by RITA GERLACH
The door drifted in and Rebecah stepped inside. Lanley stared at her with his mouth gaping. Brent watched with cold interest the influence she had on him, how he twisted his handkerchief between his hands and shifted on his feet.
Rebecah curtsied. Brent told her to come inside and close the door.
“Lanley has traveled far to see you. You should apologize for keeping him waiting.”
“I was out riding. However, I did not change from my riding habit, after I was told you were here.”
Lanley dabbed his mouth. “With anticipation nagging at me, I admit the wait proved difficult.” He smiled, his gums red, his teeth a creamy yellow.
Brent moved Rebecah to the center of the room. “Well, I’ll leave you to renew your acquaintance.”
Lanley bowed his head. “Thank you, sir. Adieu.”
* * *
Brent had left through a door leading to the study. Rebecah hoped he could not hear beyond its walls. Lanley approached her, picked up her hand. He raised it to his lips. They were cold as chiseled marble, unlike the liquid fire burning within his eyes. Slim and dark, they were set against a gaunt face made ghostly white from the rice powder he had applied. His hair lay hidden beneath a wig tied by a black silk ribbon.
“Do you like my new suit, Rebecah?”
“It’s nice.”
“I bought it in Holland.” The scarlet color cast a rosy blush beneath Lanley’s pointed chin.
“Look at the embroidery on my waistcoat, and these pure silver buttons.”
She did not answer.
His silk stockings shimmered, and his squared-toed shoes, polished to a high sheen adorned with silver buckles, covered his large feet. Rebecah thought he looked ridiculous.
Lanley was the picture of wealth, a paragon of everything aristocratic. However, stripped bare, this outer veneer covered a man of flesh and bones, weak and lacking in spiritual depth and virtue. His god was his money, and he turned up his nose at the poor, something she despised.
Lanley gestured for Rebecah to sit.
“I prefer to stand.”
“I thought my attire would impress you, help you see how prosperous I’ve become.”
“Oh, you intend to stay long?”
Lanley let out a puff of air from his cheeks. “I’m back in England for good. My father passed on and I have an estate to run. Have you no kiss, no embrace for me? I hoped you would be glad to see me. Are you not glad?”
“I’m happy you are well. Did you have an enriching time in Europe?”
“I had a splendid time.”
“The room is stuffy. I shall open a window.”
Brushing aside the damask curtains, she turned the locks and pushed the windows free. The air rushed inside and quivered the cut holly on the table.
Lanley drew out his lace handkerchief and sneezed in it. “I wish you would close them. I easily catch cold.”
She shut them wishing he would go away. She knew Lanley watched her, ravished the way twilight outlined her body. As if she could break, he put his hands upon her shoulders. She stiffened.
“I’ll be patient. I realize we must get to know each other better. So, I promise to woo you until you surrender.”
Rebecah moved away. This was not what she wanted. The idea of living with a man she did not love grew unbearable. They were worlds apart.
Lanley’s brows pinched together. “Burn me raw, madam! Have I offended you?”
“I wish you wouldn’t speak of marriage.”
“It’s not uncommon you should feel shy at first.”
He drew her close, kissed her cheek.
“On my word,” he breathed out. “How beautiful you are, how soft like a rose petal in June.”
She turned out of his arms. “We should not be alone. Let me call Lady Kathryn and my cousins. Surely they would be glad to see you.”
She went forward but he grabbed her hand. “I did not come here to see them. You remember the plans made for us by our fathers?”
“Yes, I remember. They were made at an age when I had no understanding of marriage. I had no say in it.”
“My patience is running dry. I’ve made great efforts in wooing you, and you’re cold to me.” He looked away hurt and put the handkerchief against his lips.
“I don’t mean to hurt you. But you refuse to listen. This is no trifling matter you speak of.”
“Perhaps it is because we’ve not seen each other in so long.”
“How can I be warm when I’m not in love with you?”
One corner of his mouth turned upward. “Gad, my dear. Love is found in novels and plays. We live in the real world.”
“Then you understand.” Of a sudden, she felt hopeful, thinking she had made progress, that he had the maturity to see the difference.
He yawned. “I understand.”
“Then you agree with what I’m saying?”
“I see. You do not love me, and therefore would not naturally show affectionate toward me. In time things will change.”
She was baffled. He was unsteady as a rotting fence. The first strong wind and down he would go. “Other ladies would be flattered by your proposal, and there are plenty looking for a husband like you. You should not but your hopes in me alone.”
Lanley played with the lace on his cuff. “Gentlemen pay for those women whose names are unspoken in good society. As for the rest—aristocratic prudes.”
Rebecah shook her head. “You’ve given me one more reason not to desire you for a husband.”
Rigid with insult, Lanley narrowed his eyes. “I see your game. You intend to play hard to get.”
Rebecah wanted to hurry away. He grabbed her hands, forced her into a chair and dropped to one knee beside it. She drew back, snatched her hands away and hid them behind her. He pled with such awkward vigor she thought she would go mad.
Again, she told him she did not love him, and it would be unfair to both of them to live together as husband and wife. “You deserve love as well.” She tried to explain, but he only grew more sullen. “I would make you unhappy.”
“Is there another you’ve given your love to? Would you dare throw me over for someone less deserving?”
“There is no other.”
“Then there’s hope.” Lanley breathed out. “I’ll write you a poem tonight. It will be my best yet.” His visage changed instantly, and his cheeks under rouge, brightened his flesh.
“No, please. I do not want your poems…”
“Cut me down to my bare bones, Rebecah. I shall not give up. I know you’ll have me yet.” He bowed low, with his hand over his heart. Then he turned and walked out.
Rebecah sank back in the chair. The tramping of horses and the turning of coach wheels passed down the drive. A moment later, the door opened and her uncle stepped inside.
“Lanley left sooner than I expected. When I asked him to stay for dinner, he turned me down. He looked distraught, and I know it is your fault. What did you say to him?”
A chill raced through her. “I cannot give him the happiness he seeks.”
“You will agree to this marriage. If you don’t, I shall throw you out into the streets like the poor wretch you are.”
He leaned over and she smelled brandy on his breath. “You’re so much like your mother. The next time Lanley pays you a visit, you will be gracious and attentive. Better still you will pen him a letter accepting his proposal.”
Rebecah stood and rushed for the door, but he stopped her by grabbing her arm and whirling her around to meet him. She gasped. The way his eyes looked at her made her tremble.
“You will do as I say,” he commanded.
“Throw me out. But I cannot love Lanley.”
“I don’t care if you love him.”
A sob escaped her lips. He flung her away and she steadied herself against the wall. “Why do you treat me so cruel? I’m your own flesh and blood.”
“Do you think I care? Think of it to beg, to be hungry and cold, and to be in ragged clothes. Is that
what you want?” He spread his hands out to her. “Choose.”
Lifting her eyes to look into his, Rebecah mustered her courage. “I’ll never go hungry or be cold.”
The door opened and in stepped Lady Kathryn. “What are you doing, Samuel?” Her ladyship put her arm around Rebecah. “Why is Rebecah crying? Where is Lanley?”
“I don’t answer to you, Kate.” His violent temper blazed through his eyes. He went toward the door and left the room.
“Come, Rebecah.” Lady Kathryn held out her hand. “Forgive him for his unfeeling ways. He means well.”
The room darkened. March came to light the candles. Rebecah walked out into the shadowy passageway and up the long staircase.
In her room, she gazed at the moon flowing through the window. It stood above the inky treetops full and yellow and bright.
She blew out her candle and sat alone in the dark. Though her heart ached, a sudden sense all would go well filled her. Yet she knew she must go through the fire to reach what she desired most.
CHAPTER 7
From his boyhood window, Nash also looked out at the moon. Ribbons of clouds floated over the orb thin as gauze. The night sky was spangled with stars, and the breeze rustled through the trees he climbed as a boy. Now he yearned for his mountains, where the wind rushed wilder, filled with the scent of earth and forest.
He turned to Sir Rodney. “I’m homesick.”
“In such a short time, Jack?”
“Yes, Father. I miss my land.” Nash ran his hands through his hair, gathered and fastened it in the back with a new black ribbon.
“Ah, I cannot blame you for feeling as you do. I remember Virginia.”
Sir Rodney looked away. Reflection, after long years and life had moved on, caused his smile to fade. “In Virginia, I buried the mother who bore you. She was young and frail. I should have done more for her and saved her somehow.”
“You cannot live that way, Father, wondering what you should have done. You must live for today, not yesterday. She would want you to.”
“You’re right, but you are also too young to understand the pain that comes from the death of a wife. I pray you never do…Do you plan to return to Maryland soon?”
“Not until I’ve settled some business and made sure you and Mother are well taken care of.”
Sir Rodney patted Nash’s shoulder. “Don’t worry yourself over us, Jack. As long as my mares keep producing healthy foals, the Nash’s will stay in the black.”
A feminine voice called them to supper. Lady Margaret set a bountiful table. A bowl of nuts and fruits sat in the middle and amber light flickered from the candles.
“I want you to be happy, Jack. Does anything lack? Is it in order?”
“A feast, Mother.” He kissed her cheek, and sat in the chair beside her. “Not a thing lacks.”
“Shall we give thanks?” Sir Rodney reached for their hands. Heads were bowed in thanksgiving for much had been given.
His father poured wine into the glasses, save for his lady’s. “There’s but one thing lacking.”
One corner of Nash’s mouth curved into a smile, and the dimple on his left cheek deepened, for he knew where this would lead. “And what is that, Father?”
“A wife, my son.” Sir Rodney raised his glass. “Whoever she is, wherever she may be, I toast her.” He drank his wine and then placed a thick slice of beef on his son’s plate.
Nash shook his head with a short laugh. “My heart remains unattached, sir. It shall remain that way for a long time, I believe.” He sliced his meat and raised it to his mouth. “This is good, Mother.”
Lady Margaret patted her husband’s hand. “Let him eat, Rodney. Perhaps a full belly and a good night’s rest will soften him to the idea.”
“You’re right, Margaret.”
“I tried to follow in your footsteps,” Nash said to his father.
Sir Rodney winked. “Not too closely I hope.”
“Some men would have squandered their money on ale and petticoats. I used it to buy land and build a house.”
“We knew from your letters you purchased land. Now you’ve built a house, Jack? Well done.”
“Five hundred acres, fields of wheat, a good horse, and a house is all I need.”
“You’re alone?”
“I’ve the company of a freed slave named Joab. He helps me with the farming. I’ll not enslave men.”
“I could not take on farming, nor own slaves. So I tried my hand at business in Williamsburg.”
Lady Margaret looked concerned. “Are you far in the wilderness?”
Nash smiled. “I’m close to Fredericktown. My friends are mostly farmers and councilmen, except for Joab and Black Hawk.”
“I must say I’m distressed over slavery and the way the Indians have been treated and forced off their lands.”
The younger Nash found her empathy something new. He realized she had been transformed. An inner peace emanated from her eyes. She told him she had been converted through the preaching of John Wesley, and although she witnessed injustices done in the name of God and Church, she had adored the Savior from her childhood, and understood the ways of men were not always the ways of God.
“John Wesley says it is wrong what has been done to the Indians,” she went on. “I heard him speak of his journey to Georgia. He and his companions spent the whole night in a snowstorm with nothing to shield them but their clothes and the trees.”
“They should have had a better guide. A backwoodsman would have known how to make a shelter.”
“I suppose. While on his return to England, a terrible storm rose on the sea. He thought he was about to die, but lashed to the posts where Arab Christians singing praises. Mr. Wesley marveled at the scene, they being ready to die and singing no less, and he fearing for his life. It changed him forever.”
“Are there God-fearing people living in Maryland, Jack?” asked Sir Rodney. “It would be a solace to your mother if that were so.”
“Yes, Father.” Nash smiled, thinking of various people he knew.
“You see, Margaret. That should please you.”
“I know the wilderness of America is not so uncivilized,” Lady Margaret replied. “I’ve read books on the subject.”
“You would like the house, Mother. Though it is not as grand as an English manor, it’s built of mountain stone for strength. No wind or rain could ever knock it down. And the land is beautiful with lush forests. The rivers and streams teem with fish the length of my arm.”
“It sounds enchanting.” She reached over to fill his plate with pie.
After supper, Nash sat on the floor in front of the fire. Toby curled beside him and put her head on his lap.
Lady Margaret set her needlework down. “Rodney.”
He drew his pipe out from between his teeth and looked at her.
“I have little chance to change any man’s mind except your own from time to time. Yet it would please me if I could change our son’s.”
Nash poked the fire. “About going back to Maryland, you mean.”
“You should find a wife while here in England.”
Nash laughed. “I have no time for a wife.”
Lady Margaret looked discouraged. “A good wife would complete your life. Your father and I would rest easy if we knew you were settled and happy.”
“I shall be married to the Continental Army soon.”
Lady Margaret sighed. “An army of rebels?”
“Patriots, Mother.”
“I admired your conviction. But things like wives and children make a more pleasant topic of conversation.”
Sir Rodney groaned with humor, and then smiled over at his wife. “She intends to drive her point home, my son.”
Lady Margaret patted her husband’s hand. “Jack might consider the young ladies at Endfield, don’t you think?”
This pricked his interest strangely. “There were children at Endfield last I knew.”
“Children grow up, Jack. We’ve received an
invitation to Endfield from my cousin Kathryn. Say you will come.”
“For you, I will.”
“My cousin’s niece Rebecah is at Endfield, and we’ve heard she is a beauty and of a good nature.”
“Richard Brent’s daughter?”
“Yes. He is dead. Infection. They say it went to his heart.”
“So sad,” Lady Margaret said. “Jack, you might like Rebecah. I hear she is sweet and has an adventurous streak.”
Leaning back, Nash smiled. “Sweetness does not make it in the wilderness, Mother…”
“But one can make a success of it if one is adventurous. I imagine it takes daring to settle in the American frontier.” She stacked a few of the books left around. “But I’ll say no more. Forgive me if I’ve meddled.”
Sir Rodney cleared his throat. “We must also remember, my good wife, Rebecah is practically betrothed to Sir Cecil Lanley. He owns more land than anyone the Brents know. The man reeks of money.”
“The man is a libertine.”
She kissed her husband’s cheek and said goodnight. Nash sat alone with his father.
“Brent died of infection you say?”
Sir Rodney took out a pouch of tobacco. “His reward was a bullet. How it came about I don’t know.”
Nash paused momentarily. “As I understand it, Brent accused certain men of treason, Thomas Johnson being one of them.”
“And who may he be?” Sir Rodney lit his clay pipe.
“He owns Richfield, the most prosperous plantation in the county. Johnson is an outspoken advocate of independence, and is destined to be our first elected governor.”
Sir Rodney blew blue smoke into circles above his head and looked at his son. “Brent was a zealot. I hope you did not run into him while he was in Maryland.”
Nash looked away. “I did, but only once.” He stood and grew quiet. He walked to the window and gazed out at the moon. Clouds hung near the edge of its face.
“Americans are sick of the British bulling them. If you only knew the things done in the name of King George…”
“I’m afraid I’ve been isolated from such news.”
Nash turned. “Forgive me if I’ve offended you.”
“I respect your views. We’ve always been able to talk freely with each other. The world grows cold with each passing year, so we must remain close, and hold each other to a higher standard.”
