The worst moments were when she’d wake in the middle of the night, discontent, lost, adrift. That was when she’d truly lose herself in self-pity. Her gran had warned her that she had a dramatic mind. Gemma now understood what she meant. In those wee hours of the night, she’d start imagining scenarios of a long, empty life saved only by Ned’s arrival when she was on her deathbed.
And it was all so silly.
And, yet, it hurt so bad that sometimes her soul couldn’t breathe.
Nor did it help that Clarissa was such a lovely person.
At the same time she was also more than a bit naïve, more than a bit sheltered, more than a bit unaware of what marriage entailed. It seemed to Gemma that her friend looked at marriage as just a step in life. It was what women did. Off she goes!
And Gemma knew because that was the way she’d once been.
So she’d made it clear to one and all who asked that she didn’t enjoy dances. She said she was too busy preparing for the lecture. She had responsibilities, a business, a life that had no room for frivolity.
Eventually, Mrs. Warbler and the others became too involved in their own plans to worry much about her, which is how Gemma told herself she wanted it.
The Cotillion morning had been very busy, although no one complained of headaches and pains and illness—not when there was a big dance to attend.
No, what had kept her blessedly busy was the number of visitors from the area who had come for the dance. Many mentioned they planned on attending the next day’s lecture. They called on The Garland because they’d heard about her soaps and creams, her salves and teas. They complimented her on the changes to the building and the grounds.
However, by afternoon, trade had slowed to a stop. Gemma was certain everyone had gone home to press their finery, style their hair, and pinch their cheeks to add color. She used to spend hours readying herself for dances in Manchester.
Now she had hours to not think about what was happening down the road in the old barn owned by St. Martyr’s where the dance was held. She set to work wrapping more soaps for sale and dividing the salts into packets. It was messy but a welcome task because it kept her mind busy. She didn’t worry about tomorrow’s lecture because all was ready. She’d even plotted how she would avoid spending more time than necessary around Ned.
Oh, no, she did not need to see him this evening, although she was very aware that evening had fallen—
The bell tinkled in the main room. Who would be calling at this time? She thought everyone knew she was closed. She started to rise and then heard Clarissa’s voice. “Gemma?”
“I’m in the kitchen.”
What was this about?
Clarissa burst into the room looking more lovely than ever. Her honey-colored hair was piled on her head and her dress was a green so pale it could almost be white. She wore a locket around her neck and long gloves that had been a gift from the matrons.
“Clarissa,” Gemma said in wonder. “You could pass for a lady of the first water.”
Her friend laughed, pleased by the compliment. “Do you think Mr. Thurlowe will like me?”
There it was.
Gemma took a deep breath and spoke the truth. “He will believe you are the most beautiful woman there.”
Clarissa’s eyes sparkled. “I hope so.” She took a step closer to Gemma. “I’m going to see if he’ll kiss me tonight.”
This was not a conversation Gemma wanted. “Clarissa—”
“He’s kissed me,” the woman charged on, speaking over Gemma’s protest. “But I had to practically beg for it. Tonight, I want a real kiss.”
“And what is a real kiss?” Gemma was thankful she was sitting.
“One he wants to give me. One from his heart.”
“Ah.” The word seemed to hang in the air and then, realizing more should be said, Gemma managed a weak, “I’m certain you will be successful—”
Clarissa cut her off with a gloved hand on her shoulder. “But I’m not here about my plans. Gemma, you must come to the dance.”
Gemma picked up the tray of salt packets and rose from the chair, wanting to put distance between herself and Clarissa’s idea. “I don’t enjoy dances.”
“I can’t believe that is true,” was the bold reply. “When I first met you, we talked about the dances you attended. You said you loved to dance.”
“I’ve changed.”
“Why?”
Gemma frowned, put out. “Where is this coming from? Who are you to tell me what I like and don’t like?”
“Exactly.” Clarissa straightened. “Now you are the person I know. I have no idea why you are hiding away, but please don’t. This is going to be great fun and, to be honest, I need you there.”
“Because?”
“Because I feel alone much of the time. And I wish I were like you. I wish I were brave enough to go out into the world as you have. You never appear to worry about what other people think.”
Genuinely touched, Gemma said, “Clarissa, you are well loved in this village.”
“Unfortunately, not always included. The Nelson girls have already let me know that I am not to dance with any of the young men they have an eye on, which is half the parish. People will congratulate me on my upcoming marriage and then whisper once I’ve passed that I’m an orphan, that I don’t belong. It would be nice to have someone there I trust.”
Someone she trusted. Gemma could relate to those words.
“Besides,” Clarissa said, “you are a part of this community. You need to be there. This evening is about celebrating all of us.”
The front doorbell tinkled again. A woman’s voice called, “Clarissa, come. You only said you would be a minute.”
Clarissa looked to Gemma and made a face. “That is Jane.” Jane was one of Squire Nelson’s daughters.
“The Nelsons are waiting for you?”
“Yes, out front. I begged them to let me talk to you.”
“Clarissa, you must go,” Gemma answered.
The girl placed a hand on Gemma’s arm. “Please come. Please don’t stay away. You are one of us. And I need you.”
“I will think on it.”
“Thank you.” The words were heartfelt and then in a swirl of muslin as light as air, Clarissa left the room. A second later the door tinkled as it was closed.
And Gemma was alone. Hiding.
It wasn’t very brave of her.
Her mood began to shift. Two months ago she’d come to Maidenshop with a determination she, herself, at Clarissa’s age didn’t know she had possessed. Today she was a member of this strong little community. Sooner or later she had to face Ned with Clarissa. She had to stop pretending to hide. Why, she’d see him tomorrow and probably her friend, as well.
Gemma walked to her bedroom. On a wall peg hung the dresses from her former life. Three dresses from when she’d been a rich man’s daughter.
The time had come to shed her black, to stop moping about what could not be changed. She needed to be strong for herself.
Gemma reached for a dress of the deepest blue in a figured silk. It had been her father’s favorite. He’d claimed it had been well worth the cost and she hadn’t worn it since his death. She also hadn’t been able to part with it.