Elizabeth Meyette (36 page)

“No child of mine is going to be a simpering idiot! There is more to life for Em than embroidery and coquetry,” he insisted. “She will receive an education as fine as her brother Andrew’s!”

Emily smiled to herself. Father usually got his way, if not with his charm, then with his temper. But her mother, Jessica, had agreed that Emily should be well educated, as she had been herself. Many evenings at supper her parents had drawn her into conversations and asked her to share her opinions. Consequently, at social affairs when the women gathered together, she was bored with their prattle and gossip, sometimes catching her mother’s amused glance as they smiled in camaraderie.

“You must not think you are better than others just because you have had the benefit of an education,” Jessica would admonish when Emily mocked those “prissy know-nothings.” Jessica was always pleasant to the other ladies even though, as Emily suspected, she was often bored, too.

Emily missed the late evening chats they shared after such events. Jessica had died of consumption two years earlier. The family was just recovering from the shock of her death.

“And now they are both gone,” Emily whispered.

Jessica’s death had brought Emily and her father even closer. Although she was only seventeen, he began to leave much of the running of the house to her, trusting her judgment. Yet, she was still his little girl.

She reached for the open letter on the desk. Her father’s solicitor had given it to her after the reading of the will. She knew the words by heart, but she looked at them again as if willing them to change:

My Dearest Emily,

Your reading this means that I am either dead or lost at sea. This must be a difficult time for you and Andrew. Draw on your faith in God and your love for one another to see you through. You have a quiet strength, Em. You helped me through my grief and sorrow at your mother’s passing. You are so much like her, not only in looks, but also in courage, gentleness and honesty. Now you must help Andrew. You must be strong for him.

Please know how much I love you both. That is why I have taken measures to see that you and Andrew are properly cared for. I have appointed my dear friend, Captain Jonathon Brentwood of Virginia, as your guardian. He is a good man, Em, and a trusted friend. He saved my life once, and that is why I am entrusting him with the dearest treasures in my life. You and Andrew have brought me more joy than you will ever know. I love you both and will be watching you from the caring arms of our God in heaven.

Your loving father

“Come and eat, darlin’.” Etta Mason had come into the room. “You cannot spend all your days hidin’ in here and missin’ your father,” she said gently. The housekeeper put her arm around Emily’s shoulders and led her out of the study.

“Oh, Etta, I miss him so,” Emily whispered through the lump in her throat, fighting back the tears.

“I know, darlin’,” she replied.

Andrew was already at the table. He stood up when Emily entered and held her chair.

“How are you, Em?” he asked. He loved their father very much, but he was aware of the special bond his father and Emily had shared. He wished he could help her.

“Oh, Drew, when is that colonial captain supposed to arrive?” she cried, anger claiming the upper hand now.

“Now, Em, Father would not appoint an ogre to be our guardian. I am sure Captain Brentwood will be a kind man.”

Emily looked at her younger brother. He was probably right. At fifteen, Andrew had more common sense than many of the older suitors who had been calling on her.

“You are right. It is just that everything is so different for us now. With no one left in either Father’s or Mother’s families, we have no choice but to go with this colonial to Virginia. We may have to accept his guardianship, but I do not have to like it!” Her blue-violet eyes sparked with defiance, and her soft full lips set in a firm line.

Andrew smiled to himself. At least thinking about “that colonial captain” had distracted Emily from her somber, brooding mood that had become so common of late. He loved to see her spirit revive. No one liked to tangle with Emily; she had a quick temper and a sharp tongue. Yet she was fair and had a strong sense of justice.

“Well, his letter said he would arrive as soon as his business was settled in France. He thought with fair weather and a good wind he should arrive by the end of this month. I would say another week or two,” Andrew answered, watching her eyes and guessing how quickly her mind was working. “Please, Emily, give him a chance. He was Father’s friend remember.”

“You are right, Drew. I shall try,” she smiled fondly at her brother.

• • •

Emily viewed her reflection in the mirror. Thick dark lashes made a startling contrast to clear, blue-violet eyes. She wrinkled her delicate nose.

“I am too short,” she thought. “And my hair … I must wear it up.”

She pushed her long, thick, tawny-colored hair up from the nape of her neck. Golden highlights danced off it in the evening sun that streamed through the window.

A plan had formed in Emily’s mind as the weeks had passed, bringing the inevitable meeting with Captain Brentwood closer. She needed no guardian — why she was seventeen years old. Andrew and she could continue to live here in London. Surely their inheritance would be an adequate income on which they could live comfortably. It was silly to even appoint a guardian for them.

Her heart lifted as she thought of her foolproof plan. That was why she must appear a mature and self-assured woman. But she wrinkled her nose once again at her reflection.

“Bah! I look like a child, and Captain Brentwood will be here any moment.” She rang for Mary, her maid. She looked at her reflection pleased with the effect of her hair pulled up and back, making her feel more confident.

Mary scuttled into the room wringing her hands. She had already spent hours assisting her mistress with numerous anxious, and often reassessed, preparations for this meeting.

“Quickly, Mary, dress my hair high, and … well, sophisticated. I need to look mature … older. Oh, you know what I mean.”

Mary hesitated. Etta was only the housekeeper, but she clucked over Emily and Andrew like a mother hen. If she did not approve, Mary would really get a dressing down. As gentle as Etta could be with the children, she could be equally stern with the servants.

“Come on, quickly, Mary,” Emily insisted. It was time to start asserting her authority and look the part of woman of the house.

Mary did not want to tangle with Emily’s temper either, so she quickly picked up the brushes and began to dress the girl’s hair.

Emily surveyed the results. Her black, high-necked dress set off her creamy white skin. With her hair piled high on her head, she appeared taller, more dignified. She was sure her plan would work, and in spite of her sadness, her spirits lifted. There was a knock on the door.

“Come in,” she called.

Andrew entered. “He should be here … Oh, Em, you look so different …” Andrew stared at his sister. The transformation was remarkable.

“Do I look older, Drew? Do you think our plan will work?” Her eyes sparkled for the first time in weeks.

“I hope so, Emily. But please do not set your hopes too high. What do you think Captain Brentwood will be like?” Andrew asked.

“Well, he was Father’s friend, so perhaps he will be a bit like Father. Perhaps not as robust, perhaps a bit older … I do not know. I just hope he agrees to our plan. I do not see why he would not. He probably does not want to be burdened with us any more than we want to be uprooted and moved to those savage colonies.” Emily was not to be dissuaded; her plan would work. “We could continue to live here … what does it matter to him where we are? I have to convince him that I am capable of running this household and Father’s estate.”

• • •

Captain Jonathon Brentwood stared out the window of his coach. Lamplighters were making their way along, igniting the lamps that lined the streets of London. The
clop, clop, clop
of the horse’s hooves beat a rhythm against the night as he pondered his new role as guardian of his dear friend’s children. It was not a role he relished. And his dealings in Europe were becoming more tenuous as friction mounted between the colonies and England. Most of his time would be spent in the colonies now as trade and prosperity were growing there. And as the rebellion grew, he had other duties to attend.

The timing of this guardianship could not have been worse. But George Wentworth had been a mentor and had become one of his closest friends. Jonathon would honor the promise he had made to him. His experience with children had been limited, and when he was exposed to them, he was bewildered by their endless energy and their proclivity to mischief. He hoped George’s children were not quite as lively and imaginative as some he had spent time with. George had told him many stories of Little Em and Andrew. From his stories they sounded well-behaved and mannerly. They certainly would tie him down more than he had been used to in his 28 years of bachelorhood. He had written his sister Joanna explaining the situation. Surely she would help him watch over the children so he could continue sailing. She and her husband lived in Brentwood Manor, the family home. David was a good manager, and the plantation was thriving under him. Jonathon would soon have to take over, but he wanted to sail for a few more years. Well, he would get this situation settled soon, and then he could set sail again.

The coach came to a stop in front of the handsome London townhouse. As he stepped down from the coach, Jonathon noticed an upstairs curtain fall back in place. He took a deep breath, straightened his cravat, and went up to the door.

• • •

“He is here, Andrew. You go down first. I shall be right there, but let me talk to him alone. I am so nervous; I have eaten nothing all day!” She ran to the mirror as Andrew closed the door. “Oh, dear God, please let this work,” she whispered. She lifted her chin peering sideways out of her eyes. Raising one eyebrow, she nodded her head regally. She had been practicing all week. “It must work!”

As she descended the curving staircase she saw a tall figure with broad shoulders and dark hair studying the portrait of Jessica, Emily’s mother. Jonathon Brentwood turned and looked up at a younger version of the portrait he had just viewed. Surprise flickered across his face, quickly replaced by a lazy, engaging smile.

“So you are Little Em,” he drawled. Not quite, he thought to himself. He gazed at the beautiful tawny-haired girl whose blue-violet eyes threatened to drown him.

Emily was stunned. This was her father’s friend? Soft brown eyes gazed at her with amusement. They were set in a bronzed, handsome face. He was dressed in a blue longcoat and cream-colored breeches that enhanced his tall, lean figure. His broad shoulders and brown curly hair tied back at the nape of his neck completed the picture of a strikingly attractive man. Emily’s cheeks felt flushed under his close scrutiny, and a strange tingle ran through her body. She reached the bottom of the stairs and looked up into his warm, brown eyes again as she extended her hand.

“Captain Brentwood? I am pleased to meet you.” Emily was annoyed at the tremble in her voice. He bent and kissed her hand, his lips brushing softly against her skin. Their eyes met as he straightened. Emily tried to steady herself, unable to make her heart stop beating so hard. She was sure he could hear it. She reminded herself of her plan, and quickly regained her composure, straightening to her full height.

“You must be exhausted after your long, hurried voyage. May I offer you some tea,” she paused noting his suppressed smile, “or some brandy?” she added.

“Brandy would be fine. Thank you … uh … Miss Wentworth,” he replied still fighting back the smile.

Emily led him into the parlor and rang for the maid; Etta appeared. Emily knew this would be difficult for Etta still thought of her as a child.

“Two brandies please, Etta.” She raised her chin as she had practiced before the mirror. Etta started to protest, but something in Emily’s eyes stopped her, and she hurried off to get the drinks.

“Please sit down, Captain Brentwood,” Emily said coolly as she sat on the end of the settee. To her confusion, Jonathon sat beside her rather than in the chair she had indicated. A crooked smile played around his lips as though he attempted to hide a joke. He thought of the “Little Em” of George’s stories and chuckled to himself. Nothing had prepared him for this beautiful girl who was trying so hard to be a woman.

“We have much to discuss, Miss Wentworth,” he said as Etta returned with a tray carrying the decanter and two crystal glasses.

“Indeed we have, Captain,” she replied.

Etta set the tray on the table in front of Emily. The housekeeper poured brandy into the glasses, and Emily was grateful for she had no idea what an appropriate amount would have been. She thought Etta rather stingy based on what was in each glass, but she took them and handed one glass to Jonathon.

“Thank you, Etta; that will be all.” She turned to Jonathon, dismissing the housekeeper.

“Hmmmph!” Etta grumbled as she left the room.

Jonathon silently saluted Emily and then took a drink from his glass. Emily sipped hers and tried to choke down the spasms of coughing that threatened to overcome her. She had sampled wine before at social gatherings, but had never tasted brandy. Heat spread down her throat and she blinked the tears out of her eyes causing her to miss the fleeting smile that crossed Jonathon’s face. It was a few minutes before she caught her breath enough to speak.

“Captain Brentwood, I loved my father very much and always obeyed him as he had my welfare as his concern above all else. However, with all due respect, sir, I think in this last instance he erred.”

Jonathon raised an eyebrow encouraging her to continue.

“I realize you were his dearest friend, and I appreciate your generosity in this matter, but as you can see, sir, I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself and Andrew. I think Father often thought of us as much younger than we actually are and so made provisions that we obviously do not need. With the wealth Father accumulated on his voyages, Andrew and I can continue to live here quite comfortably. Eventually, I will marry, and Andrew will stay on in this house. So you see, Captain Brentwood, I appreciate your willingness to care for us, but it is unnecessary.”