As a well-dressed young man passed the doorway, she caught his eye and said to him, “May I present Mistress MacLammond, Mr. Hancock? I trust you will value her friendship as I do, may it be sometime in the future.”
Mr. Hancock wasted not a second in flying to my side to take my hand and bow graciously above it. He held it while smiling into my eyes with a warmth that reminded me so of Cullah. How I missed the touch of a man’s hand, even a young man’s. He said, “Good evening, Mistress MacLammond. From this night forward, on Lady Spencer’s word, I shall be at your service.” He was alarmingly attractive, I thought.
“How kind of you, sir. Are you related to the late Reverend Hancock of Lexington town?”
“My late father, good lady. I have been living with my uncle since he died. I am your servant, Mistress MacLammond.”
When the supper was finished and the ladies had retired to another parlor, Lady Spencer addressed the men, already getting out their tobacco. “Gentlemen, I bid you good evening. You will please excuse me for my health does not permit me to remain up longer, but make yourselves quite at home. Rupert will see to anything you desire.” We made an appearance at the room where the ladies prepared to wait out their husbands’ pipes, then Amelia asked me to help her up the stairway. Her maid showed me to a room. This time I was not to sleep at the eastern end where the sun could awaken a tradeswoman, but was taken to a suite next to Lady Spencer’s own.
No detail had been spared, for I was provided a night shift of clean new linen, and a featherbed with downy coverlets. I sank into the bed and closed my eyes, fighting sleep that threatened me the moment my head touched the pillow. August was alone in the house with America Roberts. Jacob was there, true. And the children. And August had a cold. But what was that to a man? I sat up, against the roll of the featherbed, overcome with fear that no bundling board could dampen the ardor that might be running rampant in my home while I was away. I lay against the pillows. It was late and I was exhausted from the wine and heavy food. America Roberts was a woman grown. August was uncannily handsome in a devilish way. Nothing I could do from this side of the down-filled counterpane, eleven miles away, could change anything. I raised my hands for a moment, then lowered them, resigned to let them control their own lives. My eyes closed and for the next few hours, I slept the deep, safe sleep of a small and innocent child snuggled in satin bedding on the top floor of a house overlooking Meager Bay.
*
While Gwyneth was thrilled beyond all telling with her invitation to Lady Spencer’s Christmas soirée, I had to beg America to don the gown made for her and accompany me. At last, it was August’s promise that he would escort us and she would be no wallflower that convinced her to go. We hired a nurse and a cook to make supper and care for the little ones, and warned both ladies to take none of Jacob’s jests to heart. Sitting in the coach, we were a collage of color that gave light to my spirit. August dressed in stunning scarlet velvet. America was in forest green with emerald and gold trim, Gwyneth in pale pink with white lace peeking from every seam, and myself in deep rose silk with subtle coffee-colored lace. The pearls, the sapphire brooch, the ruby ring added the right touches. I let the girls wear Ma’s rings, too, and pinned a circlet of ribbons in Gwenny’s hair held by Patey’s smaller pearl brooch.
I felt queenly in the dress, and I wished so that Cullah were here beside me, though I feared he would have declined this invitation, afraid of the company of wealthy people. I felt none of that; in fact, I felt more at home than ever, as if these were my people and this was how I had been meant to live. A twinge of guilt caught me in mid-thought, yet I felt no resentment of my home and my living; it was merely that I knew this life, too, and felt I could move within it had I the opportunity to do so. I folded my hands in their new silken gloves, thankful that no callus could show through.
While we rode, Gwenny amused her uncle by practicing saying, “Thank you, sir, yes I should like to dance,” using different inflections. Then she turned to me and said, “Ma, what if they dance something I do not know?”
“I suppose you might watch it and see if you can do it for the next time.”
America said, “If the man is a good dancer, he will lead you through the steps. Do not worry. But Gwenny, you should call your mother ‘Mother’ rather than ‘Ma’ at least for the evening.”
Gwenny asked, “Are you going to dance all the dances, Miss Roberts?”
“I am older and you are far too beautiful for any man there to look upon me.”
August smiled at America but said nothing.