by Dina Sleiman
She supposed she couldn’t chide herself over thoughts of Lorimer in this place. The lifeless service forced her to long for the man with his vibrant faith and his boisterous hymns.
The wild, barefoot dance around the fire. Constance grinned at the memory. If only the proper citizens of Charlottesville could have seen her that night. They would lock their children far, far away from her no doubt.
Would she ever experience such a moment again?
Examining the crowd, she doubted any single church building would suffice for long in this burgeoning town. New families poured into the area each week. And once President Jefferson’s university moved from dream to reality, the population would surely surge.
It was the perfect town to start a new school.
Perhaps the perfect town to start a new church as well. She shot the thought heavenward even as it passed through her mind. What do you think, God?
She didn’t wish to be selfish. Lorimer had been called to minister to the least of these, but could he not do so on Sunday morning from a building as well? Constance paused to examine her motives. Perhaps she’d not quite accepted Lorimer’s decision. Perhaps deep down she wished they might still have a future together.
For—as she’d discussed with her heavenly Father repeatedly—she was sick near to death of pining over Robert Montgomery. She focused her eyes straight ahead upon the priest’s vestments, which were rich and colorful, in no way matching his voice.
She’d managed to banish Robbie from her thoughts for several days, but the handsome sight of him walking into the church had set her back in her mission to forget the dolt. She would not permit her eyes to be lured, however, toward the troubling sight of him now.
Given the choice, Lorimer remained the better option by far. She would continue to pray about it, as she knew he would suggest. Perhaps God had warned him away from Constance, knowing her heart still belonged to another.
Well, she determined to change that.
And maybe, just maybe, if God saw fit, he’d send Lorimer back to her after all.
* * *
Patience sat sewing with Constance and Martha in the casual sitting area overlooking the back garden. They’d fallen into a certain familiar rhythm during the weeks she’d been at White Willow Hall. She dug her needle into the simple hem entrusted to her and drew blood.
“Ouch!” She stuck her finger in her mouth before she could soil the lovely purple silk meant for Mrs. Beaumont.
“You’re to sew the dress, dearest, not your skin.” Constance giggled as she fanned herself against the mid-July heat. “How shall you ever earn your keep at this rate?”
Patience made a face at her.
“Miss Patience, you want I should fetch you a thimble?” asked Martha.
“No, the girl’s not talented enough to use one. That might require coordination.” Constance smirked.
Such impertinence should not be tolerated. Patience sent a throw pillow sailing over the ornate rug toward Constance’s head. Constance ducked out of its path just in time.
“The girl’s not talented enough not to use one,” muttered Martha, returning to her book.
Patience snatched up another pillow. “I have more ammunition on this settee you know, Miss Martha smarty-mouth. You are not impervious to retaliation.”
Martha held her book over her head like a shield.
“Unfair!” Patience protested. “Why am I the only one doing the blasted sewing? I’ve been accompanying you on the fortepiano for every single one of your lessons with the twins. Shouldn’t that be enough to earn my keep?”
Both young women turned to her. “No,” they said in unison.
“I’ve done finished my morning chores and earned my break.” Martha tipped her head and smirked in that uppity way that never failed to make Patience chuckle.
“And I am the dance master extraordinaire!” Constance feigned a sincere bow.
Patience could not find it within herself to be angry with them. The three young women had spent many such companionable hours since their arrival. The twins and Felicity were inseparable, and Mother was ever to be found at Mrs. Beaumont’s side. The two women had become the best of friends. The Cavendishes had fit right in at White Willow Hall.
“So is one of you gonna say it, or am I?” Martha asked.
“Perhaps no one should say it at all,” answered Constance.
“What?” Patience teased. “That both of Constance’s beaux shall be at the twins’ birthday dinner tonight?”
“They are not my beaux. Neither one of them.”
“Well, someone sure enough forgot to tell them that.” Martha winked.
Constance huffed. “You two could show some support rather than having fun at my expense.”
“Come now, Constance,” said Patience. “You’ve had two of the handsomest men in the state battling for your affections. You can afford to let us enjoy it for a moment or two. Oh how I wished I’d been at Monticello to see it.”
“Me too, Miss Patience. Me too. Thank goodness the Jefferson servants done filled us in on the details.”
“A night that shall never be forgotten.” Patience tentatively pressed her needle through the fabric.
“What you both fail to understand is that while the men may be battling, they are battling to give me away, not to keep me.”
“We’ll see about that,” said Martha. “Tonight I’m not leaving the tableside.”
“No, it is not to be missed,” said Patience, eager for her own front-row view of the performance.
Constance snapped her fan shut. “If you two are quite finished, I suggest our time would be better spent planning my defense for the evening.”
“That’s simple enough. I shall ward off Mr. Montgomery, and I suppose we can have Felicity defend you against Lorimer.”
“Miss Felicity? Why that girl’s quiet as a church mouse,” said Martha.
“Yes, but she’s fascinated with Indian culture ever since visiting the entry hall at Monticello,” said Patience. “That should give her plenty to talk about. And Constance, you can turn your attentions to Mr. Sugarbaker tonight. He’s quite charming. You’ll enjoy his company.” Patience did not mention that, of the three gentlemen, Mr. Sugarbaker most piqued her own fancy. She’d learned a few lessons from watching the Gingersnap of yore.
Best to act disinterested at first and lure him over time.
“I suggest you not have too much success with Robbie.” Constance frowned. “I can’t be responsible for my actions if you disappear with him into the night. My heart has not healed that much.”
“Constance! I would never. I know you’re still aching for him. Besides, he’s not for me. Nor is Lorimer, for that matter. Good thing we haven’t the same preferences in men.”
“Anyhow, slipping off into the night with handsome men is Constance’s specialty, not Patience’s.” Martha grinned.
Constance shot the pillow at the unsuspecting Martha, smacking her straight in the face. Martha blew a bit of fuzz from her startled mouth. “I know where you sleep, Miss Constance. I sure enough do.”
“Wait a minute, we haven’t a place for Martha in this plot,” Patience said. “Perhaps we should give her a secret sign if any of us needs to be rescued.”
“We should wiggle our fingers beneath our mouths like so.” Constance demonstrated. “And it shall mean she is to offer food to our appointed man.”
“Or maybe shove it in his mouth to shut him up,” joked Martha.
“Or shove it in our mouths before we get ourselves into trouble,” said Constance.
“Wherever there are men, there’s bound to be trouble.” Patience shook her head. “Have you any man problems, Martha?”
Martha smiled from ear to ear. “I ain’t got no problems at all. I got the man I want right where I want him.”
“Things are going well with Josiah?” asked Constance.
Martha fanned herself with the book against a heat that had little to do with the season. “Mercy, are
they goin’ well. I think there’s gonna have to be a weddin’ soon if I’s to stay a good Christian woman.”
“Josiah is a field worker at the Sugarbaker plantation,” Constance explained to Patience. “And my oh my, you should see him.” Constance fanned herself as well and giggled. “Shaped like a Greek statue with carved cheekbones to match.”
“Constance Marie Cavendish!” Patience gasped.
“What? A man’s a man, and he is one fine one. Mercy!” Constance imitated Martha’s favorite head tilt and smirk as she said it. They all dissolved into giggles.
“But seriously, ya’ll need to keep remindin’ me that I plan to stay a virtuous woman. What is it Lorimer says? ‘Awake not love until it pleases’?”
“Yes, from Song of Solomon, isn’t it?” Constance and Martha began to chat about Scripture, and Patience turned her attention back to her stitching.
These few short weeks with Martha had changed her for certain. If Patience married a plantation owner someday, she would treat her servants like family. Care for them. Protect them. Allow them to pursue their own interests as those at White Willow and Monticello were allowed to do.
Despite the very questionable existence of a divine being, Patience supposed the Bible did hold value as a piece of wisdom literature. Love your neighbor as yourself. Do unto others as you would have them do unto you. These principles rang true. If she treated servants with kindness, courtesy, and respect, she could expect the same in return.
Everything went dark as an object plowed into Patience’s head. Martha and Constance exploded in laughter. Martha held up her hands as if innocent, biting her lip and looking wide-eyed at the ceiling.
Patience picked up the pillow with a wry grin. “Do unto others, I suppose.”
“We done called your name three times.” Martha turned up the palms of her hands in exasperation.
“Where have you been? Felicity is the one who wanders off in her own thoughts,” said Constance. “But in all seriousness, do keep Robbie at bay tonight; I don’t think I’m ready to face him.” Tears shimmered in her eyes.
Patience rushed to her and perched on the arm of her chair, embracing her dear sister. “You know I will. I’m always here for you.”
In fact, Patience might give Robert Montgomery a piece of her mind. No one hurt her sister and got away with it.
Or…she might do unto him a bit of what he’d done to Constance.
CHAPTER 30
Dread filled Robbie as he arrived at the front door of White Willow Hall the same moment Lorimer made his way around the side from his room over the barn. After handing the reins of his horse to Horace, Robbie tipped his hat. “Lorimer.”
“Montgomery.”
The men proceeded up the steps and across the portico side by side. Robbie had never minded his slightly shorter stature and more slender build until that moment. He drew himself to his full height and firmed his muscles, strong and defined beneath his frock coat from a season spent at hard labor.
They reached the door.
“After you,” Lorimer said.
Robbie bristled at the patronizing tone. “Not at all. After you, my good man.” He could be the bigger person, if not in a physical manner. Lorimer lifted a brow as Samson opened the door. He walked through ahead of Robbie.
Once they were both inside, Lorimer turned to him. “I hope to see an improvement tonight in your relationship with Miss Cavendish.”
Robbie glared. “My relationship with Miss Cavendish is none of your concern.”
They stood locked in a stare. If they’d had swords at their sides, matters might have grown ugly.
But they were saved from further tension by the lovely young ladies sweeping down the grand staircase like so many colorful birds. Robbie’s sisters surrounded him, offering kisses to his cheeks. They introduced him to Miss Patience and Miss Felicity, and the women pulled the two men toward the dining hall with their fluttering energy.
At that moment, the Sugarbakers arrived and the lot of them turned back for another round of greetings. Constance surprised him by rushing straight to Terrence as if he were a long lost friend. By the time the flurry settled, Robbie found himself attached to Patience Cavendish as they entered the well-decorated dining hall. Constance led Sugarbaker, and the youngest Cavendish, Felicity, had glued herself to Lorimer’s side.
Seems he needn’t have worried about arrangements for the evening, for the ladies had them well in hand. Dolly clung to Wyatt Sugarbaker, and Molly found George Patterson already awaiting them in the dining hall along with his family and the elder Beaumonts.
Robbie managed to clear his whirling head and smile to the pretty, dimple-cheeked woman on his arm. He pulled out her chair.
“I’ve been so looking forward to spend time with you, Mr. Montgomery. I thought for certain I would see you long before now, but you’ve not visited once in all these weeks.” Patience turned her bottom lip to a pout.
“Surely we’ve met before.” His gaze swept over her, a milder, more reserved version of her sister in both looks and demeanor, but lovely nonetheless.
“Oh yes, I was still a young girl. What a Prince Charming you seemed to me. So grown up and handsome. I used to hide upstairs during the balls and dream that someday I’d be spinning in the arms of a man such as you.” She blinked her cinnamon-colored lashes rapidly. It was a tactic he knew well.
He scanned the room. The other couples sat locked in conversation. Robbie saw no escape.
What was the meaning of this? Could Patience be one of those younger sisters who strove to steal everything the older one possessed? Not that Constance possessed him. Exactly. Except for his heart.
Patience blinked her lashes some more. He knew how to fix this.
“I’m sorry, Miss Cavendish. Have you something in your eye? Allow me to offer my handkerchief.” Robbie drew it from his pocket with a flourish.
“Ah…yes. I…um…thank you.” Patience took the handkerchief and blotted her eyes. “So thoughtful of you, Mr. Montgomery. Are you always so gallant?” She stroked the handkerchief alluringly down her cheek before handing it back to him.
So she would not be easily dissuaded. Well, he must be certain to bore the girl to tears as the night progressed. That should discourage any further flirtation. He did not know what to do with the one Cavendish woman already ensconced in his life. He had been pining after her for weeks and torturing himself with Lorimer’s entreaty—and his threats to take matters into his own hands should he find Constance still free upon his return.
The last thing he needed complicating his life was two Cavendish sisters.
* * *
Constance picked at her spice cake as Terrence Sugarbaker droned on about his recent trip to New York. It was a city growing to be the cosmopolitan center of the nation, and yet somehow this man managed to make it sound boring. She lifted her fan to cover a yawn and observed him over its top.
He was the height of fashion, to be certain, with his short locks waxed into curls and his thick mutton chops. His golden hair and aristocratic features presented a pleasing image. His crimson frock coat and white cravat set off his suntanned skin in an appealing manner. Yet he stirred nothing within her, except perhaps pity at his excessive dullness.
“That’s when I said to the man, ‘In the words of my father, one Southern gentleman outranks ten Northerners any day of the week.’” Terrence’s smug smile niggled at her nerves.
Perhaps therein lay his tedium—the arrogance and lack of personal opinions.
She scooted her chair away from the table, and he stood with her. “If you’ll excuse me, Mr. Sugarbaker, I must attend to some personal needs. I will return momentarily.”
The other gentlemen at the table took notice and stood as well. She avoided eye contact with both Robbie and Lorimer. No need to yet again evoke that sick feeling in her stomach, nor the clenching in her heart.
“I’ll join you.” Patience jumped from her seat next to Robbie. She held her hand under her mouth
and wiggled her fingers subtly, a sign she and Constance had overused that evening to the point that Martha now ignored them. This time, however, she directed the gesture to Felicity, who looked rather mature with her hair pinned up for the first time this evening.
Felicity smiled to Lorimer. “If you will excuse me as well…”
“Come back soon, Felicity,” called Dolly, tucked tight against Wyatt Sugarbaker. “I say we have some dancing after dinner.”
“Splendid plan,” Mr. Beaumont bellowed from the head of the table where he sat surrounded by his own peers. He gave his wife’s hand a squeeze.
“I’m all for dancing as long as Mr. Patterson here does not land me on the floor again.” Molly giggled prettily as George Patterson tinged red.
Along with her sisters, Constance hustled up the curving stairway to her elegant black-and-white bedchamber, which smelled of gardenia perfume. She closed the door and leaned against it.
Patience flopped upon the bed with a degree of drama worthy of Constance herself. “Dear me, I thought I might never be saved from misery with Montgomery.”
“You? I could not tolerate one more word from that Sugarbaker dunce. All I heard the entire evening was, ‘Blah, blah, blah, I’m so wonderful.’”
Felicity giggled.
“Well, that’s a far cry better than, ‘Corn, corn, corn. Farming, farming, farming.’ Whatever do you see in that man? And when I tried to flutter my lashes at him, he asked if I had something in my eye. I’m certain I performed the maneuver properly, for I practiced it in the mirror this time.” Patience stamped her foot to the floor and pouted. “Not to mention that he kept sneaking glances at you all night, Constance.” Constance’s heart clenched in spite of her best efforts.
Felicity twirled in a circle. “Well, I’m having a lovely time with my escort. He’s been regaling me with tales of the Monacan Indians. What a fascinating culture. I knew as much when I spied their artwork at Monticello.”
And there came the sick feeling in her stomach. If she couldn’t have Robbie, why must Lorimer push her away?
Patience glared at Felicity.
