A Heart Revealed (18 page)

After your removal from London and the eventual settling of the gossip resulting from the events at Carlton House, Lord Sunther continued his attentions to your dear sister, and it is with great joy that I announce to you that they are engaged!

Due to the passing of Lord Sunther’s father in the spring, the wedding will not take place until after the proper mourning period has been observed. However, Lord Sunther has invited Darra and myself to join him at his estate near Ipswich so as to become acquainted with his mother, the Dowager Lady Sunther, and the county of his residence.

We are most eager to make these connections and plan to sojourn to Suffolk after a brief return to Hampton Grove where we shall replenish Darra’s summer wardrobe. Because of such pressures, we are unable to make the journey north as we had planned. However, we will visit after our time in Suffolk comes to an end—September, I expect.

I see from your letters that you are struggling to find the settlement of mind regarding your circumstance. While I am sympathetic of the difficulties you face, I would counsel you that you shall find greater happiness if you spend less time in regrets and more time gaining acceptance of the situation. Perhaps you shall make better progress in time for our visit in September. Your father tells me that Yorkshire is quite beautiful in autumn.

I shall let you know when I have a more exact date of our arrival. I wish you all that is good during this time of respite.

Your loving mother,

Lady Marchent

Amber read the letter twice before setting it on the desk in the library and looking out the six-paned window. The low-quality glass left the view warped and wavy, but she was not focused on the distorted scene of leaves and flowers in the bloom of summer.

“She is not coming,” she said out loud. A part of her wondered at her shock; in the seven weeks she had been at Step Cottage, this was only the second letter she’d received from her mother. Suzanne checked the post once a week when she went to Romanby using the gig the groomsmen had procured before departing for London. Mr. Dariloo had taught Suzanne how to manage the gig, and she was now quite comfortable with it.

When Suzanne had returned with Lady Marchent’s letter that afternoon, her eyes had been bright with anticipation. Finally, Amber’s mother would be telling them when she would arrive to remedy this circumstance.

Amber had snatched the letter from Suzanne’s hand and run into the library so she could read it by the light of the window. But her mother was not coming. Not for two more months. The only reason Amber had survived these last weeks was her increasing belief that once her mother saw the conditions of this place, she would ensure that Amber be removed from it immediately. Tears rose in her eyes as she realized she was not to be rescued after all.

“Miss?” Suzanne asked from the doorway. “When is Lady Marchent to arrive?”

Amber paused before speaking to be sure she didn’t take out her frustrations on Suzanne, who had little patience with Amber’s sharp tongue. She took a breath, let it out slowly, and then spoke in an even tone. “She is not coming.”

She refolded the letter and tucked it into the vertical slot in the desk where the first letter from her mother resided. The other slot was overflowing with the correspondence Suzanne had received since their arrival. While this was only the second letter Amber had received, Suzanne received letters every week from her family, who was increasingly eager for her to return.

Amber turned to look at Suzanne’s shocked expression.

“Darra is to marry Lord Sunther. She and my mother were invited to his estate in Suffolk for the summer. She will come in September.”

Suzanne blinked as her face paled, triggering Amber’s anger that her maid should feel so affected. It was not
Suzanne’s
sister marrying ahead of her, and to a man of such high rank. It was not
Suzanne’s
mother who had abandoned her a second time.

And yet, though Amber’s immediate thoughts were still those of the Rage of the Season she had once been, she did not react with selfishness as easily as she once had. Suzanne had already extended her stay in North Riding far past their original agreement; no wonder she was eager to return to her family.

Amber made the decision she knew to be right, even though she wanted very much to do otherwise. “I shall write to Mr. Peters and request the funds necessary for you to return to London by mail coach. It won’t be as comfortable a ride as my father’s carriage, but it may be a faster trip as they do not stop for the night.” She wanted to say something that might convince Suzanne to stay, through guilt or profit, or any other means necessary, but her intent was not pure, and she could not hide from her own awareness of that truth.

“How will you get on without me?” Suzanne asked after the shock had subsided. She sat on the leather settee facing the cold fireplace. They only kept the kitchen fire day to day, but Amber would likely need to utilize the other hearths when the weather cooled. She would need Suzanne to show her how to properly lay the paper and coal; she had avoided the task as the coal was so dirty.

“I shall manage,” Amber said with a shrug as though Suzanne weren’t doing the majority of the household tasks. Amber tried to assist in the management of the cottage, but more often than not stormed to her room in frustration and slammed the door to indulge in tears and regrets. Never in her life had she imagined she would need to live like this.
The tantrums will have to stop now,
she told herself. No amount of pouting or fits would get her out of undesirable tasks once she was the only one left to do them. The idea filled her with terror, but she refused to show it on her face. Not that Suzanne would offer sympathy. She did not coddle Amber in the least. “Mrs. Haribow will still come in, so I shall have my cakes.” She smiled at her attempted joke—Mrs. Haribow came from Romanby one day a week and baked and cooked while attending to household organization.

Amber and Suzanne would stretch the bounty of Mrs. Haribow’s cooking as long into the week as they could, but it never lasted more than a few days as cakes and breads dried out and stew was no longer palatable after it had simmered too long. They were then resigned to whatever meals their meager skills could create.

From the beginning, Amber had enjoyed more than her share of the small cakes Mrs. Haribow made; they were the closest thing Amber had to the tarts and pastries she was used to in London. When Suzanne pointed out the unfairness of Amber taking more than her share, Amber had spouted a tirade about how her experience with fine food should give her greater right to the cakes.

Suzanne had cut her off and reminded her—again—of her promise to be fair. Amber had stormed out of the room, and the women had not spoken for two days until Amber explained her reasoning to Suzanne in a more teaching manner. She had expected praise at such a selfless discovery, perhaps even agreement, but instead Suzanne had said they would divide cakes equally upon Mrs. Haribow’s leaving to insure that each of them had an equal share. Suzanne had kept her cakes in her room since then.

Would another maid be so patient with Amber’s outbursts when she encountered some new task she could not accomplish, such as churning cream into butter? The side of the churn had splintered when Amber had kicked it across the yard, necessitating its repair the next time Suzanne went to town. Would another maid be mindful of teaching Amber to do something over and over again, such as how to properly slice potatoes so that they cooked evenly in the pot set over the fire? It was tedious to be so attentive, but crunchy potatoes were unpalatable.

Amber took a breath, determined not to let her fear show in her expression. “I shall be well,” she said with false confidence. “Should you want to take a trip to Northallerton tomorrow to take the missive to Mr. Peters or wait until next week?”

Twice Suzanne had gone to town on a Sunday to attend church services. Amber, of course, never went to town. The Dariloos and Mr. Peters had agreed to present her name as Mrs. Chandler, a widow with a poor constitution, and her mother had addressed both her letters to Mrs. Chandler as well. Suzanne presented herself in town and at church as Mrs. Miller, the housekeeper, though Amber still called her Suzanne so as not to let her completely forget her place in this household. It was spread about town that Mrs. Chandler was not inclined for visits, and the few people who had called—the vicar and his wife one time, and two visits from the three-mile-away neighbor obviously hungry for some gossip to share—had been turned away. The ruse had worked thus far, and Amber was confident it would continue.

That she was very much in need to continue the ruse was something she was still attempting to accept. Her eyebrows were gone and her eyelashes were falling out every day. She held onto the hope afforded by a patch of hair that was growing at her crown, a fuzzy spot of red on her otherwise bald head which she always kept covered with a cap. Amber checked the spot of hair every day, but it was the only new growth, which meant that even if it were the beginning of all her hair’s return, she was months away from being presentable again.

Suzanne’s eyes focused on Amber, and she blinked quickly. “I shall go to town now,” she said. “Sally has had some time to refresh, and I . . . I need some fresh air.”

Amber did not point out that since Suzanne had already been to town once today, she had enjoyed more than enough fresh air. “You may not reach Northallerton in time to find Mr. Peters still at his office. Wait for tomorrow at least.”

Suzanne stood. “I shall stay over with the vicar and his wife. They have offered me accommodation before.” She did not meet Amber’s eyes, which had gone wide with fear. She would be at the cottage alone?
All night?
It was bad enough that she was alone for hours on the days Suzanne went to town. But at night?

Suzanne continued, “There is a dance held for the working class, you know, at the Northallerton assembly hall on the third Wednesday of each month, which is tonight. I think I should like to go.”

“A dance,” Amber repeated. It took all her skills at acting a part not to demand that Suzanne stay. The fact that Suzanne would be leaving for good within the next few days was not far from her thoughts, however. Even if Amber insisted she stay tonight, it would not change their course. Suzanne’s opinion had become oddly important to Amber these last weeks, and she did not want the maid’s last memory of her mistress to be unpleasant.

“That sounds lovely,” Amber said with false sincerity while holding her emotions close. “Certainly, you should go.” She turned to the desk and extracted a fresh sheet of paper, her hand shaking slightly. “Let me write the letter to Mr. Peters while you change into something fit for such a party. You can then deliver the note to Mr. Peters in the morning.”

She fought the growing panic with every word she wrote, then stood on the porch and watched as Suzanne drove away for the second time that day. She wrapped her arms tightly around herself, though she wasn’t cold, and went back into the cottage, locking the door behind her. She checked every window and put the board in the braces across the kitchen door.

Mrs. Haribow had been there two days ago—Amber always kept to her room on those days—and Amber’s remaining portion of seed cakes were still wrapped in a cloth. She ate every one of them while she cried about her mother not coming, about Suzanne leaving, and about being alone for the first time in her life. How would she care for herself? How could her mother be so ignorant of how much Amber needed her?

When the world outside the windows grew dark, Amber sat in front of the mirror in her room and touched her newly growing hair, wishing for it to spread. It was her only hope of rescue from a horrific fate of living this way indefinitely. Surely if she could tell her mother she was healing, Mama would accept her back into their world. Surely she could then enjoy a future of comfort and pleasure again. Her time in Yorkshire would be nothing but a horrid memory.

Though she was not inclined to piety, that night Amber knelt beside her bed and prayed that her hair would grow. It was the only solution she could conceive, the only way she could gain entrance back into the life she once had.

Without Suzanne, it fell upon Amber to execute the morning chores. Gathering eggs and emptying the chamber pot had been previously avoided at all costs, but she could not ignore them now. Did the eggs always come from the coop so soiled? Suzanne must wash them before bringing them inside. As for the chamber pot, Amber nearly retched over the task of it, then sat against the side of the smokehouse and screamed at the heavens until she could not breathe and the fingernails of her clenched fists dug half-moons into her palms.

This was her
life
. This was her reality. After indulging in her misery until she felt quite ridiculous, she stood and told herself that if Suzanne could do such things, Amber could as well. She wanted Suzanne to be proud of her, and she
had
to take care of herself now. Fits and anger and avoidance would no longer be her friends.