by Izzy James
When the tea arrived, she took a deep breath, sat up straight with dry eyes, and took the plunge. “I’m thinking of removing to Tom’s house.”
Molly’s mouth dropped open. “Do you mean permanently?” She placed her hands, palms down, on the polished surface. “Besides, it’s no longer Tom’s House—it’s your house.”
“Well, yes, I know that, but we’ve never called it that before.”
“Don’t be silly. It’s your house.”
She couldn’t tell Molly about her newfound feelings of home that she’d experienced since she arrived. Molly had always done her best to make her welcome. That Delany never felt that way was no fault of Molly’s.
“What about the shop?”
“I’ll keep it open as long as Mr. Harris is willing to keep eyes on it for me. After that, I’ll have to see.”
“If this blows over quickly, perhaps you can stay. If not open, at least retain your property.”
“I hope so.”
“You’ll be closer to Sarah and Isaac out here.” Molly’s eyes twinkled with knowing.
“Sarah, yes. Isaac?”
“It’s been a long time since I’ve seen two men fight over a woman. The last time was, hmmm. Let me think.” She put a finger to her lip. “It was me.” She grinned, a brazen look in her eye.
Delany cringed like a school girl.
“I’ve noticed Isaac has been more attentive than usual, but I assumed it was on Lucy’s account. I’ve noticed no other attention.”
“If that Field Archer scowled at Isaac Harrison any harder, it would be an official challenge.”
It was Delany’s turn for a gaping mouth.
“You’re mistaken. Field Archer is not interested in servants. And former servants are just the same as servants.” Despite Delany’s attempt to keep her voice even, the look in Molly’s eyes told her she’d failed to keep her feelings hidden.
“So it’s Archer.”
The flush rose to Delany’s cheeks. It was over. She poured herself another cup of tea and told Molly the story she had never told a soul. Not Sarah, not even Amity when she’d gone the next morning to return the pink silk gown.
Amity had been so thrilled with her evening, especially the dances with Simon Morgan, that she’d barely noticed Delany’s absence, first attributing it to dancing and the sheer numbers of people at the party. When she’d realized that Delany was actually gone from the party, it was very late, and Amity had assumed she’d gone to bed.
Delany had never corrected her friend’s error. Now, she told Molly the whole tale all the way to John Crawley’s awful pronouncement.
“He did not say such a thing.”
“He did.”
“Rotten man.”
Warmed by the camaraderie, Delany smiled. “So you see, you must be mistaken. I know he misses his family. Perhaps that is what you see.” As much as Delany wanted to believe that somehow Field had changed, that he could see in her as a woman to be loved, he wasn’t capable of that.
Molly reached across the table and took Delany’s hands in her own.
“Maybe you should take a second look at Isaac. He’s a good man, Delany.”
“Yes, he is,” Delany conceded, “but I’m not looking for a husband.” She took a deep breath. “I thought I would move to Northumberland. But that dream has died. I think I will stay here in Tom’s—my—house.”
“We’ll be so glad to have you here.”
16
The moon was huge when Field handed Delany up into the waiting carriage. Loose leaves rustled in the breeze. Wood fires scented the air with the promise of winter.
Samuel and Molly had also received an invitation and were traveling in the carriage in front of them.
“It was nice of your friend to include me in your invitation. I’m still puzzled by it.”
“Simon Morgan is a generous man. He remembered you and thought you would make the numbers for dancing. You do like dancing, don’t you?”
“Are you worried I cannot dance?”
“Of course not.” He cleared his throat like a guilty man covering his tracks. “I merely wondered if you enjoyed the activity.”
She laughed at the irony of his worry. If he’d stepped out with her all those years ago, he would know the answer to his question. Dancing was a refined activity. Her father had made sure she could dance so she should be a proper gentleman farmer’s daughter.
“I can dance. I love to dance.”
He turned toward her, and her heart swelled at the sight of him silhouetted in the moonlight. “Perhaps you would do me the honor of standing up with me this evening.”
Delany smoothed the skirt of the indigo silk skirt she’d chosen for tonight, remembering the borrowed pink gown and glad that even in this proximity, he could not hear the pounding of her heart. “If there is dancing, and it has not been promised that there will be, then I will, indeed, stand up with you,” she answered. Against her better judgment, Delany glowed at the thought of dancing with him. “Will it be a large party?” She thought it best to keep up the conversation rather than let her heart fill her head with dreams that would never come true.
It’s just a dance.
Breathe.
“Simon didn’t say, but I was given to understand that there is not an abundance of younger people about for a proper frolic.”
“I’m afraid that is true.”
Silence fell between them. Delany and her racing heart could think of nothing else to say. She trained her gaze on Samuel and Molly in the carriage in front of them.
“I saw little Ruben today. He’s quite a boy.” Field said. “Have you ever assisted in a birth before?”
“No. It was my first one.” Little Ruben’s face, his tiny dark eyes glistening in the morning sun, floated across her memory. Her face flamed at the memory of a dream of a plump little boy with brown hair that glowed red in the sun and amber-brown eyes.
“Did you and Tom ever have a child?” He clearly didn’t know how to proceed.
“No.” She wasn’t sure why she answered the outrageous question except that little Ruben’s face played across her memory. And the truth that she had no children and never would have children was too real to her in the moment to dissemble.
“Were you frightened?”
“I was prepared to be frightened,” she replied and laughed a little. “I thought I would be when Mary first asked me to stay with her. I think Molly thought I would be scared. When I got there to her room everything was very tactile.” She turned to look at him.
He had inclined toward her while listening intently.
“I’m a practical woman. When I arrived, there was work to be done. I did it, and really, that was all. Except this one thing.” She took a deep breath and added, “I am now sorry that I will not have children of my own.”
The sounds of creaking wood, springs, and wheels stretched between them.
Delany itched for the ride to be over. She’d said too much. What would he think? “How do you feel about escorting a former servant to your friend’s house for a frolic?” She’d done it again, perhaps because he’d had nothing to say about the most profound revelation about herself she’d had lately.
Field cleared his throat and slowed the carriage.
“Don’t have an answer?” she goaded.
“Rather, it’s I’m forming an answer.” The vehicle came to a stop. He turned toward her, features illuminated in the uncolored light of the large moon. “This is what’s between us. All this time.”
“Yes.” Her heart pounded. Hands fisted in her lap. She wasn’t supposed to care what he thought anymore, yet she did. She found she still cared a great deal. But this would be the last time she’d risk her heart for him. Just this one time she wanted—no, needed—to know. Then it would be put to rest for the remainder of her life. She would know what he thought of her.
“You are not a servant.”
“Certainly not. But I was once, and I have it on the best authority that y
ou would not dance with a servant.”
“What an idea. Of course not. I would not have an occasion to do so.” He reached for her hand and held it in both of his own. “I find you to be a most remarkable woman.”
Her mind stopped cold in its tracks.
“I am honored to escort you this evening and any other evenings, when it comes to that.”
It was as though the Lord shut her mouth. She could say and do nothing but allow him to hold her hand. His warmth faded from it as he picked up the reins and continued to the Morgans’.
~*~
It was the first thing that he’d felt right about since he’d set his feet back in Virginia. Delany was remarkable. He would know. He’d met enough females in the last four years to last a lifetime. It’d never occurred to him that her prior servant status would bother her. Always confident. Always in charge. Her vulnerability called to his protective nature. No one had better offend her tonight, least of all him.
Morgan Hall was lit up to glory.
Delany took Field’s offered arm and entered a hallway of tall, molded ceilings behind Samuel and Molly.
Heated perfumes laced the air. Music competed with voices offering greetings. The hall was as he remembered it, closed and dark and then opening into a large ballroom at the back of the house.
“Archer, glad you came.” Simon grabbed Field’s hand.
“I believe you remember Mrs. Fleet,” Field said.
“Delighted to see you again, Mrs. Fleet. You remember my sister, Miss Morgan.”
Hester stepped up to her brother’s side. She wore burgundy woven with silver gilt. Her hair was pulled back from her face and while not tall enough to catch fire on the chandeliers it was the tallest rig he’d seen since he’d been back in the colony.
“There you are, Delany Button. Oh, it’s Fleet now, isn’t it?” She smirked.
Delany nodded her assent.
“Outside of our recent meeting at Billy White’s, I don’t believe I’ve seen you since that Easter Party at Archer Hall when you ran away so abruptly. I do hope this evening you will find reason to stay.”
Run away from a party at the hall? Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Molly stop at Hester’s words.
Before Field could respond, Delany answered for herself. “I’m sure I will, Miss Morgan. You were very kind to invite me.”
“You’ll get used to me, Mrs. Fleet.” She smiled broadly, looking down from her five foot eight to Delany’s even five feet, “I am plain spoken. Come. Let’s find some punch.” Hester and Delany moved away together with Molly in their wake.
Plain spoken was one way to put it; rude was another. Delany could take care of herself, so he’d let it go this once.
Field moved toward Simon’s aunt and uncle who were ensconced in matching wingback chairs on opposite sides of the fire. A vision of Jack Sprat and his wife in reverse, Mr. Morgan filled his chair with length and breadth, and his tiny wife occupied naught but the corner of hers.
“So, Archer, what do you think? Shall we have a new nation or remain faithful to a tyrannical sovereign?”
“Mr. Morgan,” scolded his wife, “give the man a chance to get his punch before you badger him.”
“I don’t badger, Mrs. Morgan. I just wish to know where he stands.”
“It seems we are set in motion whatever it is that I think,” Field responded.
“There may be some truth in that. It will be safer for those who stand with the patriots than against.”
“As you say, sir. It’s well that my inclination agrees with their choice.”
“Well said, sir.” Mr. Morgan, wig slightly canted to one side, face glistening in the heat of the fire, took a long draft from his tankard. “Go and get you some punch, my boy, and welcome.”
Field found a place to stand next to Simon and the punch bowl. The room continued to swell with a steady stream of arriving guests. Each time a new guest appeared, the room would turn with one face and send a welcome greeting. Not aloud, but one of good feeling and generosity. As new people made their way around the room, they experienced the warmth of the welcome. Field extended his felicity to join the others until the newcomer was Isaac Harrison. His wellspring dried up, and his humor soured.
“Your sister is looking well tonight,” Field said to Simon as he watched Harrison make his way through the well-wishers toward the punch bowl.
“Indeed. It took her most of the afternoon to prepare. I can’t imagine why she went to the trouble. You know what she thinks of provincial farmers.”
“Perhaps she’s set her cap?”
“If so, you’d better be careful. I’ve not seen her dressed like that since we’ve been here. And you and Harrison are the only new faces.”
“Perhaps Harrison?”
“Definitely not.”
“Thanks for the tip.”
Field collided with Isaac at the refreshment table. “Harrison.”
“Archer.”
“Didn’t know you’d be here,” Field said.
“The Morgans are old family friends,” Isaac grimaced. “I suspect they are in cahoots with my mother to find me a bride.”
“And do they succeed?” Field asked.
“Like you, when the time is right, I will choose my own wife.” Isaac drank from his glass. “If you will excuse me, I see the Fleets are here.”
~*~
“So, the competition continues,” Molly indicated with a slight tilt of her head toward the approaching Isaac Harrison.
Delany’s good-sense fight against an enraptured heart consumed her thoughts, blinding her to the events at her elbow. At Molly’s prodding, she took notice of Isaac Harrison dressed in a dark green coat and buff breeches exactly suited to make his remarkable eyes glow. Over his shoulder, she observed Field with Simon Morgan.
Field’s gaze locked with hers, and she felt her face turn pink. She turned at once to Isaac.
“Delany, I am pleased to find you here.”
Delany’s stomach tightened as she remembered Molly’s comments about the two men. She would have to pay closer attention this evening. “Did Sarah come with you?”
“No. She’s with Lucy.” In her peripheral vision, she could still see Field.
His brows knit together as though he’d smelled something rotten. At the first pluck of the fiddler’s tuning string, Field stepped toward Delany.
Isaac offered his hand.
To refuse him would have been rude. She tilted her head in assent and laid her hand in his. She kept her gaze rigidly before her so as not to glance back at Field and embarrass her partner.
The Morgans were successful in their numbers. Everyone who wanted a partner had one. Only older couples remained on the sidelines chatting. Field was paired with Hester Morgan. Except for the superior look on her face, they did make a fine-looking couple. He was a bit better looking than she, but she made up for it in grace if not exactly in her manners.
Hester did look extremely becoming in her burgundy brocade with silver petticoat. Candlelight caught on the silver thread woven through her burgundy mantua. Her hair was done in the latest London fashion with lace and silver flowers threaded throughout. Strategically placed hair pieces made the whole confection stand magnificently high.
Delany could never endure that much frippery. It was just too impractical for her. How in the world would she be able to bend over and pick up a wee tea set for a customer if her hair bobs were in danger of falling out? But she had to give recognition where it was due. Hester’s look was stunning and far outdid anyone in the room.
The dance started, and she focused her attention on Isaac. He danced beautifully, meeting her at every turn with a smile in his blue eyes. When they were together, he inquired after Mary and the baby. A woman could do worse than Isaac Harrison.
After four dances and four partners, none of them Field Archer, Delany moved toward the punch bowl. The lemonade was cool and refreshing, but the open window even more so. She placed herself in front of the breeze an
d opened her fan. Perhaps she would sit the next one out.
“Mrs. Fleet,” Field bowed, offering his hand. “Would you do me the honor?”
Girlish flutters shook her hands. Hopefully, he would attribute it to the coolness wafting in through the window.
He led her to the dance line. Across from her, he stood in midnight blue. The amber of his eyes twinkled mischief. He looked like the young man she’d fallen in love with more in this moment than he had the entire three weeks they had been together. Had it been only three weeks?
I am still in love with him.
The revelation caused a quiet calm to enter her soul. Awareness became her primary sense. The light in Field’s eyes told her he was enjoying himself. She smiled at him. His eyes softened, and his face opened into a smile. Did he feel it, too?
They glided together into the movement of the dance, her hand minute in his. Her spirit nodded to his even as her head inclined toward him in the maneuver of the dance. She was his and always would be. She could not stop the inclination of her soul to blend with his anymore than she could willfully change the color of her hair or the shape of her feet.
It would be a lonely life, but she had tonight and the next few days. Once they delivered the rifles to the militia, he would be gone. The look in his eyes as he softened toward her would forever be imprinted on her heart.
She passed under the arch of his arm, a whiff of fallen leaves and soap filled her nose. She looked up and was caught by the awareness in the honey flecked amber of his eyes. A gentle wave of hope rose in her heart that she could not quell. If he felt the same, might they have a chance?
They crossed places with Isaac and Hester and came to rest in their next position. Hester’s face was cold and aloof. Isaac’s eyes pierced her in return. Awareness had its drawbacks; one could easily be distracted. She turned her attention back to Field only to find him in a scowl as well. All traces of the dear look in his eyes were gone.
As the last notes of the song resonated through the room, her heart grew restless. Chatty voices invaded her awareness.
Field escorted her back to the open window. He poured them each some lemonade.
“Mrs. Fleet, how do you like living in a busy port town?” Simon asked as he reached for a glass.
