by RITA GERLACH
“You have it, Mr. Brennan. You will disappoint my wife, however. I know when she is counting on a thing, and she wanted you to save your wet clothes from ruin.”
“The clothes are of no matter, sir, and the rain has lessened.”
As Mr. Breese strode to the door with Ethan, his look was contemplative, and Ethan knew much was on the older man’s mind. “I must know, are you and Miss Roth engaged?” he asked.
Ethan paused on the threshold not at all surprised by such a question. “No, sir. But Miss Roth thinks differently in that regard.”
Mr. Breese cocked his head to one side. “It is usually the case when a man travels a great distance across the sea with a woman and her companion.”
“I have given that impression, I know. But Miss Roth is the kind of woman I could never marry, let alone love. Her behavior has shed some light on what I’d be in for if I did.”
Mr. Breese agreed with a light laugh. “I asked the question for good reason, for my niece is dear to me. I would not want her heart to become fixed upon a man who has an understanding elsewhere. You are returning home soon, and if there should be any feelings within her toward you, it would break her heart.”
Ethan could not help but press his brow in a worrisome way. “I would never do anything to hurt Darcy, sir. In the brief time I have known her, we have become friends.”
“Your father—what does he expect from you regarding a bride?”
“My father is deceased. It is Miss Roth’s father who pressed the issue. But I have not bent to his wishes.”
“I have no doubt in due time you shall if she has a handsome dowry. I ask you, do not give Darcy any room to love you, Mr. Brennan, if it is possible you and Miss Roth would eventually marry.”
“The chances of that are slim, sir.” Ethan held out his hand; and Mr. Breese, looking down at it, took it within his and bid him a good day.
On the floor above, Ethan heard the patter of feet crossing the floorboards. Before he turned out the front door, he looked back, seeing Mrs. Breese and her girls at the top of the staircase. In unison, they gave him a dip. He nodded and strode out. His horse sidestepped when he put his foot in the stirrup, and he soothed it with a calm word as he climbed into the saddle.
Heavy and dull beat his heart, as an old longing rose there, sharper now as he lifted his eyes to the window above and saw Darcy come to the sill and lean out on folded arms. Upon seeing him below, she gave him a gentle smile and lifted her hand. He took in the beauty of her face, the way her hair fell loose over her shoulders, the firelight from within the room catching each silken strand.
“You are leaving, Mr. Brennan?” A sound of hushed disappointment etched her voice.
“Indeed, for your aunt fears you are ill and I’ve stayed long enough.”
“If anything, I might inherit a slight cold, nothing more.”
“Should you be sitting at the window then?”
“Of course. I would sit here every day if I had the leisure.” She leaned a little lower. “I am a firm believer, sir, that fresh air and a beautiful view benefit the health.”
Ethan’s hands held the reins. “Beautiful—yes. And there are other things that do the same, that I had not known until recently.”
“What could they be?”
He hesitated, drew nearer, and kept his eyes on hers. “The warmth of your eyes and face for a start.”
She looked down at him stunned. “Your words should be saved for another, Mr. Brennan.”
Ethan steadied his restless horse. “You speak of Miss Roth. I have no more affection for her, or interest in wedding the lady, than a wolf has for a snare.”
Darcy lifted her head from her folded arms and looked down at him with her face flushed, her eyes looking into his. “I hope she is aware of your true feelings, for she seems very attached to you.” Then she reached for the latch. “The wind blows too cool for me now. I must go.”
Before he could say more, she closed the window and moved from it.
Ethan made for the road, down to the bridge that led across the river. He laid the reins hard against the horse and pushed it to a gallop. Mud splashed his boots. His mind raced, thinking over the incidents that had occurred, over his commission by another, and the secret he must guard. His pulse pounded in rhythm to the horse’s pace. Could it be possible to love Darcy so soon? He had journeyed thousands of miles across ocean and land to see her, and now his heart lay within her hands.
It was up to her whether she would treat it gently—or break it.
8
The following day, Darcy watched streamers of sunlight cross the walls and paint them a shade lighter than the marigolds that bloomed in her window box. A pair of goldfinches fluttered close to the blossoms, then darted away. But the sparrows remained perched on the edge of the sill where she had placed some breadcrumbs.
From her dresser drawer she took out her journal, opened it, and drew away the scarlet cord that marked the last page where she had made an entry. She wrote: Last night, I dreamt black water swirled around me, sucking me down, pulling me into the current as a dark wanton hand reached up through the water and grabbed my limbs in a frantic effort to own me. I could not breathe. My lungs felt as if they would burst, then I woke and sat up gasping. Once I had quieted, seeing I was safe at home, I lay back down and thought of Ethan, how he had redeemed me from the demanding river and risked his life for mine.
She closed her journal and stepped over to the window. Toward the house rode Ethan on the same horse on which he had carried her home. She stepped back from the window, smoothed her dress and hair, and hurried downstairs to the sitting room.
She peeked around the edge of the curtain and watched him dismount and step up to the door. As she waited, she heard the door open and Missy greet him. Then his footsteps echoed out in the hallway and she turned when he was announced.
His eyes were warm upon her. “Are you well?” he said, stepping closer.
“Yes, I am well, thank you.”
“I am pleased to hear it.”
She invited him to sit, but he preferred to stand. She sat in the chair and looking up at him said, “It is a long ride from Twin Oaks, two days in a row.”
He shifted on his feet. “The Rhendons send their regards and hope that you are recovered from your accident.”
A flash of heat coupled with dread rose within her. “You told them? Everyone knows?”
“I only told Daniel, and at dinner he let it out. I am sorry.”
“You have no reason to apologize. But I imagine they must think I am reckless.”
“What you did was careless, going out as far as you did.”
“Yes, I suppose it was.”
“There is no need to treat yourself harshly for it. A person cannot always predict danger.” He moved to a chair across from her, sat down and gazed at her with eyes that showed grave concern. “Swear to me you won’t do it again.”
She looked back at him. “I shall keep to the riverbank from now on.”
“You wouldn’t want it to happen twice.”
“No, I would not, but you do not know the river like I do.”
“You could have drowned, and you think you know the river so well. Think of the pain that would have caused your family and friends.”
She glanced away, biting her lower lip. “The river draws me. It is the one place I can go to be alone, to think, to dream, to pray.”
Without smiling, he said, “Well, Miss Morgan, the river might have ended all that.”
She brushed back a curl that tickled her cheek. “If you had not come along when you did, I fear to think what would have happened to me.”
“You must be more careful. At least do not go there alone.”
“I have learned my lesson, I assure you.”
He turned his hat between his hands. “Have you any plans today?”
“Yes. My uncle wishes me to collect wildflower heads.”
“For what purpose?”
“His book.
He paints them, you see, and writes about them. He is a botanist by profession, and is documenting the flowers that grow along the river.”
“May I accompany you?”
“If you do not find such a venture boring.”
She stood and went out into the hallway. Ethan followed. She sat on the bottom step of the staircase and pulled on her walking boots. “My aunt is busy in the kitchen with my cousins. They are making jams today.”
“And your uncle?”
“In his study working.” She grabbed her hat from the hook beside the door and drew it on, then picked up the jar kept in a cloth bag on the table under the window. This she attached to her waist. Once outside, she took a deep breath of the morning air. “Try it, Mr. Brennan.”
A corner of his mouth lifted. “Your meaning, Darcy?”
“Breathe in the air.” He did as she bid and she laughed at him. “Deeper. There, do you not feel how pure it is? It comes down from the mountains into the valley, gathering every scent God has blessed in nature.”
They walked side-by-side along the path and trudged up a hillside. Once they reached the top of the bluff, they looked down at the place where the Potomac and Shenandoah gathered. Across the way, a peaceful village stood in the gorge. Darcy drew in another breath, turned, and headed back down the hill with Ethan.
After walking a mile or so downriver, they came to a clearing rife with wild fleabane and red clover. She chose a few dry heads and put them inside the jar. “I fear the rain has gotten the best of the old blooms,” she said, tossing away some moldy ones.
Ethan observed her. “Yes, and your shoes and dress as well.”
She laughed. “That you would care to notice, sir.”
“I cannot help it,” he told her. “You must allow me to do the work.”
“I am fine,” said Darcy. “Let us walk on to a drier place.”
After the span of a few yards, Ethan lifted his eyes to see the old house situated in the distance upon a plane of overgrown grass peppered with thistles.
“I rode here yesterday,” Ethan said. “It must have been a fine house at one time.”
“Yes.” Darcy put her hand above her eyes to block the glare. “But River Run is long forgotten.”
“Perhaps it still lives in the memories of those who once lived there.”
Darcy gazed ahead at its brokenness, its sadness not escaping her, seeping into her as if an old wound had been made to open and weep. Inside the window casements, shards of broken glass sparkled in the sunlight. A dirty film glazed them and gave the decaying structure a forbidding atmosphere. The roof had rotted away in patches and many shingles were long gone. The front porch stretched across the front and dipped to one side, the simple columns covered in poison ivy. It was a lonely place, a place of the past, ravished by winters and summer storms, a skeleton of its former existence. They drew closer, and a covey of mourning doves alighted from the rafters, their wings whistling as they beat them.
“I spent my babyhood here,” said Darcy. “You shall think me very poor now, Mr. Brennan.”
“I had heard of River Run. Now that I’ve seen it with my own eyes, I tend to think your father was a prosperous man. And whether poor or rich, Darcy, it makes no difference.”
Surprised he thought this way, she cocked her head to one side and narrowed her eyes. “You are not at all what I imagined an Englishman of status to be.”
“Status, is it?” he laughed with sarcasm. “Does that really matter either?”
“Not to me, it doesn’t. I do not remember much about this place, except for a swing that was attached to that old tree over there. And I remember some of the people who lived here.” She lowered her head, and a breath escaped her lips.
“Your parents?”
“Yes, among others, but the images in my mind are vague. My mother died long ago. I imagine my papa is now with her. He left for the frontier when I was a child and has not been heard from since. I was brought to my uncle and aunt very young. They have been the only parents I’ve known. I do not remember my father’s face, nor my mother’s. Is that not strange?”
“You were a small child as you said.”
“Yes, but you would think I would remember them in that way.”
“Sometimes memories come back in later years.”
“I do recall my father’s hands were large, and my mother had dark hair. She was kind and I believe she loved me.” The thought of her mother’s affection sparked a painful memory— the day her papa told her Eliza had died and had not been worthy of heaven.
“My mother and father are both gone, and a sister,” Ethan said. “I understand your sorrow.”
“I am sorry to hear it. I did not know.”
Ethan leaned forward. “Is it not an interesting coincidence that we were both motherless at a young age?”
“It is not so uncommon.”
“No, I suppose it’s not.” He lifted his eyes away from hers and scanned the plane of grass before him. “When my mother and sister died, my father and I lived alone in a house he inherited. He was lonely for years until he found me a governess. He was much older than she and she became a good companion to him.”
“Oh, that is beautiful.” Darcy’s eyes softened. “How wonderful that he found her. It is not good for a man to be alone, especially when he is old.”
She stared at the empty house. If her mother had not died, life would have been different. Walking on, she spied the cabin. An image sprang to her mind of a girl with red hair standing on the porch, holding a babe in her arms.
“We had a servant who lived there.” She pointed in the direction of the abandoned walls that had once been Sarah’s cabin. “She had a child and was kind to me. There was a housekeeper also. She was like a doting grandmother.” She smiled. “Those are happy memories. I have wondered what happened to those people.”
“I wish I could tell you.” Ethan looked from her eyes to the cabin. Darcy caught a strange glimmer in his stare, as if he knew something. But how could he?
She proceeded across a field of knee-deep grass. The hem of her dress caught the thorns of a wild rose bush. “Oh, I’ve ruined my hem for good now.”
Ethan reached over to help and yanked her dress free. “It is not torn.”
A coy look spread over Darcy’s face. “I am sure Miss Roth would never risk her expensive gowns in a place like this. She must be wondering where you have gone.”
“Am I intruding upon you?” Ethan asked.
“No. But why you bother with me, when Miss Roth is at Twin Oaks, I do not understand. I’m still trying to figure you out. That’s all.”
“I would not try.”
“Are you saying I am wasting my time, sir?”
“Not at all. Only let me be a mystery a little longer, Darcy.”
She paused, gazing at him. “I doubt I could know everything about you in a matter of days, Mr. Brennan. So trust me when I say your secrets are safe from me. ”
He made a short bow. “I would trust you with them—when the time was right.”
Walking away, Darcy plucked a red clover and held it to her nose. Eyes closed, she drew in the subtle scent. They’d been gone a long while, and as ever, her aunt would begin to worry once she discovered her gone. Dread rippled through her—her guardians would disapprove if they knew she was alone with a man. What was she thinking? She should have told her uncle and gotten his consent before they left. But then, they might feel better knowing he was the man who had brought her home through a rainstorm. They had nothing to worry about with Ethan at her side.
“Speaking of time. Do you not find it intriguing that you were on this side of the river at the precise time I needed help?” Darcy said.
“Yes,” Ethan replied. “Call it God’s leading that I happened to go out riding when you happened to go wading.”
She gave him a sad smile. “I am sorry you put yourself in danger because of me. I feel awful about it.”
“That is absurd. What would you have had me do
? Let you struggle back on your own and risk drowning?”
Under the quivering sunlight, they strolled at a more sedate pace. Ethan stopped her and touched her hand. “Don’t you see I would swim a hundred leagues for you?”
“You would rescue any woman caught in a dangerous situation. There. I have worked out one thing about you.”
He smiled. “Which is?”
“That you are brave and not at all afraid of getting wet.”
Ethan laughed and shook his head. A lock of his hair fell over his forehead. Darcy reached up and moved it back. Emotion flooded his eyes when she touched him. He leaned down, drew her close, and kissed her. His kiss was the first she had ever known, and she felt herself drifting through the most beautiful sensation. It poured through every inch of her, this feeling of being in love, being captured and rescued all at the same time.
When he drew away, he ran his hand down the curve of her face and pressed his forehead against hers. “I have been wanting to do that for a long time.”
“Oh,” she breathed. Then, enthralled by the moment, she slid her arms around his neck and touched her lips to his. She dropped her arms and stood back, breathless. Heat rose in her face, and she felt the burn of tears rise in her eyes.
Shocked at what she had done, she hurried from him and ran home between moments of shade and sunlight.
9
On Saturday morning, a carriage grated over the sandy lane leading to the Breese house, and seated within it were two ladies. The brims of their hats concealed their faces, and Darcy wondered who they could be. She emptied the remainder of the cracked corn in her tin to the pair of gray geese her uncle owned, and hurried back inside the house through the side door. She took her time removing the apron she wore, and ran her fingers through the length of her hair to tidy it. Then, after hearing voices, she met Missy out in the hallway when she came looking for her.
“Who is it, Missy?” Darcy asked.
“She did not say, miss,” Missy replied in a quiet voice. “But the lady wishes to speak to you and waits in the sitting room.” Missy’s large brown eyes glanced back to the closed door.
