Hazel’s tension returned, erasing her small moment of peace. She opened her mouth to protest, but Amelia hurried on.
“You will be the married woman of a respectable man and must command respect about town. There will be social calls and dinner parties that require the appropriate costume.”
Hazel immediately felt like a fish flopping back and forth on the bottom of a boat. “H-how will I go about that? I have never had to order a . . . wardrobe.”
“Duncan has already found a dressmaker with a good reputation in Ipswich.” She retrieved the papers she’d set aside and began sorting through them. “I’ve made up a list. Here it is.”
Hazel swallowed as she scanned the list of items she’d never owned before—sleeves to wear under her cap-sleeved dresses when it was cold, morning dresses, and evening dresses.
“Duncan found a dressmaker?” Hazel asked as that detail finally registered in her mind.
“He’s very resourceful, your husband.”
My husband. Heat burst forth on Hazel’s cheeks.
Amelia laughed, but Hazel was too disconcerted to be offended. “You shall need to get used to that term, Hazel. He will be your husband, never mind that this is a business transaction. You shall be Mrs. Penhale.”
Hazel leaned back against the bouncing cushion and only just resisted putting her hands over her face. She took a deep breath while trying to formulate a response.
Amelia saved her by continuing to speak. “I believe he made appointments for the week after you were to be married, but I am sure that can be changed if you marry sooner.”
“I shall need to draw from my inheritance to cover the costs.”
“Fiddlesticks,” Amelia said, waving a blue-gloved hand. “It is my wedding gift to you. Have you anything set aside for your trousseau? Harry is staying at Falconridge now and can send anything you need.”
“A trousseau,” Hazel repeated with enough bitterness to change Amelia’s expression. The day had been too heady, and her manners were suffering.
Hazel looked out the window at the trees sliding by the moving frame. “The first school I was sent to was Williamson Academy, a small school in Essex. My parents chose it because it would board girls as young as six years old.”
“Six?” Hazel did not hear the word as much as see it on Amelia’s lips as her expression fell.
“The school was shabby and poorly heated. They gave physical demerits, which terrified me but kept me well-behaved. I used a set of forearm crutches to walk back then and was terrified of being injured to a point that I might not be able to walk on my own. At the age of nine, I had proved myself intellectually proficient enough to go to St. Mary’s—that was when Uncle Elliott began to subsidize my education, and I had my first customized boot that allowed me to walk without crutches.”
She smiled at the memory of limping into St. Mary’s and knowing that, while she drew the attention of everyone there, none of them knew she’d ever used crutches. She had felt remarkably self-sufficient and proud of all she’d done to earn her place.
“St. Mary’s was superior to Williamson in every way; I plan to utilize a great deal of their structure at my school, in fact. When I was, I think, eleven years old, I came home on a mandatory holiday—I stayed at the school for holidays unless required to return home, which was only twice a year.
“Hannah was working on the third of a set of pillowcases, embroidering the same garland upon each one. It was beautiful work, especially for an eight-year-old child, but I could not determine why she would need three of the same design. As it turned out, it was the third of what would be ten matching pillowcases for her trousseau.”
Hazel shrugged, as though to say she was unaffected by this, which, of course, was not true. “After I went back to school, I asked a friend what a trousseau was, and she explained it was a collection of articles a girl made as she prepared for marriage. My friend was surprised that not only did I not know what it was but had made no additions to my own.
“I still did not realize the significance of all of this until months later, when I next returned home. I asked my mother if there was something I could work on for my trousseau while I was there. She became very uncomfortable and said she would find something for me to work on, but she never did. It was Harry who told me that I was not to have a trousseau because everyone knew I would never marry and therefore would never need items meant to make a new bride feel at home in her new place.”
“Oh, Hazel,” Amelia said.
“Do not pity me,” Hazel replied, shaking her head and smiling slightly to take the edge off her words. “I share this only to help you understand what my life has been like and how the expectations of my future have shaped me. I did not build a trousseau. I did not learn how to flirt or embroider in a drawing room—though I am a fairly good stitch. I was not raised to plan a menu or interview staff or be a wife and mother the way my sister was raised.
“Quite frankly, I was not raised at all. Rather, I was educated and kept far away so as not to disrupt the lives of my family or cause them embarrassment.” She was saying too much, being too open—something she rarely did. She looked at her hands in her lap and took a breath. “Forgive me for making you uncomfortable, Amelia.”
“You did not make me uncomfortable,” Amelia said. “I am glad to have a fuller picture of what your life has been.”
They both fell silent long enough that Hazel startled slightly when Amelia spoke again. “My daughter, Julia—she married your cousin Peter—was raised a banker’s daughter until her father died, then she was raised only by me, a rather hardheaded widow who managed her own household with as little help as possible.” She smiled at her self-reference. “When Julia fell in love with Peter, she was completely overwhelmed by the responsibility of managing staff. I moved into the house for a few months before they married so as to help train her in the expected responsibilities since, while I had never managed such a lifestyle for myself, I was raised amid the noble class and grew up in a grand estate house.” She paused. “I would be happy to offer you the same assistance, though I understand if you would rather find your own way.”
Hazel looked at Amelia, this woman with graying hair and an aging smile that showed wisdom and sincere concern. Hazel had met Julia last Christmas. She had been quiet, but the affection she and Peter shared had been obvious. In them, Hazel had seen an ideal situation of two people perfectly situated for the places they fell into as easily as sinking into sofa cushions. She had not considered that they might have had their own struggles in blending their lives.
“You would move in with Duncan and me for three months to train me?”
Amelia laughed and grabbed the strap again as the carriage hit another series of ruts in the road. With her other hand, she pressed the papers onto her lap so they would not fall to the floor. Hazel grabbed for her strap as well.