A World Apart (The Hands of Time: Book 3) (9 page)

Louisa Whitfield continued to work on a chemise, looking serene in the morning light streaming through the window.  She glanced at Annabel from time to time, waiting patiently for her to leave the room and go put Harry down for his afternoon nap, but her insides were jumping.  She cast her eyes down to her work, pulling the needle through the fabric with quiet precision.  He would be waiting for her in the garden.  The garden was small and unkempt, but there was a tall hedge at the back that hid them from view of the house.  Louisa put the needle down momentarily, unable to make even stitches as she recalled their last kiss.  It had been so sweet, so tender.  She’d asked Annabel if she could stay a few more days, using her love of Harry as an excuse, but it wasn’t Harry she was in love with, although she had to admit, he was as cherubic as they came.  It was Tom she wanted to be close to.

At eighteen, Tom was her ideal of the perfect male.  He was tall, handsome, and charming.  His sky-blue eyes haunted her teenage dreams
, and his soft lips turned her legs to jelly.  Tom’s hair was a shade darker than his sister’s, a lovely honey-blond that looked like spun gold in the sun.  Louisa was positive that this was love.  She’d had a momentary passion for Kit when he first came to Rosewood, but that was just a childish fancy.  What girl wouldn’t be mesmerized by those black eyes and roguish smile?  After Aunt Louisa had told them how Kit saved her from the pirates, she was even more impressed.  Louisa watched him from afar, imagining that some day she would meet a man just like Kit, who would marry her and sweep her off on romantic adventures.  Louisa often became shy and tongue-tied around him, but Kit teased her, eventually making her giggle and forget her shyness. 

Tom was different.  Louisa tried to picture herself married to him.  She sighed, thinking of how romantic it was to be married.  Her mother had explained to her where children came from when she reached womanhood two years ago, leaving Louisa shocked and disgusted.  She watched her father out of the corner of her eye, wondering if he did those
things to her mother, but he must have, since they conceived her.  Louisa eventually came to terms with the facts, watching the adults around her for signs of affection.  Her parents kissed often, and once she saw Kit push her aunt up against a tree, kissing her roughly in the woods.  It didn’t seem so bad.  Aunt Louisa certainly didn’t seem too put out.

Louisa hadn’t entertained the notion of kissing anyone herself until she saw Tom. 
She’d seen him from time to time since Charles and Annabel married, but he’d been a gangly youth, never paying her more attention than propriety demanded.  This time was different.  He seemed to notice her as if for the first time as soon as she came to visit.  Tom’s eyes followed her around the room, and a few days ago, he joined her for a walk in the garden, skillfully maneuvering her behind the hedge, where he took her in his arms and kissed her.  Louisa thought her heart would explode with joy.  His kiss left her in no doubt that he was the one.  They’d met behind the hedge every day since, making the most of a few stolen moments of privacy.  Louisa’s lips felt tender and tingly as she demurely walked around the garden afterward, needing a few moments to recover.  She was sure he loved her.  Now all she had to do was convince him to speak to her father.

Annabel finally set aside her sewing and went to fetch Harry from the nurse, leaving Louisa on her own.  She continued to stitch for a few more minutes, before stowing her
unfinished chemise in her work basket and heading outside.  She purposely passed a mirror on the way to the door, checking her appearance and pinching her cheeks a few times to give them some color.  Louisa pulled out a few strands of hair from underneath her cap, allowing them to curl freely, framing her lovely face, and smoothed down her skirt before walking into the garden. 

The air smelled o
f damp leaves, late-blooming roses, and herbs from the herb garden by the kitchen.  She inhaled deeply, enjoying the aroma.  It was quiet in the garden, until one stopped to listen.  Insects buzzed over the late blooms, birds sang their hearts out, enjoying the last sunny days before the coming winter, and the wind whispered in the trees, the leaves rustling as if having a secret conversation.  Everything seemed more vibrant and colorful somehow since she discovered that Tom loved her.  Louisa sashayed toward the hedge, stopping along the way to admire some golden mums.  Their shaggy heads swayed in the autumn breeze, bringing a burst of color to the dying garden. 

Tom was already there, his hat in his hands, pacing back and forth.  He smiled broadly as he saw her,
holding out a hand, which she took with no reservations.

“You look lovely, Louisa.  I
thought you might have changed your mind about coming.”  He gave her a searching look.

“I had to wait for Annabel to leave the room.  She wouldn’t approve
of us meeting this way.  I was counting the moments until we could be together,” she said breathlessly, raising her face for his kiss.  Tom pulled her closer, kissing her sweet lips.  His kiss was tender at first, but became more demanding as his tongue slid into her mouth, leaving Louisa momentarily shocked.  He hadn’t done that before.

“I’m sorry.  Did I frighten you?”  Tom pulled back, his arms still protectively around her.

“I’m not certain.  Why don’t you try it again, and I’ll let you know,” Louisa answered coyly.  Tom kissed her again.  This time she opened her mouth, imitating what he was doing with his tongue.  She liked the sensation.  Her heart was beating wildly, her body leaning into him in an effort to get closer. 

Tom finally broke the kiss, holding her away from him.  “You’re a surprise, Mistress Louisa.”  His eyes were full of something she didn’t quite understand, but he was panting, his lips parted.

“A good surprise, I hope,” Louisa said, hoping he wouldn’t disagree.

“The best kind.”  Tom cupped her cheek, smiling into her eyes.  “Who knew you’d grow into such a beauty?” 
He kissed her again, his warm hand cupping her breast through the fabric of her gown.  Louisa felt weak in the knees as he ran his thumb over her nipple, massaging it in a circular motion.  Strange feelings were coursing through her, completely new and indescribable. 

“Don’t stop,” she breathed as he took his hand away, but Tom had no intention of stopping.  He carefully pulled down her bodice on one side, bending his head to draw her nipple into his mouth.  Louisa nearly swooned with the sensation of his warm lips sucking, then biting her nipple gently.  She leaned into him, afraid her legs would betray her. 

“Do you like that, my little dove?” he asked, momentarily stopping what he was doing.

Louisa just nodded mutely.  She wanted him to go on.  She’d never known this yearning before.  Tom kissed her neck, then moved on to the tops of her breasts, running his tongue over the creamy skin.  She barely noticed as he lifted the hem of her gown, sliding his hand up her
leg until his fingers reached the bare skin above the stocking.  Louisa sucked in her breath, terrified of what he might do, but didn’t ask him to stop.  Tom’s finger slid into her moist cleft, stroking and probing until she thought she would die of pleasure. It seemed only logical that she should touch him as well, so she reached out shyly and put her hand on his breeches, rubbing her hand against him.

Suddenly
, Tom stopped his exploration, pulling away from her.  His face was flushed, his breath coming hard and fast as he looked down at her.  “Louisa, you are irresistible, but I must stop.  I never meant for it to go this far.  Charles would skin me alive, then pass me on to your father who would finish the job if he ever found out.  I would never dishonor you in any way.  You are a lovely girl, and should be a maid when you go to your husband’s bed.”

Louisa looked at him in confusion.  Didn’t he want to be her husband?  Why would he kiss her and
touch her this way if he didn’t?  Did he not find her pleasing?  What had she done wrong?

“Did I displease you?” she asked, tears glittering in her eyes.

“Oh, no, you didn’t.  I wouldn’t be able to stop myself if this went any further.  I’m doing this out of my regard for you.  You’re not some trollop to be used and discarded.  You are to be loved and cherished, Louisa.  Don’t ever forget that.  I must go, little dove, before I do something I might regret.”

“Why would you regret it?” she asked petulantly.

“Because I’m not ready to marry.  I’m due to sail to England at the end of the month.  My father has arranged a position for me as secretary to one of his friends, who is a favorite at Court.  I long to see something of the world, Louisa, and what better way to start than with spending time in London at the court of King James?  I was born in England, but I don’t remember anything.  All I’ve known is this God-forsaken colony.  I long to see new places and meet new people, and a wife is not in my plans just now.  Forgive me, little dove.  I hope I didn’t disappoint your hopes.”  Tom gave her a courtly bow and walked away, leaving her angry and confused. 

What did he mean?  He said he had regard for her
, and she was to be loved and cherished, yet he didn’t want to be the one to love her?  He enjoyed touching her.  She was sure of that.  Wasn’t that evidence of his love?  Did he think that he would meet someone better in England?  He probably would.  The ladies of the Court were legendary for their wit and beauty.  He would forget her as soon as he set foot on that ship, and all would be lost. 

Louisa wandered through the garden, thoughts racing through her head.  She had to make Tom love her.  She just had to show him her devotion, then he would understand.
  If only she could do something to make him postpone his journey until spring.  All she needed was a little more time.  He was already smitten with her; she was sure of that.  He just needed to realize that she was the perfect bride for him.  Louisa smiled serenely as she bent down to smell a yellow rose.  All the other blooms on the bush had already wilted, but not this one.  It was resilient and persistent, as Louisa would be.  A plan was already forming in her mind.

The white spire of the church pierced the cloudless blue sky, the metal cross glinting in the sun.  This church was different from the church the Whitfields and Sheridans attended in Jamestown.  It was spacious and full of light, with arched windows lining the walls, shafts of light streaming through the glass onto the congregation.  The church he’d gone to with his parents had been a low wooden building, with a dirt floor and rough benches for the parishioners.  Here, the pews shone with polish, as did the floorboards and the pulpit, a smell of beeswax permeating the air.

Finn looked at the people filing into the church
with undisguised interest. This was his first outing since he fled Jamestown nearly a week ago.  He’d achieved some sense of balance at the farm, but going to church reminded him once again that this was a different world than the one he was used to.  He wondered if the service would be familiar.  Finn took a seat next to Jonah and glanced over at Abigail, who just entered.  She walked next to her mother, her lace-edged tucker demurely covering her bosom above the bodice of her gown, her wide-brimmed hat shading her face.  She caught his gaze and smiled, before responding to someone’s greeting.  Mrs. Mallory shepherded the younger girls inside, followed by Martha.  Mr. Mallory brought up the rear, having stopped to speak with an acquaintance. 

Finn allowed his mind to wander as the minister plunged with unconcealed zeal into the second hour of the sermon. 
He’d always hated going to church, but he’d give anything at this moment to be sitting next to Louisa and his parents in their parish church, his aunt and uncle behind them, Mrs. Dolly, Bridget and Minnie in the third pew.  Were they thinking of him today as they went to church?  Were they praying for him?  The thought nearly made Finn cry, so he snuck a peek at Abbie to distract himself.  It was only Jonah’s jab in the ribs that reminded him to stand up and sing the hymn with the rest of the congregation. 

Finn mouthed the familiar words, wishing the service would end.  He looked forward to his walk with
Abbie, and tried to hide his smile as he noticed her looking at him from under her lashes.  She blushed prettily, looking away in embarrassment.  Finn suddenly wondered if Mr. Mallory would allow him to walk Abbie home.  He didn’t want to upset the man who’d been so kind to him.  He resolved to ask his permission after the service.  Yes, that would be the proper thing to do, but would that mean he was officially courting Abbie?  Finn sat back down, agitated and confused.  If he escorted a young woman home from church back home, everyone would assume that they were betrothed.  Was that the case now as well?  He didn’t think so since Abbie wouldn’t have been so quick to ask him to walk with her.  He might not know the ways of this time, but she did.  Finn resolved to stop worrying and just enjoy the rest of the day.

**

It turned out easier than expected.  Abbie simply called out to her parents that she was walking home with Finn, and led him away from the church before he had a chance to approach Mr. Mallory.  The older man was engaged in a conversation with the minister and just waved at them absentmindedly, sending them on their way.  Mrs. Mallory was chatting and laughing with a few other women while Sarah and Annie ran around the churchyard with other children, happy to play unsupervised for a few minutes before their parents shepherded them to the waiting wagons and took them home for Sunday dinner.  Finn noticed Martha speaking to an older couple, who were her fiancé’s parents, according to Abbie.  They were smiling and nodding at her, obviously pleased with their son’s choice.  A young man approached them just as they started to walk away.  Finn was surprised by the look of belligerence on his face.  He sneered at Finn before removing his hat and giving Abbie a stiff bow. 

“Shall I walk you home, Mistress Abigail?  I’m sorry to have kept you waiting, but I had to assist my mother into the wagon.”  The young man gave her a searching look, obviously expecting her to leave Finn and walk off with him.

“Matthew Granville, this is Finlay Whitfield.  I’ve invited him to walk me home today.  I hope you don’t object.  He’s new to the area and would like to see something of the countryside,” she answered coyly, her arm still linked with Finn’s.  “I wish you a good day.  Shall we go, Finn?” 

As Abbie began to walk away
, Finn glanced back just in time to see a look of naked fury on Matthew Granville’s face.  He wouldn’t forget this insult in a hurry.  Was he Abbie’s beau, and if he were, what was she playing at?  Finn gave Matthew a beatific smile and walked off with Abbie, hoping the walk home would be a very long one.

**

“What did you think of our church?” Abbie asked, walking close to Finn, but not touching.  They were alone on the narrow road, ancient trees forming a green canopy over their heads; shafts of light piercing the foliage and dappling their faces with sunlight.  The day was warm, but several trees were already beginning to change color, going from a lush green to vibrant red and orange.  These woods would be ablaze with color within a few weeks, a chill creeping into the air to remind them that winter was just around the corner. 

“It’s nice, I suppose.  Fancier than the church I went to with my family.  The sermon was just as dull
though,” he chuckled, trying to get a little closer to Abbie. 

“I like the minister,”
answered Abbie.  “He’s a Revolutionary.  He even rides with the Militia from time to time.  I admire that in a man of God.”

“Really?  Are you a
Revolutionary, Abbie?” Finn was joking, but he was curious to hear her answer.

“Of course I am, as is anyone in their right mind
.”  She gave Finn a look, daring him to challenge her sanity.

“Why is all this so important to you?  That’s all Jonah talks about when we
’re working.  I’m not one for politics.”  Finn shrugged his shoulders, indicating his indifference.

“Then you are a fool, Finlay Whitfield.  Freedom means everything.  I was born here, as were my parents.  Why should we be ruled by
someone who’s thousands of miles away?  We are Americans and should be governed by Americans, chosen by the people.  We should be free to rule ourselves.”

This was a radically new
idea to Finn, who’d only known the concept of monarchy up until last week.  No king -- what a thought.  A government chosen by the people?  These rebels were radicals.  Finn wondered what his father would make of all this.  Would he consider the Mallorys to be traitors or visionaries?  It was an intriguing question.  Amazing how differently people thought in this century. 

Finn thought of something to say to change the subject.  He didn’t want to speak of the Revolution.  He felt out of his depth since he was still trying to figure out all the aspects of this conflict between England and the
American Colonies.  Most of his information had come from Jonah, and he wasn’t sure how much a fifteen-year-old boy really understood of what was happening.

“So, when is Martha’s wedding?” he asked.  Girls loved talking of weddings, so that should distract Abbie from her rebellious thoughts.

“Thanksgiving.  We’re hoping Sam will come home for the wedding.”  Finn was about to ask what Thanksgiving was, but didn’t want to make a fool of himself.  It was probably some religious feast day.

“Is Martha’s
fiancé in the army as well?  I was introduced to Gil’s parents, but he wasn’t there, was he?” 

“Gil is with the Militia.  Martha worries about him all the time.  She’ll have to stay with Gil’s parents after the wedding until he comes back.  It’s not the best way to start married life, but some things are more important.”  Abbie looked up at Finn from under the brim of her hat.  “I’m thirsty.  There’s a brook just over there.  Let’s go get a drink.”  She took Finn by the arm, leading him off the road into the woods.

The water in the brook was cold and sweet, a welcome respite for Finn’s dry throat.  He took a few large gulps, then joined Abbie on a fallen log.  She turned her face up to the sun, enjoying the warmth of the October afternoon. 

“I don’t think Martha loves Gil.  She’s known him all her life, but I don’t think she loves him.  When I get married, I want to be in love,” Abbie announced
, watching Finn’s face for a reaction.

“How do you know when you’re in love?” asked Finn.  Abbie seemed awfully knowledgeable about these things.

“You just do,” she answered cryptically.  “You can start out by kissing and see if that works.”

“What do you mean?”  Finn had never actually kissed anyone, so had no idea what she was talking about, but didn’t want to seem ignorant.

“It feels different when you’re in love, or so people say.  It feels magical.  That’s why I don’t think Martha loves Gil.  I saw them kissing, and she didn’t look as if she was enjoying it at all.  She kept pulling back as Gil kept leaning forward until she nearly fell off the bench.”  Abbie giggled at the memory. 

“Have you ever kissed anyone?” asked Finn, intrigued.

“Yes, once, but I didn’t feel any magic.  It felt like any old kiss.  I want to know what it feels like, Finn.” 

She was looking at him with those lovely brown eyes, flecked with gold in the gentle sun.  Finn leaned in for the kiss, praying that she wouldn’t lean back like Martha.  Abbie’s lips were like velvet beneath his, soft and pliant.  He drew her to him without thinking, kissing her with all his youthful enthusiasm.  Abbie didn’t lean back.  She drew closer to Finn, wrapp
ing her arms around his neck and pulling him to her.  Finn wasn’t sure if this was magical, but it sure was wonderful.  He hoped she wouldn’t notice his erection.  He didn’t want to offend her. 

Abbie finally drew back, looking at Finn with wonder.  Her lips were parted, her breath shallow and fast.  Finn didn’t dare say anything for fear of ruining the moment.  Her tucker moved while they were kissing, exposing an extra inch of creamy skin. Finn tried not to stare,
but was desperate for a glimpse of her breast. 

“So, what’s the verdict?” he asked, trying to sound cavalier.  “Any sparks?”

“Definitely,” she breathed, leaning in for another kiss.