Chapter 11
THE NEXT MORNING, the unmistakable sound of wheels crunching on the gravel drive below Ella’s south-facing window pulled her from slumber. As sleep’s effect cleared and the day’s significance dawned, Ella sat upright in bed, reached for her linen wrapper, and moved to peer from her window.
Already the Keatley Hall grounds buzzed with activity. The hour was early, yet two carriages conveying symposium guests stood in the drive. She’d been planning for this day ever since she’d spoken with Mr. Rowe in his office. Could this be the start of learning the truth about Mr. Bauer?
Ella had told her father that she’d encountered Mr. Rowe at the assembly rooms and he would be attending, and Mrs. Chatterly had assigned him a chamber, but Ella left every other aspect of his visit shrouded in secrecy.
She’d omitted the fact that he’d be investigating the guest of honor.
Each day her guilt intensified—she had, after all, lied to her father, and she’d be foolish to think Mr. Rowe’s arrival would not incite more questions.
How could she continue down this duplicitous path?
She wanted her father to trust her, just as he wanted her to trust him, but they were both extending trust in pieces and parts. Her father refused to relinquish any control regarding Keatley Hall’s future. She was keeping the entire topic of Mr. Rowe and Mr. Bauer close to her chest.
Ella’s bedchamber door opened, and Mrs. Chatterly appeared with a gown flowing over her arm.
“Good. You’re awake.” Mrs. Chatterly draped the gown over a chair and propped her hands on her hips. “We must hurry. Your father will want you to help greet the guests.”
The relationship between the two ladies, which had always been so positive and strong, had seemed strained ever since the visit to Mr. Rowe’s office.
It was an odd dichotomy—Mrs. Chatterly was the only person at Keatley Hall who knew the details of Ella’s plans.
Ella never doubted Mrs. Chatterly’s loyalty, but the fact that her most trusted ally doubted those plans heightened her insecurity.
What if Ella was wrong?
What if she had jeopardized her entire future by following her own stubborn pursuits?
Mrs. Chatterly assisted Ella into her stays and into a blush muslin gown with small cream and pale green flowers embroidered on the bodice and the cuffs of the long sleeves.
A filmy, milky-white fichu was tucked in the square neckline, making the gown more appropriate and modest for daytime hours, and once she was dressed, Mrs. Chatterly brushed her light hair and pinned it into a simple chignon at the base of her neck.
Before long, Ella was swept away into the day’s activity.
Concerns of trust and her future were replaced with the more practical tasks of ensuring the guests had appropriate chambers and that there were sufficient refreshments, but as the hours flew by, Ella kept one eye on the carriages arriving.
Whereas Ella was acutely aware that Mr. Rowe had not yet arrived, Phoebe was devastated that Mr. Bauer had yet to make an appearance.
As the afternoon waned, Phoebe and Ella retreated to the White Parlor on Keatley Hall’s ground floor, where the tall leaded windows overlooked the long gravel drive and grassy forecourt, allowing them to observe the arrivals without being seen.
In an abrupt lurch Phoebe jumped from where she was sitting near the window. “This might be him.”
Drawn by curiosity, Ella joined Phoebe at the window. Sure enough, an unmarked black carriage turned from the main road and passed through Keatley Hall’s open wrought-iron gates.
Phoebe whirled from the window and began to pace.
“You must calm down,” suggested Ella, keeping her words slow. “You’ll make yourself ill, and the last thing you want is to appear as a dithery, nervous thing when he arrives.”
“You’re right. I know you are.” Phoebe fidgeted with the ruffled sleeve of her mauve sarcenet gown and returned to the window. “Do I look all right?”
Ella assessed her eager friend’s flushed face and tense jaw. “You look lovely, but you look the most beautiful when you smile, yes?”
Phoebe blew out the air she’d been holding and turned her attention out the window. They waited as the carriage in question pulled around the drive. She did not brighten until Mr. Bauer’s unmistakable silhouette became clear. “It’s him. I might faint.”
“You’re not going to faint.” But even as Ella said the words, she could not tear her eyes away from the broad-shouldered, stocky man in a black coat, black beaver hat, and jet hair who emerged from the carriage.
He looked just as she remembered from the assembly room, except perhaps a bit older due to the harsh daytime light.
A second man, whom Ella recognized as his assistant from the demonstration, exited after him. The men shook hands with both of their fathers, who had been waiting at the entrance to greet guests as they arrived.
The pretty flush that had colored Phoebe’s high cheeks just moments ago drained to a sickly pale. “I’ve not seen him since we spoke to him at Clancy’s. What if his opinion of me has changed?”
Ella decided it best to keep her thoughts about Mr. Bauer’s interest in Phoebe’s dowry to herself and, instead, attempted to focus on something more positive. “If he cares for you as you have described, then nothing will change him. You’ll see.”
The men ambled toward the house, and within moments the boisterous roar of animated male voices reverberated from the great hall’s paneled walls and stone floors just across the corridor from the White Parlor.
“Let’s go greet him!” cried Phoebe, starting for the door. “I—”
“No, no. Restraint is needed,” cautioned Ella. “Consider, he’s just arrived and there are others in the great hall—the Nortons, the Parkers, maybe more. Do you want your reunion to be when he has just gotten out of a carriage and surrounded by people? Stay here. He’ll come to you.”
“You’re right, of course,” Phoebe lamented as she toyed anxiously with a ruby pendant on a gold chain that had previously been tucked into her fichu.
“That’s pretty.” Ella angled to see the bauble more clearly as she attempted to distract her friend. “I’ve not noticed it before.”
Phoebe expression sobered, and she quickly tucked it back in her fichu. “It was a gift.”
It was unlike Phoebe not to want to discuss anything related to fashion. “From whom?”
Phoebe bit her lower lip and turned toward the window. “If I tell you, you will think it wrong that I accepted it.”
Dread trickled through her. It was inappropriate for a man to give a woman a gift unless the relationship was serious. “Mr. Bauer?”
Phoebe’s voice was low. “He gave it to me about a month ago. Father has not seen it yet, and I don’t think anyone else would notice, but I want Thomas to see me wearing it.”
Ella stiffened. Referring to him by his Christian name and accepting gifts?
“You won’t say anything, will you?” pleaded Phoebe, her light brown eyes wide.
Ella dropped her shoulders and sighed. “I won’t, but I do wish you to be careful.”
“I assure you, I am careful, Ella. I wish you could experience this feeling. It seems that after so many years of just drifting, waiting, and hoping, I might find the person I am meant to be with.”
Ella understood that feeling of drifting—of merely existing while the rest of the world sped ahead. “Does anyone else besides me know of the attachment?”
“Miss Sutton knows, of course. She has been present so often during our encounters and figured it out. She is so observant.”
Ella forced a smile. It would not do to make her friend uneasy when so many unanswered questions lingered. “I like seeing you this way. Happiness suits you.”
Phoebe sniffed and shrugged. “I don’t feel like I deserve such happiness.”
“Why would you say that?”
“I have so little of significance to offer in comparison. He’s such an impressive individual. Why would he choose me when any lady would be glad for his attention?”
Phoebe’s low opinion of herself concerned Ella. “You are remarkable, dear Phoebe. Truly. I wish you could see it as clearly as I do.”
Guilt descended. Phoebe was a good person, not to mention an extraordinary judge of character.
How could her perception of Mr. Bauer contrast so with her own and Mr. Rowe’s?
Ella was confident in the details in her mother’s journals, but a small seed of doubt vexed her.
She and Mr. Rowe could be completely wrong in their assessment.
What sort of friend would she be to cast shadows on Phoebe’s beau?
Ella and Phoebe moved to the corridor just as the men were approaching the White Parlor. But then they paused. Mr. Bauer looked directly at them both, but he made no motion, gave no greeting, and continued down the corridor.
Ella froze. Given Phoebe’s account and her own personal observation of their conversation at the assembly rooms, she’d expected a very different response.
The men continued talking quietly amongst themselves.
Phoebe’s face drained of color. Moisture filled her red-rimmed eyes, and a fat tear skipped down her cheek. “He didn’t greet me. Not even a smile!”
Ella gripped her hand. “Perhaps he didn’t see you. They were all talking, and—”
“He saw me, Ella. And he said nothing. Nothing!”
Eager to avoid a scene, Ella wrapped her arm around Phoebe’s and guided her from the parlor, down the same corridor the gentlemen had just traversed, and to the east staircase.
Ella was not exactly sure what she had just witnessed, but his dismissive behavior toward the woman he was allegedly courting gave her a little more evidence to support her suspicion: Mr. Bauer was not to be trusted.