Jack
24 June 1816
In my bedchamber, Leo spoke as he helped me into my coat. “Jericho said that the ground was covered in ice again this morning. A quarter inch in the country is what is being said.”
The farmers were all in a tremor as there had not been a day to go by without frost or ice covering the ground. Snow was falling in the northern states. We had not seen snow in Philadelphia, but the cold temperatures, ice and frost every week were little better. Crops were on the brink of ruination, and some shopkeepers were claiming shortages due to passes being covered in snow. Snow in June. If the weather persisted, we could be facing a panic. If there were no crops, there was no food, and if there was no food, people would starve.
My mother had been selling valuables for months to keep ahead of the creditors, but last week she had sold the last of the good silver. Bess had been distraught, but there was no other way to keep us afloat. With George missing, the small stipend that we made as Phantoms had been cut off. We had nothing to contribute. All we had left were the family heirlooms that Mother would not part with, a small farm in North Carolina, and the plantation in Savannah. The state of our finances made my appointment with Guinevere timely. Once I married, my fortune would be released from the trust, but money was the least of reasons why I wanted to marry Guinevere.
Instead of taking the carriage the five roads that separated my house from Guinevere’s, I walked. I spent the time considering what I would say. How did one propose marriage? Should I kneel? Should I speak some verse to her beauty, or do I simply tell her what is in my heart? Thinking the words was one thing, but saying them aloud was something else entirely.
When I reached Guinevere’s house, I had no more notion of what I would say than I did when I decided that I would propose. I tapped on the door and waited. With each second that ticked by, my heart felt like it might explode. The rapidity of the beatings was making me even more nervous. Inhaling and exhaling deep breaths did nothing to calm me. My palms were sweaty in my gloves, and every moment that passed tied my stomach into another knot. When two minutes passed without an answer, I knocked harder. The door swung open with my hand poised to knock again. Martha greeted me with a wide grin, remembering to take my hat, gloves, and walking stick. She laid them on a small table and motioned toward the parlor door.
“I have a soufflé near destruction,” she muttered, before she bustled off toward the back of the house. She was ever a curiosity.
After straightening my white cravat before the looking glass on the wall, I moved to the open parlor door. Guinevere was seated upon the sofa reading a book, dressed in a light blue gown that made her eyes look more blue than purple. I walked to her and bowed.
“You are punctual as ever, John. Do be seated.” We had given up trying to maintain a formal air at the picnic. She was Guinevere, and I was John, though, at times, she slipped and called me Jack. It was those moments that I craved.
“Guinevere, I have something that I would ask you.”
She set her book aside and clasped her hands. She appeared serenely confident, all but the way she was biting on her bottom lip. Gazing down at her, I saw my future, and there was no hint of fear.
All I had known since childhood was duty—to the Phantoms, to my father, to protect my country in both war and work, and now duty to provide for my mother and sister. I was tired of doing the work of others, and I never wanted Guinevere to become a duty, that I had to marry her because I was stealing her guardian from her, or to unlock my fortune.
When I was contemplating proposing, I had taken a moment to consider giving her up. My heart had immediately constricted in grief at the thought of anyone else touching her, kissing her; God forbid the rest. It had all become clear. I knew what I wanted for my life, and looking into her eyes, I was sure that I would never regret my decision. I opened my mouth to pour out my soul to her, but was cut off by a deep voice behind me.
“What is the meaning of this?” Richard demanded as he stalked into the room. I had not heard the front door open, but there he stood in all his indignant pomposity.
“Richard, I must beg you to give us a few minutes. John has not finished what he was saying,” Guinevere said with determination coating her words.
“John is it? John? This is the outside of what is acceptable.” Richard’s eyes were wild as he looked from her to me.
“Indeed it is not,” Guinevere retorted as she nearly leapt in her attempt to rise. She was staring at Richard, her stance that of a warrior. “I believe that even I am allowed to receive an offer of marriage.”
“Marriage,” Richard sputtered, his face turning a purple-red shade. “Not as long as you are my ward.”
“Sir, Miss Clark holds no blame here. If you must be angry with someone, make it I.”
Richard cast me a scathing look. “I assure you, I have plenty to say to you, but I will not soil my ward’s ears. You and I are taking our leave.” Richard crossed his arms, determined not to leave me alone with Guinevere.
As I looked at Richard, I had to fight down my mounting rage. He dared to look at me as if I were the wicked one. Turning to Guinevere, there was contrition in her eyes. It raised my ire toward Richard. None of this was Guinevere’s fault.
Ignoring Richard’s hard stare, I moved to Guinevere and bowed over her outstretched hand. I raised it to my lips and mouthed, forgive me.
She nodded as she withdrew her hand. She walked with me to the door and waited as I picked up my possessions from the table. Richard stepped between us and ushered me out like I was some petulant child.
“How did you arrive? By carriage?” Richard demanded.
“I walked, sir.”
Richard grunted then motioned to his carriage that was coming toward us. When it stopped, he ordered me to get in.
My every instinct was to laugh in his face and turn away, but that was not how John Martin, scholar and poet, would act. I climbed in and sat. When Richard sat and beat on the roof, the carriage moved forward.
I spoke first. “Sir, before you speak, allow me to assure you that my intentions toward Miss Clark are entirely honorable.” Richard grunted again. “It is my most earnest desire to make her my wife, and I had every intention of seeking your consent to our marriage.”
“My consent? My consent, that’s rich. Where were your honorable intentions when you accompanied her, unchaperoned, on morning rides? What have you to say to that?”
“Only that you are correct, I should not have done so the one time that it happened, but I mean to make it right. I humbly ask your consent to my marriage with your ward.” There, I had said it, though it cost me dearly.
Richard crossed his arms over his chest and scowled at me. “Too little, too late.” His voice dropped to a low, menacing tone, “You will stay away from my ward, or else I shall be forced to move her from your sphere.”
“I do not understand you,” I said but his meaning was clear.
Richard sneered, angled against his corner of the carriage to stare at me. “You have forced my hand, and it is to you the blame will fall when she is torn from a life of pleasure. I shall send her deep into the country until either she is of age, or until I find a worthy partner for her.”
“You would do that?” I asked as I willed my body to keep from throttling the beast beside me.
“With ease,” Richard replied with a satisfied smirk.
I silently counted to ten to keep my murderous feelings inside. “I understand you, sir. You have done me the honor of being frank. Now allow me to be the same. My mother loves her children; our happiness is her first priority. If you withhold your consent then I must withhold my own. You will have, as you say, forced my hand.”
“Are you threatening me?”
“A poet only threatens through verse.” The carriage stopped before my house. “Thank you for the ride, it has been most instructive.” I opened the door, stepped from the carriage and walked into my house, not waiting to see if Richard followed. I walked into my library
, slammed the door shut, and grabbed the nearest object, a book lying on the table, and hurled it. The sound of it crashing against the wall did nothing to stop my body from shaking.
“John!”
Slowly, looking to my right, Bess and Andrew Madison were standing beside the window. My anger blinded me to their presence until that moment.
“I do apologize. I did not see you there,” I said blandly.
Bess was worried, but Andrew looked curious. He could remain curious, for I would not enlighten him.
“Are you all right?” Bess asked then frowned.
Ignoring Bess’s question I nodded to Andrew before motioning for them to sit. “Where is Mother?”
“She stepped to the drawing room for a moment,” Bess said with a hint of a blush touching her cheeks.
Andrew stayed for another fifteen minutes, conversing easily with Bess. She liked him a great deal, if the look on her face as she listened to him speak was any indication.
When Andrew was gone Bess said, “Tell me what has happened to make you behave the way that you did. You frightened me. I have not seen that side of you in many years.”
Before I had a chance to speak, the door opened and my mother walked in.
“I hear that you have been seeing Richard’s ward against his wishes.” Not looking at either of them, I shrugged. “Jack, Miss Clark is not for you. Richard believes that you would not suit, and we must expect him to know his ward.”
“The man keeps secrets from you, lying to you, and yet you take his side against me.”
Mother stepped back, her jaw slack and her eyes round.
“Jack,” Bess said with a warning in her voice.
I wanted to tell her all, but I refrained. “I apologize. My feelings upon the subject are raw.”
Mother knelt before me, holding my hands in hers. “My love, you have time before you need to think about marriage. Do me this one favor and leave Richard’s ward be.” Mother was adamant. She did not want me to see Guinevere again. But, it was more than that. She was afraid, both of Richard and what losing him meant. She could not afford to anger him.
Phantoms In Philadelphia (Phantom Knights Book 1) Page 31
