by Dina Sleiman
“Bravo! Bravo!” his parents shouted, interrupting any need for further speech.
Robbie led Constance to their chairs near the fireplace.
“I didn’t find it scandalous at all. Did you, darling?” Mother posed the question to his stepfather.
“Not in the forms themselves.” He quirked an eyebrow. “Although I must say, it offered ample opportunity for, shall we say…conversation.”
Mother whisked away his implication with a brush of her hand. “I shall schedule the lessons at the Mayfairs’ at once. I see no reason to delay further. Thank you, Robbie. Miss Cavendish.”
“Mother.” Molly tugged at the woman’s lacy sleeve. “Might we play cards now? I’ve set up the game in the parlor.”
“Oh, yes, please, Mama.” Dolly approached the group.
“Cards? Is that all you girls think of? I’ve brought you the finest dance master west of New York City, and you speak of cards. Will cards win you a beau? I think not. But dancing with the finesse, and dare I say vulnerability, which Miss Cavendish has demonstrated, most certainly shall.”
Vulnerability indeed, until something in her demeanor shifted without warning.
“Yes, Mama.” Dolly turned her eyes toward her toes.
“Of course,” Molly agreed, although her gaze traveled to the parlor.
Robbie smiled. Poor girls. Dancing day in and day out when they held not a bit of natural proclivity toward the skill. “Mother, they’ve done little else but dance in weeks. I say playing cards sounds fun.”
“Yes, I’m feeling rather competitive tonight.” Mr. Beaumont rubbed his hands together. “Come, girls.”
“Oh, all right. I concede,” said Mother.
Constance still stood at Robbie’s side, and he angled her toward the parlor.
“Go ahead, Miss Cavendish. I’d like a word with my son.” Mother lifted her chin and snapped her closed fan against her palm.
Oh no. He was in trouble.
Mother waited until the others cleared the room before speaking. “Robert James Montgomery, you know I adore Miss Cavendish, and I’m so glad to have found her.
Therefore, I hope I shan’t be called upon to clarify that she is no fitting prospect for you.”
Robbie chuckled. “At this point in my not-so-illustrious career, I would say a milkmaid is a fitting prospect for me.”
“That might all be well and true at the moment. But this is Charlottesville, not Richmond. We can’t afford to hold grudges out here. The women will be lining up for you again soon enough once the plantation is running securely.”
“You needn’t worry, Mother. I have no intentions toward Constance.”
Mother sighed. “I’m glad to hear you haven’t set your heart upon her.”
“Not at all.” He hadn’t. Truly. He must convince himself as well as Mother. “I’m simply glad we’re no longer at odds.”
“At odds? I hadn’t realized. Why didn’t you speak up? Have I made an error in judgment?” Her hands fluttered about her.
He should not have spoken that aloud. “Not at all. That is why I held my peace about our past acquaintance. It’s merely that…well, we were much more than acquaintances, and our parting was rather untidy. All my fault, of course. I’ve been trying to make it up to her since she arrived.”
“Hmm…I maintain that your behavior tonight did not match that of a man pursuing friendship.”
“Well.” He pulled his mother farther from the parlor and lowered his voice, checking to make certain no one listened. “May I confide in you, Mother?
“You know you can, darling.”
He gripped her arms, knowing how drama impressed her. “It seems Lorimer might have caught Miss Cavendish’s fancy. And I’m concerned for her. I feel responsible. I owe it to her mother to put a stop to this if I can. The poor woman has been through far too much already.”
“Good gracious!” Mother stepped back and flurried her fan. “No, Lorimer would not suit at all. I thought her interested in his theology, which, of course, would do her no harm. Unless…she gave up cards. The girls would not be pleased.” Snapping the fan shut, she cut off her own rambling. “But Lorimer himself? I agree, for the sake of her mother, we must protect the girl while she’s here. If a bit of charm is what it takes, you have my support—although it does seem a bit extreme.”
“Lorimer has indicated that he will not back down for any other reason.”
Mother nodded, focusing out the window as if the man might ride in at any moment. “I see. Then charm away, my boy, for you do it so well.”
Splendid. Robbie could use an ally. He would keep Constance away from Lorimer, and perhaps with Mother’s help, even manage to keep his heart from being devastated in the process.
* * *
Constance arranged the cards in her hand, debating her strategy and changing the position of the red ace of diamonds. Yes, strategy was of the utmost importance—especially in this game she played with Robbie.
So he thought to entice her away from Lorimer. Was the man so desperate to keep her from the preacher that he would stoop to such levels? But he had unmasked his charade as they danced, with the twitch of his lip and turning away his gaze. She had heard the tightness in his voice and then the false buoyancy as he spoke of Lorimer. Not to mention the way he deftly dodged any actual declaration of affection and steered toward only friendship. If he’d wanted to win her for himself, he would have stated as much. Robbie never had been one to mince words.
When her turn arrived, she traded in her chosen card for a new one without a sound. She veiled her expression before looking at it. Perfect, the fates were in her favor tonight. “Oh dear.” She pouted at her cards to mislead her opponents. Then Constance took a moment to observe the features of those around her. One could tell much from examining a face.
Thank goodness, because for a moment she had feared Robbie might be falling in love with her again. And she would be defenseless against such an attack. But this, a game of twists and turns, she could handle. Oh yes, two could play at this.
She fancied herself a double agent at some sort of espionage. Robbie would feign interest in her to keep her from Lorimer. And she would feign extra interest in Lorimer for the sheer fun of watching Robbie squirm as a worm on a hook, all the while never revealing that she had unraveled his ploy. Where would be the pleasure in that?
She switched out cards again, keeping her playing face void of telltale emotion.
But she could not misuse the good Mr. Lorimer. Never would she do such a thing.
Rather, she would draw him into the fun as well.
She focused as the round continued. Upon her turn, she picked up another card. Fortune smiled on Constance Cavendish for once. With a flourish, she fanned her winning hand upon the table for all to see, defeating the others with one neat motion.
* * *
Patience glanced into the parlor and dining room to make sure Mr. Franklin wasn’t about. As much as she enjoyed his company, she did not wish him to be present when she shared the content of Constance’s letter, which had arrived that day. Her sister had sent this one directly to the mercantile to make sure Patience saw it first.
No Mr. Franklin met her, only the wondrous, rich scent of Grammy’s shepherd’s pie. She followed it into the kitchen where she found Mother and Felicity stitching at the table as they kept Grammy company. Constance’s absence had encouraged Grammy to get off her chair. Hopefully, Constance would continue working full-time, keeping Grammy spry on her feet.
In light of Constance’s letter, that would be the most probable scenario, although she wasn’t sure they would take the news well. Patience must use every ounce of diplomatic skill she possessed, which as the middle sister was quite extensive. And she dared not imagine Mr. Franklin’s response. He was about to lose not only Constance but now the entire family as well.
Still Patience would never consider passing up this opportunity, the chance for a fresh start. They could outrun their past once and for all.<
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“Ladies, I received a letter from Constance today.” Patience held it up.
“But I checked the post thrice. How did you get it first?” Felicity pouted over her delicate embroidery of roses and lilies.
“This one came to me, dearest.”
“Now then, out wi’ it.” Grammy wiped her hands on a tea towel. “What does it say?”
“She has a proposition for us.”
“What do you mean, Patience?” Mother set her stitching on the table. She blinked her eyes as she attempted to direct her gaze at Patience. Before long the woman would need spectacles if she kept up all this infernal sewing. But if Constance’s plan worked, everything would change.
“You recall she mentioned that the Beaumonts treat her like family,” Patience said.
“Aye, that is so good of them. I shall have to send Mrs. Beaumont a letter of my sincerest thanks.” Mother rubbed her hands, no doubt stiff and aching once again from her needlework.
“It seems that Constance is to introduce the waltz to the entire area.”
“The waltz.” Felicity’s eyes sparkled. “Why I hear it’s all the rage in London but still considered to be quite scandalous here.” Despite her shy nature, Felicity danced nearly as well as Constance. All of the sisters were accomplished at a variety of feminine arts, although each held her own specialty. How perfect they would be, in truth, to run a school for young ladies.
“Mrs. Beaumont intends to change that,” Patience said. “And Constance has now been called upon to teach cotillion lessons in Charlottesville in addition to training the twins. It seems she’s made friends with several members of Albemarle society already. And she’s been accepted without reservation.”
Mother clasped her hands under her chin as if in prayer. “It’s just as we dreamed,” she whispered. “Think of the references she shall have when she returns.”
Patience knelt before Mother and took her clasped hands in her own. “Yes, but, Mother, think how much better it would be if we all moved to Charlottesville to enjoy such friends and society. It’s been so long. Too long. Don’t you miss it?”
Tears gathered in Mother’s eyes. “I do, but…”
“Leave Richmond!” Felicity squeaked. “I’ve only begun to feel at home.”
Patience turned to her. “That’s because we’ve not been welcomed here. Let’s go to a new place where you can court and teach and giggle with girls your own age.”
Felicity sniffed, but then turned her eyes upward as if to consider.
Patience pressed on. “And I haven’t even mentioned the best part.” The portion she’d saved to battle any protests. “They have no school for fine young ladies in the area. And the countryside is full of rich plantation owners. It’s the ideal opportunity.”
Grammy huffed. “I am too old to trek to the frontier.”
Patience sighed.
“But,” Grammy continued, “Patience is right. We need a fresh start. Thou girls deserve to be treated like ladies, to find husbands and make families. Thou can’t all marry Mr. Franklin.”
“Grammy!” Patience and Felicity shouted at once.
“I don’t know.” Mother troubled the fabric of her apron. “It’s so far from home.”
“Mother.” Patience patted her knee. “Prince George is not our home anymore. Home is where one is loved and accepted. We can make a new home together.”
“Perhaps.” Mother looked into Patience’s eyes, as if seeking strength to face this new challenge.
“We needn’t decide right away. Constance suggested she find a home there after her duties at White Willow Hall are finished, and that we might join her in the fall.”
“I suppose I could adjust to the idea by fall.” Felicity still gazed at somewhere far away. Then she sniffled once again. “But I shall miss Mr. Franklin.”
“Oh dear,” Mother said. “The poor man will be heartbroken.”
“No one has more respect and affection for Mr. Franklin than I do.” Patience stood. “But we can’t afford to pass on this opportunity if matters proceed as Constance hopes.”
The Cavendish women sat silently. Patience slipped from the room. She would leave them to their thoughts. At least they hadn’t rejected the idea outright. Next to deal with Mr. Franklin. Maybe she shouldn’t tell him straight away. Perhaps she would wait until they were certain.
CHAPTER 19
On a bright afternoon in June, Constance sat near the pond in the shade of the willow tree for which White Willow Hall was named. She was scribbling notes as she prepared for her cotillion classes, although at the moment she would rather be planning something else. Despite her intention to trick the trickster, weeks had passed with little opportunity to act. Lorimer visited only once a month, and Robbie missed dinner often now with the sun setting later each night and so much work to be done on his farm.
She sighed. At least she had enjoyed the scheming, and she had even drawn Martha into the fun. They had debated whether Constance discovering Robbie’s purpose constituted God answering their prayer for guidance. But in the end, Constance was glad to simply no longer be at the mercy of Robert Montgomery.
Constance turned her attention back to the task at hand. Mrs. Beaumont intended to invite eighteen students to her class, including several of Jefferson’s grandchildren. The twins would attend for additional practice because Robbie could no longer spare time for partnering. His new corn crop had proven more work than he anticipated.
And with Lorimer long gone, it seemed her opponent felt confident in his gambit for the moment. An occasional wink late at night in the parlor before she departed for bed or a kiss on the back of her hand in the hall along with a simmering glance was all she received of late. Of course, Robbie did appear exhausted.
Gracious, why must her thoughts always return to Robert Montgomery? She shook them away, and a jangle from the nearby entry road drew her attention. Ah. Perfect. In rode Mr. Lorimer, right on schedule. She sat her journal on the blanket, shoved her feet back into her slippers, and hurried to catch him before the Beaumonts took note of his arrival.
He pulled on the reins. Tipping his hat, he said in a frontiersman’s accent, “Well, looky here at what I done found. A might pretty lady, that’s what.”
She smiled at him, an open and honest smile. No pretenses were needed between them. Well, other than the false accents, of course. She spoke in a mild version of her Yorkshire speech as Lorimer would expect. “I’ve been awaiting you, although I knew you might not arrive today.”
“Actually, I was ahead of schedule and stopped for a visit at Monticello. Our former president is traveling, but his daughter, Mrs. Randolph, sent her greetings. Seems she knew your father.”
“Oh.” Constance’s stomach clenched. Why must her past always haunt her?
Lorimer slid off the saddle and lifted her chin with his rugged fingers. “You don’t have to hide anything from me, Miss Cavendish. The lady concerned herself only with your well-being and that of your family. And she sent me with an invitation for dinner. We’re all to attend—the Beaumonts and Robbie along with you and me.”
Like that, the knots in Constance’s stomach dissipated. Matters were so simple with Lorimer. Perhaps she could grow to love this man. She already held him in the utmost esteem. And considering he had spoken of her with Mrs. Randolph, Lorimer must think highly of her as well—which was why Constance must speak the truth. Particularly if she’d be dining with him and Robbie soon.
“A dinner at Monticello. I’ve only dreamed of such an honor. Thank you, Lorimer.”
“My pleasure, ma’am, although I’m not sure any credit is mine.”
She pressed her lips against a smile. “Oh, I imagine you deserve credit for a great many issues.”
He shot her his adorable boyish grin. “Now what is that supposed to mean?”
Constance let her smile escape. “That Robbie is jealous of you. He’s trying to convince me that he’s smitten, but I’ve got him figured out. He merely wants to keep me
away from you. Well, two can play at that game.”
“So much intrigue in those few statements.” Lorimer leaned against his horse and crossed his arms. “First of all, what sort of history do you and Robbie have? I thought the man was going to flatten me that last time I was here. He threatened me with bodily harm.”
She pressed her hand to her mouth in delight. “You see. What did I tell you? Oh, but he wouldn’t in truth, would he?”
“He’s apologized since.”
“To me as well. It seems he’s undertaken a different tactic. And yes, there is some history between us. I’d prefer not to mention the particulars, but he rather broke my heart at some point, and he has no right toying with it now.”
Lorimer looked to be processing the information in light of what he knew. “And do you still have feelings for him, Miss Cavendish?”
Constance pressed a hand to her stomach. “Must I answer that?”
Lorimer shifted positions. “Hmm…so what’s your plan?”
“Now that I’ve unveiled his scheme, I thought I could lavishly pour my affections on you. Really drive him mad. Won’t that be fun? But I wanted you to know. I won’t be guilty of trifling with your feelings as he’s chosen to do with mine.”
“Miss Cavendish, has anyone ever told you that you’re a heap of trouble?”
“I’m afraid so.”
He paused for a moment. “As a minister of the gospel, I’m sure you understand I can’t willingly involve myself in any deception.”
“I would never ask you to. But there’s no harm in playing along, is there?”
“I don’t know? Do you have feelings for me or is this all a part of your plot?”
Honesty. Constance had decided upon honesty. “I hold you in the highest possible regard, Mr. Lorimer. And if by happenstance my heart would indeed turn more completely to you and farther from that troublesome Mr. Montgomery…well, then I would be the winner indeed.”
Lorimer straightened and approached her. He lifted her hand for a kiss.
She noted his full bottom lip and the thin, straight, top one with a faint scar. His short-cropped whiskers tickled her skin, and the tickles found their way to the core of her, delighting her entirely.
