Love's Awakening (The Ballantyne Legacy Book #2): A Novel (26 page)

Her eyes were closed. Was she nervous? Not a sound was heard in the cavernous room. When she leaned her flawless shoulder into the instrument, her fingers poised to play, his breathing thinned to nothingness. Even Chloe stood slightly openmouthed beside him as the music began.

For a few moments his tension ebbed, lost as he was in the movement of her fingers as they teased forth every delicate note, as lithe upon the strings as her feet had been upon the floor while dancing. The richness of the violin wove an equally mesmerizing spell, rising sweetly and then falling silent so that only the harp was heard.

Chloe tilted her face up to his, eyes shimmering in the candlelight. He ignored the catch in his throat and stayed perfectly still, as if moving might shatter his reserve. He’d never heard such music. Ellie played with such . . . feeling. Her heart seemed wedded to every note, inexplicably wrenching his, reviving emotions he hadn’t experienced in years.

Wonder. Tenderness. A thirst for finer, deeper things.

The enthusiastic applause braced him, as did Chloe’s heartfelt plea. “Jack . . . you all right?”

He didn’t answer but looked toward the exit. It was long past midnight now, and he was beyond weary from the harvest and more than a tad lost amidst such refinement. Ellie was leaving the stage now, smiling at Ansel, touching his arm in silent thanks.

And heading straight for Jack.

He took a breath, hopeful she might seek him out, only to be jarred by the sight of Daniel Cameron stepping into her path. Expectation turned to irritation as Daniel took her hand, claiming her for a quadrille. She looked back at him over her shoulder, still smiling, as if to say, “See, Jack, now you can say you’ve heard the harp.”

He turned his attention to a lad not much older than Chloe
who was asking her to dance. Nodding his approval, he made his way to a punch bowl, waiting for the announcement that had yet to be made. He needed to hear the news of Ellie’s engagement, no matter how painful, needed to rein in his feelings for her now spiraling out of control. He felt certain her intended was Daniel Cameron, who would be master of River Hill. He wanted to choke thinking it, the punch sour to the taste.

He was having a hard time trying not to watch her, and in a room full of onlookers, particularly meddling Pittsburgh matrons, he felt on dangerous ground. Turning his back to the dancers, he pretended interest in a painting. The landscape reminded him of Scotland, of distilleries locked deep in both highlands and lowlands. He’d gone there with his father years before after a brutal Atlantic crossing, not sure they’d make landfall. The West—Missouri—seemed just as far.

“Have you been to Scotlain, Jack?”

He turned and acknowledged Silas, then fixed his eye on the painting again. “Aye, Glenlossie and Glenkinchie, mostly. The Steins and Haigs.”

“The master distillers? ’Tis a long tradition.”

“Far longer than ours,” he replied, uncomfortable with the subject. In the glare of Silas Ballantyne’s success, his livelihood seemed lacking, tarnished by generations of Turlocks with less than sterling reputations.

“Have you ever considered another line of work? Say, iron or a trade?”

His attention swung back to Silas, his surprise plain. “I—nay.”

“Mayhap because you’ve tried little else.”

Little but farming and distilling. Because he’d had no choice. Henry Turlock wasn’t one to give his sons options. Just orders. Jack sensed Silas knew that, and it lessened the scour of guilt Jack felt.

“I’ve not given it much thought,” he admitted. “There was a time—when my grandfather was alive—that I considered law.”

“It’s not too late, is it?”

“I suppose that depends on who you ask. My father has threatened to disown me if I do anything but further Turlock whiskey.”

“What happens upon the sale of River Hill?”

“I’ll move on to Missouri. Establish a distillery in Indian territory.” The words rolled out of him, sounding empty, rehearsed. “There’s a plan in place to supply trading posts—military garrisons—with spirits. Keep pushing west.”

“You’ll not be back then.”

“Nay.” It wasn’t a question but he answered it anyway, struck by how forthright Silas was, willing to discuss such things. As if it mattered. As if he cared. As if there might be another, better way.

Once again Jack couldn’t shake the certainty that their conversation was more than about business, that at the deepest level it was about Ellie. If he had nerve enough, he’d simply ask Silas outright. If there’d been a trace of liquor in his punch cup, he’d have done so. But tonight, weary and out of his element, he couldn’t muster the words.

The coral roses, imprisoned in crystal vases, were wilting as fast as Ellie’s spirits. ’Twas three o’clock in the morning—the wee sm’ hours, as her father said. A few guests had departed, mostly the elderly and infirm, bidding Ellie a happy birthday or kissing her flushed cheeks. After hours of dancing, her slipper-clad feet were pinched, her smile strained, her voice cracking from too much conversation.

“I’ll be back,” she murmured to Daniel, who’d not ceased shadowing her the entire evening.

Excusing herself, she slipped downstairs and out onto the back veranda, desperate for a measure of privacy. The lantern-lit stables and driveway were busy, the sultry predawn stillness filled with the nickering of countless horses and all manner of conveyances. But here, in back of the house, all was still save the summer kitchen and icehouses and a lone figure making his way to the necessary.

Passing into the garden, she tried to savor the stillness, but her rising turmoil stole it away. Jack was still upstairs but out of her reach, tonight and always. Nothing could bridge the chasm that separated them. He was clearly uncomfortable in her world—with the dancing, the formality, the social niceties. And somehow, without him, her privileged life failed to have the appeal it once did.

Closing her eyes, she heard a reel end and a waltz begin, the sound drifting down from the third-floor windows.

“Ellie.”

A touch to her back along a row of tiny buttons sent her spinning round. Jack looked down at her, features shadowed. “I wanted to say goodbye.”

Something stirred in her, sad and wistful. “Where’s Chloe?”

“Waiting in the coach.”

She tried to smile. “Thank you for coming.”

He looked away and then back at her as if wanting to say more. Weighing his words. Discarding them. There seemed so much that was unspoken between them. She longed to tell him she knew about his leaving, selling River Hill. But the truth stayed locked in her heart, sore and silent.

“Ellie, I’m not very good at this.” Slowly he reached out and placed his hands on the soft slope of her shoulders. “But since it’s your birthday . . .”

She waited, breath held. Her whole world seemed to hinge on his next words.

“One dance,” he said gently.

Something melted inside her. Like a woman drowning, she reached for him, admissible for the waltz, though her thoughts were far from dancing. She wanted to fall headlong into his arms, feel the scrape of his whiskers against her flushed cheek, breathe in the very essence of him.

Become his.

“Elinor, is that you?”

They drew back, the tender moment lost. Daniel loomed by the garden gate. Lights from the house revealed his blatant displeasure. He stepped onto the brick pathway as if to come between them.

“Are you all right, Elinor? Any trouble here?”

There was a painful pause. For a moment Ellie feared Jack, given the intrusion, might lash out. But he simply turned away without a word, leaving through the gate Daniel had left open.

“Isn’t that a Turlock?”

The contempt in his tone sent her reeling. “Yes, that’s Jack Turlock. You might have greeted him, made introductions. He was simply saying goodbye—”

“Out here? In the dark?”

She knotted her hands. What was innocent now seemed tawdry. “’Tis not what you think. His sister is my pupil. He’s a friend—”

“Friend? Come now, Elinor. Everyone knows his reputation—”

“His family’s reputation, perhaps. You misjudge Jack.”

“
Jack
, is it?”

“What of it? I call you Daniel.” She stood her ground, voice fraying with fury and fatigue. “You—he—
we’ve
been acquainted for years, ever since childhood. Calling either of you ‘mister’ seems ridiculous, at least in private.”

“You can’t possibly feel the same level of familiarity for
the both of us. Equating a Cameron with a Turlock?” He came closer and she took a step back. “I hate to say it, but you seem testy as Andra tonight.”

The barb stung, though there was truth in it. She managed a brittle reply. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to return to my guests.”

Relief washed through her when soon he and Mina took their leave without his claiming the last dance. Whatever Daniel Cameron had to tell her could wait.

Forever, if needs be.

 26 

Let men tremble to win the hand of woman,

Unless they win along with it the utmost passion of her heart!

N
ATHANIEL
H
AWTHORNE

Dawn lit the eastern rim of the horizon, promising another clear, if sultry, summer day. Ansel moved through the house, having just left the attic. Ellie and Peyton were abed, the staff resting before the house was set to rights again. The last guest had departed and all yawned empty, the only sound coming from the immense case clock chiming six in the foyer—and muted voices in his father’s study. Thinking a guest remained to discuss some business matter, Ansel looked through the open doorway and found his parents at the bank of windows facing the sunrise.

For five and twenty years he’d come upon this scene—his mother standing in front of his father, her back to him, his arms wrapped around her and his chin resting atop her head as they looked out the sparkling glass. Still in formal dress, they seemed oblivious to everything but each other.

His mother’s quiet voice held a lament. “She’s in love with him. As in love with him as I was with you at first.”

“Was?” His father’s brogue thickened playfully. “D’ye mean to tell me ye love me nae longer?”

A slight smile. “Hush. I love you even more.”

He kissed the russet curls at the back of her head, his mouth near her ear. “You fear he’s Turlock to the bone and will break her heart.”

“Yes . . . ours too.”

“He well may, though he told me in good faith that he’s leaving.”

“Leaving?”

“Aye. Selling River Hill. Going west to Missouri come autumn.”

“Does Ellie know?”

“She’s made no mention of it to me.”

“You don’t think—” She turned round to face him, her lovely face haunted. “You don’t think she’d go with him? Elope?”

“Nae. I ken Ellie doesn’t even realize she loves him—or he her.”

“Love her?” There was a breathless pause. “Oh, Silas, ’tis not love I fear but—”

“I ken your thoughts. You’re remembering your own misfortune at the hands of a rogue.” He took her in his arms again. “Try to set your mind at ease. Jack Turlock is more like his grandfather the judge than his own father. True, there were years past when he went awry, as many a lad does. But he has more mettle than his brother and none of Henry’s ruthlessness. You forget he was reared mostly at River Hill.”

“Yes, but . . .”

“Last night he was careful with Ellie, respectful of her. Not once did he ask her to dance. Surely that speaks to his self-restraint.”

Ansel marveled at the conclusions his father was drawing yet couldn’t refute them. He’d observed the same yet had seen Ellie and Jack alone in the garden together and remained unsure of what to make of it.

His mother was clearly at sea with the subject. “Still, I fear . . .” She seemed too awash in dismay to continue.

“I’ve sensed no
collieshangie
when I’ve talked with him. The man certainly knows the measure of hard work.” A slight smile softened his seriousness. “
Och
, if you could see him lay low a field of grain.”

She laid her head upon his shoulder. “If it was Andra, I’d not worry. Andra would be more than a match for any Turlock. But Ellie . . .”

“Ellie is your lamb.”

“And the jewel of your heart.”

“Aye, and since the day she was born we’ve asked heaven to guide and protect her. We have to trust the Almighty to do just that.”

She nodded. “And while we’ve prayed for Ellie her whole life, I’ve often neglected to pray for Jack or any of the Turlocks, all but Chloe. I suppose . . .” She hesitated as if grieved by the admission. “I suppose I’ve seen them as a lost cause.”

“They’ve oft been in my thoughts and prayers, especially the boys, ever since they were small and wrangling at the creek. Mayhap we need to renew our petitions with a vengeance.” His expression when he looked down at her was reassuring, if careworn. “For now our Ellie is safe in her bed and has lived to be one and twenty. ’Tis enough.”

“Perhaps. Yet I long for the day when she’s settled and we have grandchildren running about . . .”

Ansel moved away, knowing his mother’s wish was for more than Ellie. It seemed everyone was awaiting news of his own engagement and was now nursing dashed hopes he’d
not announced it at the ball. He’d read the expectation in Mina’s expression and seen it ebb as the night wore on. Not wanting to hurt her, resigned to the fact he needed to wed, he’d nearly stood during the midnight supper to formalize the engagement, but his resolve had vanished.

Regret now seemed to follow him down the hall to the music room. He opened the violin case resting on a corner table, wishing it was the lost Guarneri instead. There was no worry about disturbing anyone’s asleep, not with walls two feet thick. When the house was built, his father had replicated Blair Castle in Scotland and created a sound barrier that couldn’t be breached.

How many nights had he spent here after everyone was abed, confident he couldn’t be heard? Forgetting the time? It was his own fault he couldn’t concentrate at the boatyard or anywhere else with the hours he kept. Between running fugitives and seeking solace in his music, he led a strange double life.

“I’m sorry, Elinor. The hour was late, my temper was short.”

You should be apologizing to Jack Turlock.

The thought remained unspoken, though Ellie meant it with all her heart. She was seated beside Daniel on the garden bench in the shade of a giant willow, a bed of blue Michaelmas daisies at their feet, her thoughts far from forgiveness and making amends this morning.

A stone’s throw away was a sparkling fountain similar to River Hill’s, though New Hope’s masonry wasn’t chipped, nor the pool dry. Ellie was again reminded, unwillingly, of Jack. She’d thought of little else since the ball’s end. And now this . . .

In her lap lay two letters. From parents withdrawing their daughters from lessons on account of her Turlock connections.
They hadn’t penned as much, of course, just politely declined further schooling, but Ellie had read their reasons between each and every line. She felt numb. Shocked. Even though Jack had warned her weeks ago it might happen.

“You’re forgiven, Daniel,” she said absently. “Let’s not speak of it again.”

He nodded, plucking a daisy and handing it to her. She took it, uncovering the letters in her lap.

He glanced down at them. “Is that news from Andra?”

“No . . . friends.” The irony was bitter. She’d thought them friends. Fair-weather friends they’d proved to be. She didn’t want Daniel to know lest it affirm his low opinion of Jack.

“I’d meant to talk to you at the ball, tell you I have a few days more of helping my father at the farm before I begin at the glassworks. I was hoping we might have a look at that untilled acreage to the south.”

She fixed her gaze on the splashing fountain, reluctant to meet his eyes. “The land that borders New Hope?” She knew it well enough, lovely as it was. Mina had told her he meant to have a house there.

“It’s a good site, newly cleared with a creek running through. I’m trying to decide whether to build in stone or brick.”

She stayed silent lest she encourage him.

“Your father has recommended a good carpenter.”

Oh, Da.

“I thought you might look at the plans with me beforehand or ride over and see how the foundation is coming.”

She checked a sigh. Was he asking her to marry him or help build his house? Why was it that she was smitten with a man who didn’t want her, while the man who did went about it with hammer and nails, not kisses and compliments?

“I’ve spoken with your father.”

Who said you asked for my hand, not my heart.

She looked at him, saw the blighted hope in his eyes, and willed herself to respond. He
did
care for her. Just not in the way she’d imagined. “I’m honored, Daniel.”

“I’ve never been good at expressing my feelings, but by now my intentions should be plain.” He reached for her hand. “We’ve grown up knowing each other, Elinor. There’s always been a sort of unspoken agreement about the future between us. It’s no secret I want to have a life with you . . . marry you. With your father’s approval. But he’s not yet given his blessing. I suppose he’s waiting for me to prove myself further, become more established at the glassworks.”

Inwardly she wilted. Somehow he’d missed the root of her father’s reluctance. Da wasn’t concerned about business prospects or patents. He merely wanted to know Daniel loved her.

“There’s plenty of time yet, isn’t there?” she asked softly. “I’ve only just come home . . .”

His fingers tightened about her own. “Yes, you’ve just come home. And everyone is now aware of that fact. I watched no less than a dozen men vying for your attentions at the ball, all of whom would leap at the chance to wed you if you’d simply look their way.” The jut of his jaw underscored his determination. “Do you honestly think I’m going to stand by and let someone else cut in front of me?”

He meant Jack, of course. The vehemence in his tone left little doubt.

“You flatter me. I-I don’t remember being the center of so much attention.”

“Then you’re blind, Elinor. Or naive.”

“I wonder just
who
all the men you speak of want to wed?” She felt the same needling exasperation she’d felt when being pursued by the Matrimonial Society, her dowry on display. “Me? Or my fortune?”

“You needn’t worry overlong about that.” He gave a
knowing chuckle. “Some might be smitten with such matters at first. But you have your own charms aplenty.”

She could feel his eyes on her, tracing her features before falling to the loose lines of her gown. Her gaze remained locked on her lap, on the disturbing letters, awkwardness gaining the upper hand. “I need time to ponder it all . . . to consider things prayerfully.”

Paying no heed to her words, he pulled her toward him in a firm embrace, kissing her full on the mouth.

“Daniel, I—please—” Stunned, she gave a push to his shirtfront, revealing her distaste.

“There she is!” The strident voice, oddly unfamiliar after so long an absence, held a trill of excitement. For once Ellie thrilled to the sound of Andra. “Elinor, come and meet your aunt Elspeth!”

Clearly irritated at the interruption, Daniel stood abruptly and she followed, stepping from the shade into bright sunlight. Andra was coming toward them, a voluptuous figure trailing behind. The stranger looked to the right and left as if taking in every inch of the lovely garden.

Surprise stole Ellie’s tongue. Her lack of a bonnet left her squinting in the light when she so wanted an unhindered look at her unknown aunt. She tried to speak, but the memory of her father’s terse words chased the slightest syllable away. What had he said?

Elspeth . . . I have no words for it.

“Is no one home?” Andra’s tone held a hint of exasperation. “I suppose Mama is at the orphan home and Peyton and Ansel are in town. I spoke with Da briefly at the boatyard before coming here.”

“Oh?” Ellie mulled what might have been said about Elspeth’s arrival. She embraced Andra, unsure if she should hug Elspeth as well.