by Nancy Moser
“Not any time?”
“A few minutes at most.”
“Oh, dear . . . that’s not good, Rowena. When my sister was engaged, my parents had to all but force them apart.”
Rowena blew her nose. “I have no such problem.”
Millicent leaned close. “Then why are you even considering marriage?”
Not one of her friends had ever asked the question. “I have to marry him,” she said.
“But why?”
When pressed, Rowena answered, “Our parents want it so.”
“But why?”
Millicent could be very pushy, a trait that vacillated between a flaw and a good attribute. “Business reasons, I guess.”
Thankfully, Millicent moved on to a different question. “Surely your father’s business doesn’t need the DeWitt money to keep it going. Or perhaps it’s vice versa?”
Rowena could only offer a shrug. She wasn’t privy to details about her family’s business, and certainly knew less about the DeWitts’. She only knew what had been implied, that this marriage would benefit both families.
Millicent finally provided her own answer. “I suppose you have to marry well because Hugh won’t.”
Rowena released a puff of air. “Exactly.”
Millicent began to walk again. “Men,” she said.
Indeed.
I’m engaged!
Lucy sewed each stitch of the sleeve trim on Rowena’s costume as if adding brushstrokes to a piece of art. Each stitch was evidence of her happiness.
Yet it was a happiness she couldn’t share with her mother and sister—for different reasons. If she told Sofia, there’d be no end to the questions and the intrusion. Any hope of keeping her time alone with Dante secret or private would disappear. Sofia would demand to know more than Lucy wanted to share.
And if she told Mamma? Mamma would say it was too soon, would want to meet him, and would ask questions about the future for which there were no answers. She would be a . . . mother. Right now Lucy didn’t want a mother or a sister. She just wanted a fiancé and for the world to consist of only two.
Sofia sat at the sewing machine, her head on her hand. “Come on, Lucy. Give me the sleeve. You’re taking forever. Hurry it up a bit.”
Mamma stepped in. “Even though it’s just a costume, it’s still important to do—”
Suddenly, Sofia stood and pointed out the window. “Mr. Oswald’s running! Something must have happened.”
Sure enough, they heard a commotion coming from the Oswalds’ quarters, and then he burst through the door of the workroom. “Haverty’s fallen out of the loft! A doctor’s been summoned, but I came to get me wife to help. She knows something about nursing.”
Mamma set her sewing aside. “So do I.”
“And I,” Lucy said. A broken limb could be the kiss of death for a working man.
Lucy and Sofia got up to follow, but Sofia suddenly held back. “I’ll stay here and continue working.”
Lucy started to complain, figuring it was just one of her sister’s ways to avoid work, but then Sofia said, “Lucy, you know I grow faint at such times.”
It was true. Sofia cowered at the sight of any scrape or cut.
Lucy pointed a finger at her. “Get a lot done while we’re gone.”
Then Sofia did something odd. She saluted and said, “Aye, aye, Captain.”
Thank you for getting hurt, Haverty. . . .
While she was alone Sofia sewed like a wildfire, needing to get as much accomplished as quickly as possible so she’d be free to talk to Hugh when he stopped by the workroom, as promised. All morning she’d worried and fretted about how it would play out. Would Hugh simply come to the door and ask to speak with her?
The thought of Mamma and Lucy keeping tabs on them, watching through the windows . . .
But now, thanks to Haverty, the coast was clear for them to have some time alone.
If only he would come before everyone gets back.
Sofia sewed and prayed, sewed and prayed.
And then, during the umpteenth time she looked toward the house, she saw him hurrying toward the workroom.
Not wanting to miss a moment with him, she met him at the door and pulled him inside. Her first impulse was to fling her arms around his neck, but she restrained herself. “You came,” she said.
He kissed her on the cheek. “I came, but alas, not for long. I hear Haverty fell in the stables. He’s a good friend. I have to go to him.”
Sofia felt her countenance fall, along with her hopes. “But plenty of people are there to help. Mamma and Lucy went, which left me alone here, and I . . . I was waiting for you to come.” She didn’t like the desperation in her voice but found she could do nothing to stop it.
He lifted both her hands to his lips and smiled. “I promised we would have time together, and we will. Tonight don’t eat dinner with your family but make your excuses. At six o’clock I’ll meet you at the front gate. Do you like seafood?”
“I . . . I don’t know.”
“After tonight, you will.” With a glance out the window, he took her face in his hands and kissed her fully on the lips, but softly, as if he treasured her as something delicate and rare.
He pulled away and looked into her eyes. “Words cannot express . . .”
Then he rushed out the door and ran toward the stables.
Sofia stood there, frozen in the moment, wondering if the last few seconds had really happened, knowing they had, yet wishing for more.
And then with a blink she came into the present and repeated “ ‘Words cannot express’? Cannot express what?”
Yet when she tried to get her own thoughts in line, to mentally express her own feelings toward Hugh, she found herself in the same situation.
Words cannot express . . .
Did she love him? Did he love her? Could love happen so quickly, or was this simply infatuation? And how could it ever continue with him being the heir of a great family and she . . . and she . . .
Words could not express her confusion.
“See you at the costume ball, if not before,” Millicent said as her carriage dropped Rowena off at home.
Rowena waved but found herself in a foul mood—which made her question why she’d spent any time with that girl. Gossip, comparisons, and pettiness. Millicent always left Rowena feeling bad about the world, about her life, and her future.
Timbrook opened the door for her, but before she crossed the threshold, she decided going up to her room—being alone—would only add to her dejected state. She needed a friend. And that friend was Lucy.
“If you’ll pardon me, Timbrook, I think I’ll go check on the costumes.”
“As you wish, miss.”
As an afterthought she handed him her parasol, then headed across the grounds to the workroom. Nearing the front door, seeing in the windows, it looked as though no one was there.
But then she spotted Sofia, sitting on a stool, her arms wrapped around herself, her head shaking.
Rowena knocked, then entered. “Sofia. Are you all right?”
It took the girl a moment to pull out of her daze. “I’m fine. I . . .”
“Where’s Lucy and your mother?”
“They’re down at the stables. Haverty fell out of some loft and—”
“Morrie?”
Rowena didn’t wait for an answer, but lifted her skirt and hurried across the lawn. A fall? Is he in horrible pain? Did something break?
Her progress was accomplished in an exhausting step-hop, step-hop, so by the time she reached his quarters, she fell against the jamb of the opened door for support. Morrie was on the bed, his left leg raised upon two pillows. Lucy and Mrs. Scarpelli were tying some fabric together, creating a receptacle for ice held in a bowl by Mrs. Oswald. Dr. Kinsey retrieved a bottle from his doctor bag.
“You are to take—” When Morrie looked in Rowena’s direction, so did the doctor. “Miss Langdon.”
She ignored him and ran to the bedside, falling
to her knees beside Morrie. She took his hand and pulled it close. “Oh, Morrie. Are you in much pain? What can I do to help?”
“I’ll be fine, Ro. Don’t fret about—”
The doctor cleared his throat.
With a glance, Rowena realized she’d shocked him by being so familiar with their coachman. She held out her hand to him, wanting an assist to standing. “Sorry, Dr. Kinsey. I just heard the news. Morrie and I have been friends since childhood and—”
Hugh came in, carrying a glass of water. “I’ve already explained to the doctor that old Morrie here is responsible for teaching me all sorts of mischief.”
Morrie managed a smile. “You came up with your fair share.”
The doctor handed Rowena the bottle of medicine. “Since Mr. Haverty is such a good friend to you both, then perhaps you should be the ones to administer his medicine. One teaspoon of laudanum every four hours.”
“Is his leg broken?”
“Luckily, no. It’s just a very bad ankle sprain and some bruises. He needs to keep his leg elevated and iced. The medicine is for the pain.”
Rowena had never been on the giving side of medicines, but remembered being under her own dose of this drug when she’d broken her leg. Though it had helped tame the pain, it had caused her to sleep for days. And as far as the break? Her leg had never healed correctly. For Morrie, who needed a strong body for work . . . “Will he recover fully?”
“I have to recover,” Morrie said.
“If you’re careful and keep off of it for a few days until the swelling goes down, you should be fine.”
“Hugh and I will make sure he behaves,” Rowena said. Out of the corner of her eye she caught Lucy staring at her.
The doctor closed his bag and put on his hat. “I’ll leave you in these good hands, then.” He nodded and left.
“Can we get anything else, Miss Langdon? Master Hugh?” Mrs. Oswald asked.
Hugh dismissed them with a hand. “We’ve got it. Thank you for your help.”
As soon as the three women left, Hugh sat at the foot of the bed. “You can leave now, Wena. I will—”
Morrie shook his head. “Let Ro take care of me.”
Hugh’s eyebrows rose. “That’s the thanks I get? To be dismissed in favor of my sister?”
“She smells better than you.”
Rowena turned to her brother. “I’ll be fine, Hugh. Let Mother know where I am.”
“She won’t approve.”
She wouldn’t. Mother didn’t like Rowena spending time at the stables, much less having Morrie as a friend. “Move that chair over here, please.”
Hugh moved the chair next to the bed. Rowena sat, then shooed him away. “Go on, now. I’ve got him.”
“I can see that.” He winked at Morrie. “Cheerio, old chap. Behave yourself.”
“I’ll do my best.”
With his exit, the room was finally quiet but for the normal sounds from the stable. Rowena wrung out a cloth and placed it on Morrie’s forehead. “I’m so sorry you got hurt.”
He put a hand on her forearm, stopping her movement. “I’m not.”
She met his eyes and saw an intensity that made her look away. “Don’t be silly. No one wants to get hurt.”
“It’s given me time with you, hasn’t it?”
Rowena froze. Surely Morrie hadn’t injured himself just so he could spend time with her.
“Don’t look at me that way,” he said. “I’m not that crazy.”
She let relief wash over her and immediately felt foolish. No man would go to such extremes to spend time with her. From her experience with Edward it seemed just the opposite, that being in her presence was an imposition or a duty.
She shook her head, needing to dispel such thoughts, then took up the bottle of medicine and a spoon. “I should give you the laudanum now.”
Morrie shook his head. “Not yet. Now that I have you here, now that we can sit close without fear, I don’t want to sleep.”
“But the pain—”
“I will endure more than this to spend time with you, Ro.”
She pulled back. “Don’t say such things.”
“If not now, when? After you’ve married DeWitt?”
Rowena stood and moved behind the chair. “But I need to marry Edward.”
“Why?”
It was such a simple question, without a simple answer. “Because . . . because my parents want—”
“What do you want, Ro?”
She hated the way her thoughts became a jumble. She moved to a tall dresser and picked up a brush and then a comb.
What did she want? She wanted to be loved and to love. She wanted a husband and marriage and—
“I love you, Rowena.”
Her legs felt weak and she gripped the top of the dresser for support. She closed her eyes, keeping her back to him. When they were children she’d dreamed of marrying Morrie. They’d talked about where they would live and—
His voice was soft in tone and volume. “Remember how we used to talk about having a farm in the country with dozens of horses? You were going to train them and I—”
She whipped around to face him. “I can’t ride anymore.”
“Yes you can.”
She took a breath to argue with him, but he repeated himself.
“Yes, you can, Ro. You’ve let other people tell you what you can’t do so much you’ve begun to believe it. I would never hold you back like that. Will never.”
Rowena didn’t know what to say. Morrie had never talked to her like this. “Why say all this, Morrie? Why now?”
He held out his hand. She took it and sat in the chair. The strength of his grip was both powerful and poignant. It spoke of security and refuge, and a constancy that brought tears to her eyes.
“I’ve always been here for you, Rowena. And I always will.”
Her throat was too tight to answer, but she nodded.
“Unlike everyone else, I only want what’s best for you, what will make you happy.”
Finally, she found her words. “But I don’t know what will make me happy.”
“Sure you do.”
But she didn’t. “I’ve been brought up a certain way. I’m the only daughter, the loyal, obedient child, and I—”
“You are not a child at all.”
She knew he was right, yet she was still beholden to her parents, her family’s name and reputation, and the expectations of society. “But I . . . but they . . .”
He pulled her hand to his lips and kissed it. “ ‘A man’s heart deviseth his way: but the Lord directeth his steps.’ ”
Rowena didn’t know what to say. Was she doing what God wanted her to do? Had she even attempted to know His plans for her life?
“Don’t make any decision on your own, Ro. I’ve been praying for you to see what I see, to feel what I feel . . . to know.”
He’d been praying for her while she’d been trying to handle things on her own? She’d always considered herself a godly person: supplicant, dutiful, reverent. Yet when it came down to the meat of her faith—prayer—she found herself lacking.
“There can be duty without blind obedience, Ro. To obey your parents’ wishes when it makes a mockery of marriage is wrong. Promising to ‘love, honor, and cherish’ is sacred.”
“I know.”
“Do you? Right now you’re on a path that will lead you to marrying someone to avoid making your own choice, to avoid responsibility for your own life. God created free will. Use yours, Ro.”
Everything he said made sense. But to take responsibility scared her. What if she made the wrong decision? By letting others make her decisions for her, she could blame them for the missteps of her life.
Morrie said the next in nearly a whisper. “ ‘ For what shall it profit a man, if he shall gain the whole world, and lose his own soul?’ ”
She pulled her hand away, taking offense. “I’m not losing my—”
He took her hand back and once again she felt his strength.
“You risk losing you.”
Rowena bowed her head, wishing she could pull his strength into herself.
He continued in a whisper. “Where is the girl who was joyful and free, who laughed and danced with me, embracing life and all—?”
She lifted her head. “She broke her leg and became a cripple.”
Morrie relinquished her hand. “Excuses.”
More than anything, Rowena wanted his touch.
He let his head fall deeper upon the pillow. “I’ll take that medicine now.”
Rowena nodded and poured the dose. “You need your rest.”
He shook his head. “You know what I need. What you need.”
She paused at the door and blew him a kiss.
He closed his eyes before it reached him.
Rowena didn’t want to go inside, where the walls of Porte au Ciel would loom over her. The name of the house may have meant “Gate of Heaven,” but today she felt as though being inside would prevent her from gaining access to God.
She entered the rear veranda from the grass and took a seat on a wicker rocking chair, away from the entrance to the house. Once settled into the cushion, she let the forward-and-back movement synchronize with the rhythm of her thoughts.
How odd that her time alone with Morrie today had changed the very fabric of her thinking. Why was today different from the other times they’d talked?
Because today he told you he loves you.
And yet she’d known that, hadn’t she?
He loves me as a sister.
At the lie, she stopped rocking. As much as she’d deluded herself regarding Morrie’s feelings, she knew his love was the kind of a man for a woman, a romantic love.
How long had she known?
She grazed through her memories and within seconds realized she’d always known. Their childhood plans of marrying had evolved from a game to something genuine—albeit unspoken.
Until now.
But genuine or not, the fact remained they could never marry. She was a Langdon, and her parents were set on her marrying Edward as a solidification of her father’s business partner—
Suddenly, the absurdity of the match hit her like a slap. Marrying to solidify a business partnership? What about love? What about pride, and family honor, and truth, and doing the right thing?
