Love in Three-Quarter Time (19 page)

“Patience!”

“I don't. I'm sorry. As far as I'm concerned, he may take his preaching elsewhere.”

Constance hadn't given much thought to Patience's deist opinions; they had never mattered to her before. But now she must employ caution in sharing her newly deepened faith.

“And Mr. Franklin doesn't like him either. We've been courting. Did you notice? Although after today, it's clear he's not overcome his affection for you.”

Constance chuckled. “Mr. Franklin? How perfect. You may have him with my blessing.” She bit her lip. “Oh, but we're leaving. No wonder the poor chap was so devastated. Losing not one, but two Cavendish sisters.”

Patience bounced on the mattress. “I'd nearly forgotten. Did you see Robbie in Albemarle?”

Constance closed her eyes and settled her mind upon the soothing rhythm of Patience's braiding. Over, under, tug. Over, under, tug. She did not wish to speak of Robbie, but what choice did she have? Patience would pry the information from her eventually. “He's been living at White Willow Hall. And what a fiasco it's been. But he moved back to his own plantation just before I left.”

“Oh, Constance, do you love him still? Is that why you wish you had feelings for Lorimer?”

“I'm afraid I might. Nothing I think or say will convince my heart otherwise. Lorimer would be so simple, so wonderful at this point. I could even imagine a future with him based upon what feelings I have, but knowing the tempest the mere sight of Robert Montgomery creates in me—well, I could never do that to Lorimer. It would be entirely unfair. I suppose I'll stay a spinster the rest of my days.”

Patience tied off the braid. “I'm sorry. So then nothing's changed.”

“It's worse than ever. Robbie flirted with me for a time, and then it blew asunder all over again.”

“How terrible.” Patience kissed Constance's head. “But there are plenty of men in the world, and you are still young and beautiful. I'm sure in a town like Charlottesville you've many options. You needn't settle for that Lorimer. I can't imagine what you see in the man. Bulging muscles, red-gold whiskers, boyish grin…”

Constance shot Patience a look over her shoulder.

“Correction, I do see,” Patience admitted. “Those charms, however, can take one only so far in life. I assume he's as poor as dirt and his sermonizing simply is not to be tolerated.”

The girls switched positions. Constance took up the brush and began stroking through Patience's tamer caramel-colored hair with its red glints—an altogether attractive color without the wildness of Constance's.

She considered Lorimer again. “It's not merely his appearance, although I admit that caught my eye at the first. He has a sort of inner light. A special glow. And I've found his sermons to be quite inspiring. They stir a place deep within me.”

“Pff,” Patience said in dismissal.

No, her sister was not yet ready to hear about her new relationship with God. Constance would tread lightly. And she would tread lightly about Sissy as well. She longed to share with Patience the information she'd discovered, but could Patience be entrusted with Sissy's whereabouts? Her sister had never shared Constance's abolitionist leanings. What would she think if she realized Constance had fully embraced the cause?

“Patience, what do you think of Martha? Doesn't she remind you of Sissy?”

“She does. And she seems pleasant enough, but I saw that servant girl reading
Mansfield Park
on the settee in the parlor
.
What is this world coming to?”

Constance's hand slowed in its brushing. “I taught Sissy to read back at Cavendish Hall. Did you ever know that?”

“Gingersnap!” Patience pulled away to gape at her. “How could you? Papa would have been livid. No wonder the slaves escaped with you putting uppity thoughts in their heads like that. Where did you even get such a notion?”

Constance fought back tears.

Her sister took in her expression and held her by the arms. “I'm sorry. That was a thoughtless thing to say. I shouldn't blame you. You caught me off guard. That's all.”

Of course Patience blamed her. Constance had always blamed herself. And even in light of her new discoveries, she couldn't shake the feeling. Patience had merely confirmed the truth—although her sister didn't know of Papa's part in what had happened. But Constance couldn't share with Patience without putting Sissy and the others at risk.

“You know, Patience, I don't think Papa was as kind to the slaves as he led us to believe. I've been giving this a lot of thought lately. Lorimer treats all men as equals. Even Robbie has freed his slaves. Think of how ours used to live.” She began braiding again, not wanting Patience to see her face and suspect anything. “I once saw horrible whip marks across James's back. And Sissy seemed so afraid of Papa.”

“I didn't realize Charlottesville was a hotbed of abolitionist sentiments. There is simply a natural order to things. We can't all live in plantation houses. I don't doubt they are wonderful people, but the slave mind is better suited to menial tasks.”

Constance couldn't tell her—at least not yet. Perhaps she could continue to offer her bits of information until she felt Patience ready. For she did not wish to carry this burden alone forever.

She finished the braid and let it drop.

“To think.” Patience moved to her own bed and slid under the covers. “Tomorrow we start a new life.”

“Tomorrow we start a new life, indeed.” Constance turned down the lantern.

A new life for her family, but back to Robbie for Constance. Thank goodness they'd all be with her, for she couldn't bear to face him alone.

CHAPTER 27

Patience took a deep breath, enjoying the scent of magnolias. After three days on the road, two nights sleeping on the hard ground, and one interminable afternoon in the drizzling rain, they'd arrived at White Willow Hall. She stood before the magnificent structure, gaping at the two-story white columns lining the front. It had been so long. Too long since she'd walked through the doors of a proper plantation house.

Though the streets of Richmond fit her nicely—not hemming her in as they did Constance, who once ran the forests barefoot with the slave children—the open space around her here lent an air of peace and of home.

A pretty woman in her middle years bustled down the massive steps as Lorimer continued helping ladies out of the wagon. “Oh, thank goodness, you've returned. And with not a moment to spare, I might add,” the woman said with a hint of Northern England to her speech. “Lessons begin tomorrow. You nearly gave me apoplexy!” She swept Constance into her arms and kissed her cheeks.

“It's so good to be back with thee, Mrs. Beaumont. I must say, I feel I've returned home.” Constance replied in her own broad and not terribly convincing Yorkshire accent. How could their hostess miss it as a fake?

Patience bit back a chuckle, although a small snort escaped. She had all but forgotten the accent. By the startled look on her sister's face, she surmised Constance had forgotten until the last moment as well and had fallen out of practice over the past few days with family.

The woman who had been all smiles and kisses a moment earlier turned a bit stiff at the mention of returning home. But then she shook it away and turned to greet Mother as effusively as she'd met Constance at the start. “Mrs. Cavendish. How wonderful to see you again.” She pulled her into an embrace.

Odd. Perhaps Patience had misread the exchange with Constance.

“Oh, look at you.” Mrs. Beaumont took Patience by the arms. “One sister just as pretty as the other.” She turned to Felicity. “And you must be little Felicity. I remember that red-blonde hair. How beautiful you've grown.”

Felicity offered a shy smile.

Mrs. Beaumont did not require responses of any of them but maintained a steady stream of conversation on her own. “Wait until the twins see you. They're so excited to have a visitor their own age. I thought you might sleep in their bedchamber. And you, dear. Oh my, I didn't catch your name.” She laid a hand on Patience's arm.

“Patience, ma'am.”

“Patience. Of course. You shall stay with Constance, and we shall give your mother her own room.”

What a treat that would be for Mother after sharing a room with Felicity for more than three years in Richmond. Only Grammy was afforded her own room downstairs—albeit a tiny servant's room—due to her snoring and her achy knees.

“What exquisite gowns such lovely and fashionable ladies shall create. I can hardly wait to get started. And we're so thrilled to have you all as guests. What fun it shall be. You must make yourselves at home.”

Mrs. Beaumont continued her steady stream of commentary as she ushered them all into the foyer, but her words melted into a blur. Patience drew in the scene of archways, cherry parquet floors, the curving staircase, and the wrought iron banister. A mammoth crystalline chandelier dangled overhead, shimmering in the sunlight through the high window.

Why, they could all but fit their narrow townhome in this expansive hallway!

How quickly she had forgotten such easy living. A handsome servant dressed in velvet and gold livery lifted her valise from her hand and flashed a broad grin of white teeth against his rich brown face. But in that grin, she caught a resemblance to Martha, who—she was surprised to realize—had grown to be a friend during the trip to White Willow. Patience supposed manners must be different this far west, and she might as well adjust. If those same lax standards meant the fallen Cavendishes were accepted as honored guests, then she supposed she had no room to complain.

She followed Mrs. Beaumont through the elegant parlor, through the elaborate ballroom, back to the huge dining hall, and onward to a variety of casual sitting rooms, nooks, studies, and even through an extensive library. Somewhere along the tour, two younger versions of Mrs. Beaumont joined them and fluttered around the overwhelmed Felicity like pink and blue butterflies.

At last she was led up the stairs and shown to her bedchamber to rest and change. White wallpaper with black designs covered the room. Matching curtains adorned the windows. She could hardly fathom it all.

And here she had been about to settle for a predictable marriage to Mr. Franklin and their own little townhouse without even considering her options.

In that moment, life spread before her, a buffet of possibilities, each one of which needed to be sampled and reveled in.

Constance followed her into the room.

Patience fell back onto the bed with her arms flung wide. “Bliss.” She sank into the thick mattress and brushed her hands along the silk coverlet.

That Lorimer creature stuck his unfortunately handsome head through the door. “Nice to see you with a smile on your face, Patience.”

“You!” Patience covered herself with an arm as if caught in her undergarments, although she still wore her sturdy violet travel gown. Realizing how rude that must sound, she softened it only a bit. “You may call me Miss Patience, if you please. I believe we've discussed this.”

The creature had the audacity to wink. “Whatever you say, miss.”

Patience huffed and stood from the bed.

“Constance,” said Lorimer. “Would you walk me out? I'll be leaving soon, and I won't be back until next month.”

Thank goodness.

“Of course.” Constance hurried to him with a smile.

After observing them together the entire trip, Patience couldn't help wondering if they might not make a well-suited couple after all, despite her own feelings for the man. He never failed to make her sister smile, and she'd caught them in several long theological discussions that seemed to delight them both equally. Patience might not understand her sister's new fascination with Bible study, but she knew attraction when she saw it. And those two seemed quite smitten.

“Good-bye, Miss Patience. God's blessings upon you.” Lorimer led her sister through the door.

Patience narrowed her eyes at his back. His rather nicely formed, broad-shouldered back. She supposed in the greater scheme of things, Constance could do worse. The man was clearly kind and trustworthy, if odd and poor. Perhaps he'd settle down and start a church in a town if he married.

Or, knowing Constance, perhaps she'd enjoy roving the countryside in a wagon and sleeping beneath the stars. She'd appeared happy to do so along their journey. She could go bonnetless, gloveless—even shoeless—with a man like that!

But being in this place made Patience hunger for something more.

* * *

As Lorimer passed by the parlor arm in arm with Constance, squeals burst from the room. They peeked through the archway to the sight of all three Beaumont women swimming through yards of silk in a soft rainbow of shades as ribbons and lace dripped from their arms. Lorimer winced. Although the sight was lovely, that room contained far too much excess for his liking.

“Oh Miss Cavendish, you've the most delightful taste. Why, the colors are perfect!” cried Mrs. Beaumont.

“Mother deserves all credit for choosing the fabric and accessories, although I did explain your coloring and preferences. It took us an entire day to find it all. We'll see all that turned into the most fashionable gowns this side of Richmond soon enough.”

“I should never have complained of the delay.” Mrs. Beaumont gaped in wonder. “This was well worth the wait.”

Lorimer cleared his throat. “I'd best be on my way. I shall see you all next month.” He saluted to the ladies and continued out the door and across the lawn with Constance. He looked down into the eyes of the woman to which he'd grown quite attached in the past week. Along their trip, Constance's skin had turned to a golden tan with a light smattering of freckles, no longer peaches and cream, yet she appeared every bit as appealing as before.

And better suited to become a preacher's wife.

He walked her toward the fish pond where she'd greeted him so warmly only eleven days ago. Though he hated to part from her, he did so with a new clarity concerning their relationship.

They leaned against the shady willow tree, its branches weeping green leaves all about them. Lorimer twisted Constance to him, staring deep into her chestnut brown eyes and allowing his fingers to wander over her sunset head of hair. She was everything good and right and natural in the world.

Leaning over, he placed a sound but simple kiss upon her full, rosy lips, permitting himself the briefest second to savor the feel of them.

She blinked up in surprise. “Whatever was that for?” A small, shy smile lit her face.

“That my dear, was a kiss good-bye.”

“I know. This month shall pass slowly for certain.”

“No, I mean a final kiss good-bye. And because I've always wanted to kiss you, and I might never get another chance.”

“Oh. Is it because of Robbie? Allow me time, Lorimer. Please, don't give up on me so soon. These past few days have been some of the best of my life.” Her pleading eyes nearly broke his resolve.

But he knew what he needed to do. “No. It's not just Robbie. Ever since I've met you, I knew we had a purpose in each other's lives. Looking back at all that's transpired this week, I think that purpose has been fulfilled. I can't say I know for certain, but the sense I have in my heart is that you don't belong to me. Not that I wouldn't like you to. Only that it isn't the plan.”

“Oh,” she echoed her response from earlier, staring down at the grass.

“If God tells me otherwise, I'll hurry back to you with not a second to spare. I promise.” He chucked her under the chin.

She turned her gaze up to him again. Her eyes appeared moist, but she managed a smile. “I suppose no good Christian woman could ever ask for more. I will miss you, though. That won't change.”

“You won't be rid of me so easily. I plan to be your preacher and your friend for a long time to come.”

“Perfect.” She laid her head against his shoulder. “And perhaps my brother. I've never had a brother.”

His heart clenched. This decision would not be as easy to carry out as he'd like her to believe. Brother? He could try. And now that he thought of it, there were still two incredibly lovely Cavendish ladies free for the taking. He chuckled over her coppery head at the thought. It might be months, even years, before his heart would find space for another.

He had once told Constance that following God's instructions created a sense of lightness and joy, even when difficult. But he didn't feel it at this moment.

“Good-bye, Lorimer.” Constance gave his hand a squeeze and turned to walk toward the house. A stabbing sensation struck his chest. He watched her sturdy blue traveling skirts swish away from him as she passed over the lawn, across the drive, up the stairs, and through the huge double doors.