of your late Aunt Lucy.” He paused and stared into his wineglass, which he swirled to form a funnel in the middle of the glass. “A finer woman there never was—my Lucy.” Like the slurred speech, Uncle ruminating about his late wife was familiar. The sentimentality would lead to tears in a few more swallows. “It’s a shame you never met her.”