What I like best is how visual this sonnet is. It's so easy to picture everything, even the auction which is conveyed with such deft strokes. I like the circularity that others have mentioned. There's an irony in it that's appealing but somehow a little sad: For some reason the linens were never used by their maker, and now that they're antiques they'll never be used by their buyer.
The enjambment on place/mats bothered me a little.
The line with "trousseau" worked fine for me because I always pronounce it as "trousseau". And putting a very slight stress on the word "a" goes with the territory:
a country homestead, maybe a trousseau
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