The Dowry of Miss Lydia Clark (65 page)

Thank you, Father
.

She wanted to run through the inn and wake everyone with her news, but instead she blew out her candle and climbed into bed, wearing a ludicrous smile in the dark. She fell into a peaceful sleep, without waking until morning.

Chapter 41

Vicar and Mrs. Phelps had not mentioned avoiding Mr. Clay
completely
as a condition for Noelle’s staying at the
Larkspur
, but still, she thought it best to do so. Forgiveness was wonderful and incredible, but it had not halted her steps down the path of introspection. Like peeling the layers of an onion, she was finding out things about herself she had never realized.

One unsettling discovery was that she was quite shallow. It had served her well, or so she had thought, during her time with Quetin. Shallow women lived for the moment, never considering how their actions might affect others or even themselves. To do so might cause pain, and of course pain was to be avoided at all costs. And shallow women certainly did not attempt to direct their thoughts through appropriate channels, as Noelle was suddenly having to teach herself to do.

She figured the only way to do that was to avoid the actor’s company as much as possible with the exception of meals. Mercifully he did not sit and glare at her at the table but treated her with the same regard as he did the other lodgers.

He was not in the hall on Wednesday morning, but the Durwins and Mrs. Dearing were, so she took Mrs. Dearing’s offer to share her sofa. The two women had needlework in their laps, Noelle’s crocheting was in hers, and Mr. Durwin held a small leather-covered photograph album.

“My eldest son, Winslow, sent it from Calcutta,” the elderly man told her proudly from the facing sofa. “We haven’t seen my grandchildren since our wedding.”

“May I have a look?” Noelle asked.

He looked very pleased to get to his feet and hand it over to her. “The girl is Katherine and the boy, William.”

“Named after your second son,” Noelle commented absently as she admired a photograph of the two children in sailor suits.

“Why, yes. How did you know?”

“I’m not sure,” she confessed. Surely she had overheard the Durwins speak of their children. It struck her that she had not forgotten anyone’s name in a long time. What had she told Quetin the last time she saw him?
I never forget the name of anyone who’s important
. Incredibly, without her even being aware of it, these people had become important to her. She looked up at Mr. Durwin and smiled. “They’re beautiful children.”

“Thank you. They’ll be here at Christmas, my eldest and his family. So they’ll have the pleasure of making your acquaintance.” “I’m looking forward to it,” Noelle replied before remembering that she had no idea where she would be at Christmas. She was more discouraged than ever about accepting Quetin’s support, but if her family refused to take her in—which she expected would happen—how could she possibly support herself?

“Speaking of Christmas…” Mrs. Dearing said. “Wouldn’t it be lovely to have another Christmas wedding here?” She turned to Noelle. “The vicar and Mrs. Phelps were married shortly before Christmas, and the church was decorated so lovely with garlands and holly.”

“Are you thinking of remarrying, Mrs. Dearing?” asked Mr. Durwin.

“Bertram…” his wife warned softly.

Catching the glint in his eyes, Noelle realized he was teasing their friend.

Mrs. Dearing took it well. Her turquoise earrings quivered with her laugh. “Not at the present time, Mr. Durwin. I enjoyed my marriage to my sainted Harold, but I am quite content with my life as it is. I was speaking of Mr. Pitney and Miss Rawlins,
and
I suspect you knew that.”

The man grinned, and his wife said, “I passed the open door of the library yesterday evening and overheard him quoting poetry to her.” She raised a hand to her soft cheek. “Perhaps I shouldn’t have mentioned that.”

“It will go no further than this room, Mrs. Durwin,” Mrs. Dearing reassured her. “I think it’s charming. Tell us, dear, does Mr. Durwin quote poetry to you?”

With a shake of the head and mischievous little smile, Mrs. Durwin replied, “Alas, but I’m afraid there are no poems written about hawthorn or foxglove or Saint John’s wort.”

The laughter that erupted from all three was so infectious that Noelle found herself forgetting her worries and joining in. Why she had ever thought elderly people were dull, she couldn’t remember. She had returned the photograph album to Mr. Durwin and was crocheting and occasionally joining in the conversation when the front door opened.

“Good day to you, ladies,” Mr. Durwin said, getting to his feet, as Noelle and Mrs. Dearing turned to look.

“And good day to you, Mr. Durwin,” Mrs. Phelps answered with Grace at her side. Mother and daughter wore identical narrowbrimmed straw hats, and Mrs. Phelps’ gown and the girl’s pinafore were of the same mauve carmeline.

“Don’t you both look charming, with those pink dresses,” Mrs. Dearing told them after greetings were exchanged all around.

“I can hardly tell you apart!” Mr. Durwin exclaimed, bringing a smile to Grace’s somber little face.

“Thank you. Laurel and Aleda have costumes of the same fabric as well, but they’re off playing with friends.” Mrs. Phelps and her daughter sat in chairs near the sofas. Grace stayed just long enough to be polite before excusing herself to visit Mrs. Herrick in the kitchen. Sarah brought in tea and biscuits, and after they had been consumed, the vicar’s wife casually asked Noelle if they could speak privately. This did not raise the eyebrows of the other three, who must have supposed they had business to discuss concerning lodgings or such.

“My husband and I were wondering how you were faring,” Mrs. Phelps explained from the chair Noelle had insisted she take, while she herself brought over the bench from her dressing table. She had been surprised when the woman suggested her bedchamber instead of the library, but considered the nature of what they would likely be discussing and was grateful.

Noelle knotted her fingers in her lap. “I have kept all of the conditions so far.” Anxious then that she had given the impression that her obedience was only temporary, she added, “And I intend to continue keeping them, of course, because they’re pleasing to God, and for my own good and…”

“Miss Somerville?” her visitor cut in.

“Yes?”

“Do relax, please? I’m only here to offer my help.”

“Thank you,” Noelle breathed, feeling some of the tension seep from her shoulders. She drew in another deep breath. “Sunday night I forgave the people in my past. My family included.”

Mrs. Phelps smiled. “I’m glad to hear it. Why didn’t you tell us?”

“I thought I had burdened you enough.”

“Oh, but you haven’t. And such news would be just the opposite of a burden. I can’t wait to share that with the vicar.”

Noelle returned her smile. “I just hope I never take this for granted—feeling clean.”

“Just remember to thank God every morning for that cleansing, Miss Somerville, and you’ll lessen the chance of that happening. Gratitude gives us marvelous staying power, I’ve discovered.”

“I’ll remember that,” she promised. But a thought that she had kept buried under activity and conversation all morning rose to the surface again. The smile eased from her face. “I’m still dreading facing Mrs. Clay tomorrow.”

“Of course,” Mrs. Phelps said with a nod. “But she’s the most charitable woman I know. I’ve no doubt that she’ll forgive you.”

“That actually makes it more difficult. I regret so much how wretched I’ve been to her…from the very first.”

“Indeed? She’s never mentioned as such.”

Recalling something Vicar Treves had told her, she explained, “It’s just the same if your thoughts are ugly. I saw how fine her clothes were and how easy her life was, and allowed myself to get jealous.”

Oddly, Mrs. Phelps’s gave her a sad smile. “Mrs. Clay has earned the right to an easy life, having spent most of hers in servitude.”

Noelle blinked. “I beg your pardon?”

“Didn’t you know? In fact, she was the housekeeper here for a year.”

“Why, no.” If she had felt low for flirting with Mrs. Clay’s husband before, Noelle wondered now why God had not struck her dead the minute she knocked on that apartment door. “I’m so sorry,” she said meekly.

“I didn’t come here to chastise you, Miss Somerville. I came to tell you my husband and I are still praying for you.
And…
to talk with you about your future.”

“My future?”

“Yes.” Mrs. Phelps paused before saying, “May I ask you a very frank question?”

“Yes, of course.” Her life was an open book anyway as far as the Phelps were concerned.

Mrs. Phelps’s green eyes took on a maternal expression, though she was probably only a decade or so older than Noelle. “It’s about your lodgings, Miss Somerville. Don’t you think it would be in your best interests to sever that tie completely?”

Noelle had forgotten about
that
page in the book revealing her life. Embarrassed that she had not mentioned the support money at the vicarage on Friday, she asked, “How did you know?”

“Didn’t you tell us?”

There was nothing to do but admit that she had held back that bit of information purposely. “I was afraid you would make me leave for certain.”

“I see. Then we must have assumed as much when you mentioned that Lord Paxton had sent you here.” Mrs. Phelps grew thoughtful. “This is a puzzling situation, Miss Somerville. While some might argue there is nothing inherently sinful about accepting the money, as long as you’re no longer seeing him—”

“I don’t want it, Mrs. Phelps,” Noelle told her quietly, but adamantly. “Not one penny. But I don’t know how to begin to support myself.”

“And you’re still convinced that your family won’t allow you to live with them?”

“I would be very surprised if they did.” And almost disappointed, she realized, for as much as she wished to see her family again, she’d found a measure of peace here in Gresham—in spite of making a spectacle of herself. Incredibly, London was losing its appeal. Realizing that Mrs. Phelps was speaking, she apologized for allowing her thoughts to drift. “You said you were on your way to the lending library?”

Mrs. Phelps smiled and shook her head. “What I said was that Mrs. Summers wishes to discontinue her position there as soon as possible. Her age is catching up with her, she says. I’ve recommended you for the position, and the squire says it’s yours if you’d like to have it.”

“Mine?”

“Of course, if you do move in with your family later, he understands that he would have to find someone to replace you.”

Noelle shook her head in disbelief. “But why would he hire me? I don’t even care for reading.”

“But you
can
read, can’t you?”

“Yes…”

“And Mr. Trumble still boasts about his shelves. You have a gift for order that would be put to good use.”

“I do?” Coming up with a system for organizing the shelves had been easy, so Noelle didn’t think she had done anything that anyone else couldn’t do. But a gift?

Julia wondered at the disbelief in Miss Somerville’s green eyes. Surely she was used to compliments, at least on her appearance. Had the people in her life not noticed that behind that comely facade was an intelligent mind? Did
she
even realize it?

“The squire would give me
wages
?” the young woman asked.

“Of course.” However, a serious drawback accompanied the offer. Julia wondered if she would be too proud to accept it. “But I’m sorry to say your wages would not cover the cost of your lodgings here. And to keep the servants and amenities we have, I cannot afford to rent your room for any less.”

“Oh dear. Then what good would it do to take the position if I couldn’t support myself?”

“You could support yourself. There is an extra bedchamber upstairs.”

With a puzzled glance at the ceiling, Miss Somerville said, “You mean the attic? Where the servants live?”

“Yes. But the attic is more comfortable than you may think. There is even a water closet and bath. You would still be considered a guest, and take meals in the dining room, but at a much reduced rate.”