Love in Three-Quarter Time (8 page)

“Emancipation papers?” She hadn't realized Robbie held abolitionist leanings. Perhaps this was a new occurrence. Or perhaps he hadn't felt free to share that side of himself with her. Little wonder he hesitated to call this a plantation.

“Yes, ma'am. Thought everyone round these parts knew about it. It was all folks talked about for weeks. People weren't none too happy. Although now I think of it, I don't reckon I've seen you 'round these parts before. Maybe I shouldn't be tellin' you all of this. I'm still learnin' the ropes of this here new job.”

“You need not fear, Mr.…I'm sorry. I haven't caught your name.”

“Jimbo, ma'am.”

“Well, you need not fear on my account, Mr. Jimbo. I'm an old friend of Mr. Montgomery come to visit the Beaumonts. It looks to me as if you're doing a fine job running the place.” Constance swept her hand in the direction of the field.

Jimbo's chest lifted. “I'd have to agree, if I do say so myself. Not every day a fellow like me gets a chance like this.”

“Not at all. Perhaps you and Mr. Montgomery might set a precedent for the area.”

“I don't know if I'd go that far, ma'am. Mr. Montgomery is one exceptional human bein'. Been a good friend of mine since childhood. I guess I can say that now that I'm free and because you seem such an understanding sort and all.”

So Robbie had been friends with Jimbo just as Constance had been friends with Sissy. That explained much.

“Thank you for taking time from your busy day to speak with me, Mr. Jimbo.”

“No trouble, ma'am.”

“Good day to you, sir.”

“You take care of yourself now, ma'am.”

With a wave, Jimbo headed back to his workers.

Constance turned her horse toward the wooded trail leading to the neighboring White Willow Hall.

An abolitionist?

Robbie had insisted they didn't suit each other. That he hadn't known her well enough until it was too late. Perhaps herein lay the reason. But, of course, she'd never considered releasing her slaves. Her father made those decisions, and she assumed her husband would as well. Being a slave owner had never been her choice, and she never expected it to be. Robbie should have at least discussed it with her.

She always held to the typical belief that slaves were safest with their masters. Their owners supplied protection and provision. But she might have been open to Robbie's ideas. Might have told him about Sissy and her own views on the intelligence of Negroes. Robbie hadn't given her a chance.

Then the truth struck her with the force of a blow to the head. The first time she discussed slavery with Robbie was after her slaves had run away, after Sissy had betrayed her. She'd been so angry. So hurt. Devastated. Surely Robbie realized.

But because they'd never talked about it before, perhaps he had not.

Next she recalled the hatred she had spewed toward the abolitionist cause. Hatred she used to protect herself from facing the truth at the time. Her slaves were gone. Her father dead—and it was all Constance's fault, hers and Sissy's.

She must speak to Robbie, and soon. She would still never forgive him for deserting her. He had broken her heart and never even attempted to explain. But at least she understood his reasoning now. They had misjudged one another, and the time had arrived to straighten matters.

CHAPTER 9

Patience dashed all the way home from the postal office. The Cavendish reputation could hardly suffer damage at this point from such a minor offense. She clamored up the front steps and crashed through the door, panting and out of breath. “It's come!” She held up the letter in triumph.

Felicity sprang from the couch in the parlor and snatched it from her hand. Her weeks of crying turned to squeals of glee. Tearing it open she said, “Thank goodness, for I could not wait another day.”

She pulled out the paper with trembling hands. “What is this?” Felicity unfolded it and turned it front and back. “She's barely written a word.”

Patience grabbed it from Felicity. “She must have said something.”

“Read it,” the normally reticent Felicity demanded as Mother and Grammy made their way to the small entry room.

Mother gripped tight to the woodwork. “Aye, dear, read it aloud.”

Patience glanced over the words and released a sigh. “
I've arrived safely. Terribly busy. More to come. Love and miss you all, Constance.”

“Oh! The nerve,” Felicity huffed, clenching her fists. “I spent two weeks crying, and she says,
‘I've arrived safely. Terribly busy.'
We deserve better than that. Why, I never!” With that she stormed up to her room. Felicity always sought solitude when overwhelmed.

“Can't believe I got me old bones up out t' rocker for nowt.” Grammy headed to the kitchen.

“At least she's safe,” Mother whispered. “But why so terse? That's not like Constance at all.”

Patience knew better. The old Gingersnap held nothing back. But Constance grew quite reticent when matters went amiss. Perhaps she did not secure the job. Perhaps she did not like the Beaumonts. Or perhaps she had run into Robbie after all.

“What do you suppose it means?” Mother asked.

“I suppose it means you should pray harder, Mother.”

“Aye, I believe we all should.”

Mother returned to her armchair and her sewing.

Patience moved out to the porch, breathing in the fresh spring air. Some days she missed country life. But she would not waste prayers on Constance. That remained Mother's arena, for whatever good it might do.

She herself was not convinced that God existed. As she surveyed the clear blue sky, she was reminded that one could not prove his existence beyond a reasonable doubt. And if indeed he did exist, then she would fall on the side of the deists. If God created the world, he'd long since left them to their own devices. God had never been there for her before. Why would he begin now?

No, Patience had no one to depend on but herself. She would give Constance one last chance. Patience wasn't a child anymore, and she'd proven her skill at business. If need be, she'd pull this family out of the ruins. Her older sister might fancy herself the head of this household, but Patience had proven a resourceful leader time and again.

One last chance, then Patience would take over and set this family on a better course. And perhaps the first step on that path would be an alliance with Mr. Franklin. Tonight at dinner she would begin her pursuit.

She licked her lips at the prospect.

* * *

Robbie twirled her in his arms upon a white puffy cloud surrounded by clear blue sky. Sweeping her into a dip, he dropped a kiss upon her lips, warm and sweet as maple syrup. He rocked her through the steps of the waltz. Down, up, up. Down, up, up. The clouds faded, and they continued dancing through a grove of trees on Montgomery Manor. Green leaves swayed to the rhythm as falling cherry blossoms fluttered through the air.

He released her to spin away, and when she came back, she hit hard against a wall of glass. Robbie stood caught on the other side. He hollered to her but she couldn't hear. She struck her fist against her prison, but it would not relent. The glass turned into the window of Montgomery Manor. She remained trapped inside the building, Robbie without.

Jimbo sauntered by, hands in his pockets, humming the haunting strains of “Meet Me by Moonlight.” He peered at her through the window. “You ain't got no one to blame but yourself, Miss Gingersnap. No one else to blame.” Robbie shook his head and walked away. Jimbo vanished into the air.

She remained alone, locked behind the window. Always alone, tears streaming down her face. She pounded upon the glass again and again, but could not break free. “Robbie, Robbie, come back to me!” she shouted.

Constance awoke, pounding the pillow on her bed in White Willow Hall. The haze of dream cleared. As reality surfaced to the forefront of her consciousness, she could only hope she hadn't called Robbie's name aloud.

For years, Robbie had haunted her thoughts. When finally she'd mustered the resolve to banish him from her daydreams, he'd taken up residence in her sleeping ones instead. She should have grown accustomed to them by now.

Her heartbeat sounded in her ears, and she struggled to right her breathing. This dream had been unlike any other, though. Never before had she been trapped. What could it mean?

She pondered the new information she'd uncovered earlier that morning, before she'd taken a nap to rest for the dance. Perhaps her mind wished to convey that she'd caused this division between them. That she'd driven Robbie away. That her Gingersnap temper had caused even more trouble than she'd ever imagined.

But she'd repented of those old ways. Might this mean she and Robbie could still have a chance? No, ridiculous. Perhaps she could offer him some forgiveness in light of these revelations, but neither of them was in any position to engage in a relationship.

Family, reputation, employment.

And Robbie had his own troubles with his struggling farm. If he had fancied the old, wild Gingersnap, then indeed he would not suit the new, reserved Constance.

At least they could be friends. That would be the perfect tenor for their relationship. And perhaps, just perhaps in light of this new information, the world might not be the horrible place she'd fancied it. Perhaps she could allow a crack or two in the stone-hard defense she had crafted about her shattered heart.

A knock sounded at the door.

“Come in.”

The door opened and a familiar brown face peeked around. Martha, the woman she'd met upon her arrival. The daughter of Mary and Samson, Martha generally helped in the kitchen, but she picked up odd duties throughout the house as well. “Mrs. Beaumont done sent me to see if you'd like some help gettin' dressed for the party.”

Constance stood and moved to the mirror. “That would be lovely. It's not that I need to be served, but I've never been good at arranging my own hair.” The mirror showed her tight, plain chignon, now frizzled about her head from sleep. “As no doubt you can see.”

Sissy had always done her hair. Once Sissy was gone and Constance had no one to preen for, she'd given up styling it.

Martha crossed to her. “Let's see what we're workin' with here.” She unpinned Constance's hair, and it fell in a drape of long, waving, coppery locks halfway down her back. “Why, will you look at that? I never done seen such beautiful hair. Like fire.”

The maidservant took a brush from the bureau and began stroking Constance's tresses. “Mrs. Beaumont will be wantin' me as her own personal maid once she sees you, you're gonna look so good.” She lifted a hank of Constance's hair near her face. “I just need me some scissors and curling tongs, and I'll have you fixed up in a jiffy.”

“Perfect.” Constance smiled. “It's so nice to have a friend tonight.” Once upon a time, she and Sissy had giggled and dreamed as Sissy groomed her.

Martha raised a brow at the word
friend
but did not comment on it. “Tonight is kinda like a test for you, isn't it?”

“Don't remind me.”

“Are your girls ready?”

“I hope so.”

“What you plan on wearin'?”

Constance pulled the butter-yellow gown from the wardrobe.

“That's right pretty.” Martha brushed her fingers along the soft fabric. “You got you some sparkly hair things to go with it?”

“Yes, combs to match the jeweled brooch. But I haven't any opera gloves, I'm afraid. I wasn't certain I'd be staying, so I only brought the shorter ones I wore to travel.” Constance picked up the plain white gloves from the bureau.

“Aw shucks, you don't need to fret about no gloves. Lorimer and the Pattersons ain't society folks. I say go without. You got the loveliest fingers—especially when you dance.”

This time Constance raised a brow.

“I've been watchin' from the parlor. You're a mighty fine dancer, Miss Cavendish. Maybe someday you can teach me a few a those fancy steps, and I can teach you some of mine.”

Tears sprung to Constance's eyes. This woman was so like Sissy that it hurt. If she had never taught Sissy…But letting her mind wander in such a direction would serve no purpose. She had a party to attend, a job to obtain. “Run along and get those supplies. We'll chat while we work. I can't wait to see the improvements you will make.”

Now if only the twins didn't botch matters and end in a jumble of blue and pink skirts again.

* * *

The musicians warmed up in the ballroom as the guests, bedecked in their elegant attire, mingled in the parlor. Constance wore her butter-colored evening gown that gathered to a jeweled enclosure beneath the bosom. The fitted part of this gown hit about an inch too low to be truly fashionable. Fortunately, Charlottesville society seemed unaware of that fact.

Constance estimated fashions here must run about five years behind the times, which was perfect for her because her newest dresses were five years old. But she felt like a princess with her elaborate new coiffure á la Martha. Copper curls surrounded her face, and she'd even let her new friend add a hint of color to her cheeks and lips. Her face had looked far too wan in the mirror next to Martha's beautiful burnished skin, but a touch of rosy tint corrected the situation.

Dinner had just finished. Soon, she and Robbie would lead off the dance, but she hoped to speak with him first. She caught sight of him as he emerged from the dining room, handsome as ever in a frock coat and formal trousers.

Constance stepped into the hallway to greet him. “Mr. Montgomery, I'm so glad to find you.”

“Miss Cavendish. To what do I owe this warm greeting?”

“I wish to talk for a moment before the dance.”

He looked unsure, but answered, “Of course.”

She led him to a cushioned brocade bench against the wall, and they settled side by side.

He shifted to face her.

Not knowing where to start, she spat out, “I met Jimbo today.”

“You did?” The uncertainty on his face slipped into true concern.

“No, no. I liked him. Very much. Do you remember my maid—Sissy?”

“Vaguely.”

“Well, I never told you. I'm not sure I've ever told anyone, but she was my closest friend.”

A spark lit Robbie's eye. “As Jimbo was mine.”

“Yes.” She rushed forward before she lost her courage. “And I realize it matters little now, but I wanted you to know, I hold nothing against the abolitionist cause. After the slaves left and Papa died, I was overwrought, not in my right mind. I'm afraid I gave you a mistaken impression.”

Robbie paused to consider that. “Then Jimbo explained the rest.”

“Yes. I hope you don't mind. It's a brave choice you've made. And I wanted to let you know that I respect you for it.”

Robbie took a deep breath but remained otherwise placid. “Well, at least it's nice to know not everyone in Albemarle opposes me. I'm glad we've cleared this up. It will make things easier between us.”

Constance's heart clutched in her chest, although she could not account for why. She had already decided that they would never be more than friends, but part of her must have held out hope that once Robbie knew the truth…

How ridiculous. “Yes, I think we can be friends now. Don't you?”

“Friends. Of course.”

“Robbie. Miss Cavendish. Where are those two? It's time to start the dance.”

“We're right here in the hallway, Mother.” Robbie offered his arm and led Constance to the ballroom where the Beaumonts, Pattersons, and Sugarbakers awaited. Only that Lorimer fellow had yet to arrive.

As they took the center of the dance floor, Robbie smiled at Constance. It was a sincere and open smile. She was happy to see such a smile on his face for the first time in five years.

All her nerves and disappointment slipped away. With Robbie at her side as a friend, she could do this. A sense of buoyancy washed over her. Tonight she would allow herself to dance like the old Gingersnap Cavendish, with passion and abandon. Just in time to dazzle Albemarle society.

Once Mrs. Beaumont called out the dance, Constance laid her hand upon Robbie's, drawing strength from his masculine calluses while sparks snapped between them. Somehow the touch of his work-roughened fingers affected her far more than the soft skin she recalled from half a decade earlier. As the music began, she found herself lost within it, but lost also in the spicy scent of Robert Montgomery, lost in the curious gaze of his sky blue eyes, lost in the memory of waltzing through the library.

His fingers grazed her back as he looped her in a spin.

Lost.