Love in Three-Quarter Time (9 page)

CHAPTER 10

Patience pushed away from the dinner table where her family and Mr. Franklin still sat. “That was wonderful, Grammy.”

“Aye,” agreed Mother. “If we must all miss Constance, at least we needn't miss her cooking.”

“Well, she learned summat from me.” Grammy coughed.

Mr. Franklin placed his napkin on the table. “Let us not speak of missing Miss Cavendish. I think of little else day and night. This evening, I plan to enjoy the fine company of the remaining Cavendish ladies.”

“Agreed.” Felicity glowed at him with a degree of admiration that Patience found amusing on the fifteen-year-old. It seemed Mr. Franklin could have his choice of Cavendishes, other than the one he desired.

“Anything to put a smile on your pretty little face, Felicity.” Mr. Franklin chucked her under the chin as he might one of his young students. His use of her first name clearly indicated he thought her still a child.

The more Patience considered an alliance with Mr. Franklin, the more her heart—oh yes, she did possess one, although she would not be ruled by it like Constance—the more her heart warmed to the idea.

She turned to the new object of her affection, wondering what it might feel like to run her fingers through his silky hair. Looking into his soft, brown eyes, she noted the intelligence and depth dancing behind them. “Mr. Franklin, I've been suffocating in the mercantile all day and barely found opportunity to enjoy the lovely spring weather. Might you consider escorting me for a walk?”

“Escorting?” Confusion covered his charming, bespectacled face.

“Yes, as in standing beside me, perhaps offering an arm?”

“You, Miss Cavendish?” A spot of pink filled each of his sculpted, hollow cheeks.

“What a delightful idea.” Mother stood and gathered the dishes. “Patience could use an outing, and I do hate the thought of her walking alone.”

Felicity crossed her arms over her chest and huffed, shooting signals to Patience that she chose to ignore. The chit was far from ready to court. She hadn't even put up her hair yet. And with behavior like that, little wonder Mr. Franklin thought her a child.

“Why, of course.” Mr. Franklin stood. “I don't know why I didn't think to suggest it myself. It's a perfect evening, and I do so enjoy our conversations, Miss Cavendish.”

“Allow me a moment to fetch my hat and gloves.” Patience sashayed out of the room, as Gingersnap might have once upon a time. But when she turned back to glance at Mr. Franklin, he stared out the window, scratching his head.

She hurried upstairs and donned her prettiest bonnet with the creamy flowers that brought out the blush in her cheeks. Pinching them for good measure and biting her lips, Patience pulled on her gloves and headed back down before Mr. Franklin could change his mind.

He stood in the crate-sized entry room, awaiting her as she descended. “Shall we?”

Patience fluttered her eyelashes as she recalled Gingersnap doing so expertly. “Indeed, Mr. Franklin. I can't tell you how I've longed for this moment.”

He studied her as if she were a science experiment gone awry. “Have you something in your eye, Miss Cavendish?”

“I don't think so.” She patted at the corner of her eye to cover her faux pas. Drat! Had she performed the maneuver incorrectly? Why hadn't she thought to practice in the mirror?

“Can I help you with your shawl?” Mr. Franklin indicated the coat rack by the door.

“No, thank you.” A shawl would most certainly not serve Patience's purpose this evening.

They stepped out into the twilight, and Mr. Franklin offered his arm as they left the porch.

Patience tucked her hand into his elbow and allowed the fingers of her other hand to trail along the hedges in a manner she hoped appealing. As they headed down the cobblestone lane, she wondered what it might be like to have her own townhome with Mr. Franklin. “Do tell me what you've been studying at school.”

He stood a bit taller. “You know me well. I enjoy the inquiry as much as the teaching. I've been especially taken with Mr. Young's theories of light and colors.”

“Ah yes. I've read his
Course of Lectures on Natural Philosophy.
Fascinating as I recall.”

“Indeed. To think that light travels in waves and not in particles as Newton convinced the world.”

“But it is still a theory, Mr. Franklin. I allow myself to make no assumptions without complete factual verification.”

“This is what I appreciate about you, a woman of science and reason. A woman after my own heart, I must confess.”

Perfect, just the opening Patience sought. “We are quite well-suited to one another, don't you think?”

“Miss Cavendish, I always count you among my dearest friends, and if I may confess a secret to you…”

“Yes,” she prompted.

“I often dream that someday you might be my sister.”

“Oh.” Patience tried to keep the disappointment from her voice.

“Yes, my own sisters perished years ago of a terrible fever.”

She turned to search his face. “I'm so sorry, Mr. Franklin. How did I not know this?”

“I hate to bring up such a sad subject in front of Miss Constance. I wouldn't wish her to think me melancholy.”

“Of course. May I ask, how fares the rest of your family?”

“It is only my uncle and me these days. And I fear he is not long for this world. I have mixed feelings about taking on his school by myself. It's a wonderful opportunity, but I don't quite feel up to the task without him.”

Patience patted his arm. “Then let us hope he shall stay with you for many years to come. That would be a lonely life indeed.”

“I've grown accustomed to loneliness, I'm afraid.”

Patience should like to put an end to this man's loneliness. “I didn't realize, Mr. Franklin. You are welcome to join us for dinner anytime, you know. You needn't await an invitation. Or even to spend time in the afternoons. Let us forgo all formalities. I should like you to consider yourself part of our family.”

“Miss Cavendish, you've no idea how I've longed for such an offer. I don't know what to say. I almost feel I should apologize for growing so dreary. But I'm comfortable sharing such things with you.”

“As you should be. Such openness makes me feel quite close to you.”

They walked for a few moments in companionable silence. Patience noticed a white house with gables ahead. Perhaps someday she could share a home like that with Mr. Franklin. Bear him some remarkably intelligent children and banish his loneliness once and for all.

She snuggled in closer to his arm.

“Are you cold, Miss Cavendish? I knew we should have brought your shawl. Do you need my coat?”

“No, no. I felt a bit of a chill, but I'm warm now that I have moved in closer proximity to you.”

His mouth gaped for a moment, and then he closed it and shook his head. “Amazing the way the body conducts its own heat. Don't you think?”

“Fascinating. I've long wished to examine the process of heat.”

“Ah, I shall lend you my studies by Fourier.”

“Do they explain, by chance, why certain bodies respond with a tingling warmth when in contact with certain other bodies?”

Mr. Franklin looked at her in wonder.

Patience infused her gaze with all the heat she could muster.

“I'm sorry.” Mr. Franklin stepped back. “Have I said something to make you angry?”

Patience blinked away her attempt at passion and laughed. “Not at all.” She stared straight ahead and focused on the street. “Whatever gave you that impression?” Were her skills of flirtation completely lacking, or was this man as dense about love as he was knowledgeable about science?

She suspected the latter.

Mr. Franklin scratched his head with his free hand. “I hope you will forgive me saying so, but you are rather confusing tonight, Miss Cavendish. In this you remind me of your sister. I've always thought her the most delightful conundrum. Have you noticed that about her? I've studied her as I would any mystery of the universe.”

Patience forced a smile as Mr. Franklin droned on about the merits of her sister. This pursuit might prove more difficult than she'd initially assessed. She cut off his rambling. “So you would agree that you do not know Constance as well as you might wish.”

“I do not, but I hope to. To know her as companionably and completely as I know you.”

“Yes, I suppose Constance is difficult to unravel. You might be surprised by what you find underneath the surface.” It would do no good to malign Constance, but if Patience could perhaps plant a seed of doubt…

She would need to progress slowly with Mr. Franklin. While Gingersnap might have been the one known for her headstrong ways, Patience was endowed with her own sort of quiet tenacity. She would be persistent and live up to her name.

And she would win Mr. Franklin for herself.

* * *

Constance stumbled into the hallway. The blasted dance set with Robbie had lasted nearly a quarter hour. She sank into the cushioned bench in the shadow of the curving staircase and pressed her head back against the cool wall. It was astounding that after five long years Gingersnap Cavendish could still overtake her so utterly and completely.

She should be inside watching the girls. Her entire future depended upon their performance tonight, but she needed a moment to compose herself.

Every feeling, every emotion she'd once held for Robbie rushed back during that dance, flooding her entirely. Her lips tingled under his seeking gaze. Her hand trembled upon his. Why oh why hadn't she worn her gloves? Her heart beat erratically in her chest, and no amount of coaxing, no chanting of mantras, would quiet it this time.

She would not—she could not—let this man break her heart again. Family, reputation, employment. And although the words held no sway over her errant heart, they cleared the swirling thoughts and pressing imaginations in her head.

No, she couldn't allow herself to dream of a future with Robert Montgomery. Her heart could not bear the consequences. Friends. She had determined they would be friends. At that moment a knock upon the front door offered distraction.

She pressed herself deeper into the shadows. The door clicked and Samson spoke in uncharacteristically warm tones. “Ah, Mr. Lorimer. So glad to have you this evening.”

The sound of a solid clap met her ears, as if this Mr. Lorimer gave Samson a companionable slap upon the back. “Happy to be here, my friend,” a rich voice boomed through the hallway.

“Your coat, sir.” A rustling ensued, piquing Constance's curiosity.

“Thank you, Samson. What do you think?”

“Fringe, sir?”

“Not good?”

Unable to resist, Constance leaned forward to catch a glimpse. She couldn't see Samson, only most of the man called Lorimer standing nearer the wall. Holding out his hands for inspection, he wore fringed buckskin leggings with a brown frock coat overtop.

“No? Really?” Lorimer lifted a reddish-gold brow over pale blue eyes and offered an adorable little boy grin from his rugged face.

“I'm afraid not, sir. Perhaps Mr. Montgomery wouldn't mind if you borrowed the entire ensemble. Come. Let's find you something to wear.”

As Lorimer turned the corner to mount the stairs with Samson, an essence of charm and virility lingered in his wake. The initial knock on the door had distracted her from dwelling upon Robbie. But for a moment this man allowed her to forget her dreams of a life with Robbie. He was the ideal diversion, an enigmatic figure to occupy her mind and her time. She simply must meet this fellow of the buckskin trousers, whom the Beaumonts counted among their closest family friends.

Yes, this would prove perfect. Not that she'd ever lose her heart to this Lorimer or anyone else. But perhaps a flirtation would serve as protection from her mounting feelings for Robbie.

She would not revert to her old Gingersnap ways. Gingersnap had been a selfish child of sixteen. But perhaps she could let a hint of the sizzle, the heart shine through—just enough to catch the eye of this Lorimer and hold it for the duration of her stay.

CHAPTER 11

Steps sounded above her. Constance pinched her cheeks and stood to pat down her gown.

She turned the corner as Lorimer descended the stairs, dressed in proper cream-colored trousers to match the brown frock coat. Robbie's outfit stretched tight over his muscular form, and the pants likely fell short of his ankles beneath the boots, but he cut a striking figure nonetheless.

“Oh my!” She feigned surprise. “Well, hello.”

Lorimer's eyes, crystal like a shimmering stream, lit the moment they met hers. “Well, hello to you, pretty lady.” A hint of close-trimmed whiskers surrounded his crooked grin.

Constance giggled and fluttered her lashes in full-blown Gingersnap form before she caught herself. Perhaps she could let this play out of its own natural accord after all. “You must be Mr. Lorimer, our tardy guest.”

“That would be me, ma'am. At your service.” He offered his elbow in gallant fashion.

She laced her hand through. Although sparks did not fly to the same degree they might with Robbie, it felt pleasant and safe tucked away there. “Tell me about yourself, Mr. Lorimer. I've heard only your name from the Beaumonts.” She ushered him into the parlor, but there led him near the fire instead of toward the ballroom beyond.

“I suppose you'd call me a circuit-riding preacher.”

“Oh, I didn't realize.” That could put a kink in her plans. She drew her hand away and turned to better face him. “So should I call you Reverend? Parson?”

“Most folks just call me Lorimer, ma'am. And who, may I ask, are you?”

“I'm Miss Constance Cavendish of Richmond, the new dance instructor come to teach the girls.”

Lorimer nodded as he took her in, head to toe. Not in a manner that made her cringe, but rather one that left her with a sense of admiration. “I'd say you're well suited for the job. I noticed in the hallway how gracefully you moved.”

A concern struck her. “Do you dance, Mr. Lorimer? I seem to recall that some preachers do not.”

A smile played on the firm lips above his chiseled jaw. “I like the way Paul said it: ‘I am made all things to all men, that I might by all means save some.'
If
it's important to the Beaumonts that I dance, I don't see any harm. God gave us this marvelous life, and it's meant to be enjoyed. Do you agree, Miss Cavendish?”

Meant to be enjoyed. Marvelous life.
Constance covered her confusion with another flutter of lashes. God had been nothing but a harsh critic, a purveyor of divine retribution, in her mind for the past five years. And before that, he'd barely crossed her thoughts at all. But circuit riders were known for their intense study of the Scriptures, so perhaps she should take Lorimer's word on the issue.

Not that she considered anything to be wrong with dance herself. In fact, until this moment she had never paused to contemplate the matter. Dance was her bliss, her one ray of hope on a dim horizon. The only true pleasure she'd permitted for herself in ever so long. “I certainly hope you're correct, Mr. Lorimer. Because I do so enjoy dancing, and I've based my life's work upon it.”

“Then why are we standing in the parlor, Miss Cavendish? We have a party to attend. To everything there is a season. Is there not? ‘A time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and a time to dance.' Shall we?”

Did this Lorimer have a Scripture for every occasion? Yet the alluring glimmer in his eye belied any rigid piety. The man embraced life and brimmed with merriment.

An odd, melting sensation overtook her as he grinned down from his towering height. Not quite fire and passion, but a soothing warmth. She drank in his masculine, leather scent and his gold hair sparkling with red glints in the firelight brought memories of Papa to mind.

And his descriptions of God and life had already set her mind reeling. She could learn much from this man. Suddenly the next few months took on a new appeal.
To everything there is a season,
he had said. Perhaps the time to mourn had come to an end, and Constance's time to dance would flourish once again.

She returned Lorimer's smile. Not with a coquettish simper, but with earnest appreciation for this wise and engaging man.

“First I must know, Mr. Lorimer. How is it that you've come to be such close friends with the Beaumonts?”

“Robbie brought me here years ago to hold services for the slaves. He wanted them trained in God's Word. I started having dinner with the family when I visited, and before long they couldn't get rid of me.”

Pushing aside inconvenient thoughts of Robbie, she focused on the portion of his answer that pleased her. “Train the slaves, you say? Perhaps we are kindred spirits, sir.”

“What do you say we join the others, Miss Cavendish, before tongues begin to wag? Later, let's have refreshments together, and we'll talk.”

Constance hadn't thought of that. Too many handsome men in one household evidently still addled her brain.

* * *

Robbie led his sister, Molly, dressed in a formal version of her typical pink gown, through the steps of the country dance. Although far from graceful or light on her feet, she performed better than Dolly had. And both girls moved with greater skill than he expected after a mere two weeks. He presumed Constance would be staying for a while.

His sister smiled up at him from a plumply pretty face framed by russet curls. He recalled the day he'd first seen the twins, squalling in their cradle. The babes had captured his heart and never let go. Hard to believe they were nearly grown. A twinge of thanks filled him that Constance had entered their lives at such a pivotal moment.

Mother did her best with the girls, but deep down the woman remained an innkeeper's daughter, always nervous to keep up with fashions and society, always monitoring her speech and her manners. On Miss Cavendish, such niceties sprung from deep within, innate to the core of her being.

And tonight he'd seen a bit of the fire, the life he had thought long dead. For her sake, he was glad. Although for his own, he remained uncertain. Old feelings stirred within him as they danced. Old feelings, no doubt, best left forgotten.

Tonight he almost wished he could whisk her away and rescue her from genteel poverty as she'd begged him to years ago. But that option died on that fateful night along with her father. He couldn't live a lie. And he could never tell her the truth.

Robbie twirled his sister on the appointed beat.

But he wished Constance all the joy she deserved. Clearly she had changed. No longer spoiled or selfish, she'd mellowed into a lovely young woman. Perhaps she might meet a gentleman in Charlottesville who knew nothing of her past and could give her the life she had left behind. The life Robbie had all but stolen from her.

He ignored the clutching in his chest caused by such ponderings. Robbie had promised to support Constance, and support her he would.

As he looped his sister in a circle, he scanned the room and found Constance dancing with Terrence Sugarbaker. Terrence observed Constance with a telling gleam in his eye. Yes, perhaps Sugarbaker would do—quite nicely, in fact. Terrence always had been his closest friend from the society set. Intelligent. Kind. A bit spoiled, but such was to be expected.

Again Robbie tamped down an uncomfortable sensation forming in his chest.

The dance concluded. He bowed to his sister and clapped politely for the musicians. “Go find your father, dear. I need a rest.”

Robbie turned in time to watch Lorimer stalk toward Sugarbaker and Constance. He then took Constance's arm and swept her toward the refreshment table as she giggled at something witty he had no doubt said. Robbie found a corner wall to lean against and continued his examination of the unwelcome spectacle unfolding before him.

Constance batted her lashes at Lorimer as they sampled the delicacies upon the table. Robbie knew that maneuver all too well. He had watched their entrapping flutters as he danced with Constance not a half hour earlier. She pressed a hand to her chest, drawing Lorimer's eye to the creamy décolletage above the neckline of her yellow gown. As she giggled once again, she twirled a copper curl around her slim finger and wrinkled her pert nose.

He hadn't seen that nose wrinkle in five years.

Dash it! The girl had turned all flirtation and charm of a sudden. Could it be merely the party atmosphere? Surely that was not reason enough. Perhaps Constance—or should he say Gingersnap—had been biding her time, awaiting this opportunity all along.

Lorimer crinkled his eyes at Miss Cavendish in a manner that Robbie by no means appreciated. The enticing young lady ran a finger along her rosy lips in response.

Robbie could tolerate it no more. Lorimer was not the man for Constance. Just when Robbie had decided to interrupt, Lorimer took a pastry from the table and held it before Constance's soft, yielding mouth. She licked her lips and then took a bite directly from Lorimer's hand.

All thoughts, all plans, fled Robbie's mind as pressure filled his head. The room took on a red tint to match the attractive reddish heads now pressed together in
tête-à-tête
.

Enough! Robbie needed air. Cold night air.
Now.

* * *

Once the final guests departed, the Beaumonts all excused themselves for bed, but Constance remained far too energized to sleep. She headed to the verandah for a quiet moment to replay the evening in her mind. What a night it had been. She sighed in delight. As she stepped out onto the porch and stared at the bright moon to the left, a creak to her right startled her, and she gasped.

“Nice to see the old Gingersnap back in fine form tonight.” Robbie stepped out of the shadows into a confrontational stance.

“Robbie? How dare you frighten me like that?”

“Me? I was innocently standing on the porch. Getting some cool air. Things grew a bit
heated
tonight, don't you think? Or perhaps we'd need to check with Lorimer on that.”

“Lorimer? What does he have to do with anything? You were the one who nearly danced me to a frenzy.”

“Two beaux for the price of one, I suppose. Like the old days. And here I almost believed you had changed.”

Her temper rose to an unmanageable level. The familiarity of it comforted her. Anger was so much better than the dangerous feelings earlier this evening that threatened to expose her heart once again.

Allowing the molten lava to flow through her veins full force, she let the gingersnaps fly. “You cad! How dare you? For once in five years I let myself have a good time, and you have the audacity to ruin it for me.” She shoved him backward. “Mr. Lorimer is a charming
friend
. The first man who has not treated me as if I were a pariah in as long as I can remember.” Other than Mr. Franklin, but she couldn't be expected to count him. “I had fun tonight,” she continued. She poked Robbie in the chest as her eyes bored into him. “What's wrong with that?”

Robbie met her glare. “Why Lorimer, of all people? What do you see in the man?”

She paused to consider that and watched Robbie's face in the moonlight. Why must they always find themselves surrounded by moonlight?

His lip twitched. His eyes glared. But something in his features expressed a certain wistfulness as well.

“Ha! You're jealous.” She couldn't keep the smug grin from her face.

“I am not. Don't be ridiculous. I said we didn't suit, and I meant it. I simply feel a debt to your poor mother. She would not be at all pleased to see you with Lorimer, and while you're in my family's home, I'm obligated to protect you.”

“From Lorimer? Why he's the gentlest man I've ever met. He has not an impure motive in his head. If ever there were a man after God's own heart, it's Lorimer.”

“He's a drifter without two pennies to rub together. That's all your mother will see. If you must flirt and cavort like the old days, at least do so with someone appropriate.”

“In case you've forgotten, I'm no longer considered a ‘catch' by the society set. The twenty-one-year-old, impoverished, spinster daughter of a thief, that's all I am now. My last chance for a decent marriage flew out the window when you deserted me.” She took a step toward him.

He did not back away. Instead, he rubbed his chin in an evil sort of manner. His left eyebrow rose and froze in that awkward position. “I see now. How stupid I've been. You've come to snare a husband. This isn't about dancing. You've come here where no one knows your history, and you plan to start fresh.”

“I…” However had he come up with that? It couldn't be farther from the truth. A fresh start, yes. With employment, not marriage.

“Fine then. I'll help you.” He crossed his arms and tapped his toe as he considered. “I suppose you deserve at least that from me. I said I would support you, and I will. But stay away from Lorimer.”

“What's wrong with Lorimer? He's your friend. You brought him here.”

“To preach to the workers, not court genteel ladies. He's little better than a vagabond. Hardly educated, even. How about Sugarbaker? He seemed quite smitten with you.”

“If I were looking for a husband, which I am not, I would never consider a pompous plantation owner. I've had my fill, thank you very much.” She stomped her foot and turned her back to him, watching the moon glare at a distance over the trees.

“He would say his father was the owner, but that's irrelevant. You don't like him, fine. He'd be a stretch for you, anyway.”

“What?” She twisted back toward him.

Robbie feigned a contemplative expression. “Let's see. There's Joe Sprague at the mill. He's single and doing well for himself. And Michael Denby owns several businesses. He's building a hotel right now, but I could probably persuade him to join us for dinner sometime.”

“Stop this!”

“I'm only getting started. I know how you love a passel of beaux surrounding you. Only leave me out of the bunch this time. I'll find you someone. You just keep on dancing and don't worry your pretty little head.”