Emily's Vow (12 page)

"I'll thank you to not spread unfounded rumors." Emily's face warmed. "My father invited him to stay with us."

"Mayhap he be in on it, too, then." Jasmine chuckled.

The crash of porcelain followed by Tommy's scream sent them whirling toward the fireplace. The child's mouth was wide open as he cried out his pain.

"No!" Emily started across the room, heart in her throat. How badly was he burned? She searched her memory for scraps of Samantha's conversations related to treating burns.

Jasmine reached the small boy first, his hand red from gripping the bean pot's handle. The little potato lay amid the broken pot and its steaming contents.

Mary grabbed the bucket of cold water from the table as she raced to Jasmine, who now held Tommy in her arms. Plopping his hand in the water, Mary murmured to the boy as she wiped the tracks of tears from his pudgy cheeks. Her low voice and the soothing water calmed his frantic wails. Fortunately, he was not badly burned. He'd have a sore hand for a time, but nothing more.

Surely her premonition heralded Tommy's accident and now she could relax. She let out a long breath, rolling her shoulders to ease their tension. Waited for her instincts to calm.

Unfortunately, the sense of dread remained.

Chapter 5

Later that evening Emily reluctantly accepted Frank's arm on the walk to the McAlesters' for dinner. Her father had urged them to go ahead, and he would join them after he took care of a business matter. Now her only choice meant walking with the one person she did not want to be alone with.

"You look lovely, as always." Frank performed a half bow. His free hand lay briefly on top of her fingers where they curled around his elbow.

She strolled beside him, not bothering to acknowledge the compliment. Or the wayward caress of his hand. He represented everything she needed to avoid in order to pursue her true desires. Encouraging his attentions did not factor into her plans.

What she truly wanted in life remained out of reach for her due to social propriety.

Mentally she counted her heart's desires refused her. She shouldn't open a shop. She shouldn't write for the broadside. She shouldn't be a spinster. She shouldn't dislike children. But hadn't the birthing of children been the cause of losing both her mother and sister? Although she'd tried to speak with her father, his business activities consumed his time, leaving her bereft of a moment when she could approach him with her intentions. Her thoughts swirled like cream whirlpools in her morning coffee while Frank chatted on, filling the silence.

Minutes later she roused from her musings as they mounted the steps to the McAlesters' brick home. She loved the adorable quaint cottage nestled among its array of plants and trees Mrs. McAlester chose for their medicinal uses. However, Samantha's reputation far surpassed her mother's as a healer. Indeed, Samantha knew more about delivering babies and healing illness or bandaging wounds than either of the two Dr. Cunninghams, young or old. Emily tried to smile when Samantha opened the door, but apparently failed.

"Are you alright? I'm so glad you made it safely, what with Frank's requisite escort." Samantha ushered them briskly inside and gathered their cloaks as they removed them. "Mother and Father are in the sitting room."

"Have they been away?" Emily followed Samantha down the hall and into the sitting room. "I've not seen them around town."

"Mother and I have spent some time over the last few days tending folks in the Neck." Samantha paused in the door. "The slaves out that way had a time lately with the change of the seasons and the cold snap that gave them the grip something bad."

"Samantha, darling, surely this is not appropriate before-dinner conversation." Cynthia McAlester regarded them from her place beside the fire. "Come in, all of you. Would you like some sherry? Aaron, darling, pour our guests a drink, will you?"

Mr. McAlester, dressed like the distinguished gentleman he was, tilted his head in acknowledgment of the request. He crossed from where he sipped his brandy by the mantel to the decanters arrayed on a sideboard.

"Emily, dear," Mrs. McAlester continued, "where is your father?"

Accepting the crystal glass of amber wine from Mr. McAlester, Emily sat down in the chair across from Samantha's mother. "He had business that could not wait until morning. He will be along shortly."

"Such a serious businessman." Mrs. McAlester shook her head on a sigh. "It's a shame he pays more attention to business than family."

"He's a loving father." The woman's tone raised her ire. Good manners prevented her from saying more regarding the implication of the woman's statement.

Frank stood beside Emily's chair, swirling his brandy gently in the glass he held in long fingers. His presence so close to her, his sleeve brushing hers with each movement of the glass, increased the tension within as though he tuned a violin. Her nerves hummed with awareness. The tang of the brandy combined with his manly scent. She searched for an excuse to put distance between them without making the movement obvious.

"His poor wife thought so, may she rest in peace," Mrs. McAlester said. "Or she wouldn't have given him six children, now would she?"

"Six?" Emily shifted away from the masculine heat invading her senses to clear her head. "You must be mistaken."

"Four boys and twin girls makes six," Mrs. McAlester replied. "Oh, that's right, my dear. You wouldn't remember the fourth boy. The poor thing died as an infant."

"I didn't know." She had another brother? Frank's fingers lightly gripped her elbow, silently offering her support, even as his touch combined with the revelation spun her senses.

"Many children die as infants." Frank lightly shrugged. "It happens, and life goes on."

"I suppose." Emily stood to shake the feeling of unreality surrounding her. So cavalierly stated, the loss of a life. She faced Samantha's mother even as she longed to leave. Fleeing solved nothing. "It is difficult to prevent illness and accidents."

Mrs. McAlester tossed her head and examined Emily. The mantel clock ticked four times before she spoke. "One would think his death would dissuade her from having more children."

"What do you mean?" Emily gripped her glass, finally relaxing her fingers so it wouldn't shatter.

"My dear, she hazarded having you and Elizabeth within a year of the little infant's burial."

Emily glanced at Frank, and he frowned at something he saw in her face. Taking several swift strides, he stood in front of her, searching her eyes. "I believe we should change the topic before my lady faints."

"I'll not faint," Emily declared in a whisper. She cleared her throat and struggled to clear her head from the cotton that seemed to be filling it. "This is all so surprising, 'tis all. But I'm fine. Honest."

"Are you sure you'll not collapse on me?" Frank took hold of one arm.

He'd like that, to rescue her, but she did not need his support. "Yes, so please release me." She indicated his hand cupping her elbow.
Please, stop touching me.

His grip sent currents of desire through her, igniting her senses and making her heart thump within her chest. Reminding her of the heat of his lips upon her hand for one chaste yet sensuous kiss years before. Some secret, hidden part of her longed to experience the seductive heat again, but she squashed the desire. She must convince him to leave her alone. Her battered emotions needed respite.

Samantha chuckled, drawing her attention. "Speaking of dangers, I see you've managed to defend your right to escape the house despite your father being worried for your safety."

Did her friend have to raise that issue? She wondered how her father felt about failing to safeguard her lost brother. Is that another reason why he stayed adamant about her behavior? She pursed her lips briefly before forcing them into a smile. "He can be a tad overly protective, but I suppose he feels 'tis within his rights as my father to protect me, though I do wish he'd not be so demanding."

"Aye, he must see to your well-being, darling." Frank shifted his weight, closing the gap between them. "Unless I'm about, that is."

"I heard you're staying with the Sullivans." Mr. McAlester' silver hair, pulled into a queue with a black bow at the end, framed his narrow face which featured sharp green-gray eyes seeming to absorb everything. "Something about your brother's house confiscated by the British?"

"They've commandeered it as an office and quarters for Colonel Balfour and his aide." Frank's mouth tightened into a flat line as he spoke.

"More's the pity." Mr. McAlester shook his head in sympathy. "You'll likely never get it back from what I've seen and heard. In fact, I hear the good colonel wishes to strip Charles Town of as much of its wealth as possible before the British troops and loyalists embark the waiting ships."

Frank's heat increased beside her, though his mouth relaxed into a pleasant expression. She shook herself, forcing her eyes to look somewhere other than his lips. The air hummed with tension. His eyes glittered as he nodded once. "Surely Balfour's intention will not be realized. I will recover my family's property. One way or the other."

"The soldiers tend to be ruthless about any patriot's property, and your parents were devoted to our country's cause." Mr. McAlester dragged one hand down the length of his gray beard. "The British invade patriot homes whenever they like, whether civilians live in the house or not. Barge in and take whatever they want and destroy what's left."

A loud
bang
sounded from the front of the house, halting the conversation.

Emily darted a look at Frank and gasped. His hand already held a pistol aimed at the door. Samantha straightened to her full height and waited with hands resting at her side, eyes serious. The entire group assumed the still positions of a tableau, silent and watchful. Footfalls sounded in the hallway. Mr. McAlester started for the door while Mrs. McAlester held her hands clasped tightly in her lap.

Mr. McAlester's words echoed in Emily's mind. Her pulse throbbed in her ears. Soldiers? She pictured the threatening hulk of the soldiers in the street and tensed even more as the sound of footsteps drew nearer.

"Hello! Where is everyone?" A deep voice rumbled in the hall.

Emily relaxed, recognizing the voice. "Father has arrived, I believe."

Moments later her father breezed into the room. Dressed in his finest attire adorned with gold buttons, he cut a striking figure.

"Captain, glad you could make it." Mr. McAlester met him at the parlor door, shaking her father's hand. "Business finished for the day? May I pour you a brandy?"

Her father glanced at Mr. McAlester before bobbing his head once. "A whisky, if you please."

Frank relaxed at her side as he slid the weapon back into the secret pocket from whence it had appeared. The speed of his reflexes both surprised and impressed her as much as the extent of the changes he'd undergone while away.

"Here, Captain, there's room here on the sofa." A brilliant smile lit Mrs. McAlester's eyes.

Samantha gazed at her mother, blinking several times. Surely Samantha had also noted the distinct change in the woman's voice. What did that signify?

"Interesting, don't you think?" Samantha whispered, leaning closer to Emily.

"She is very happy to see him, isn't she?" Emily snuck a look at her father, startled to see him sitting on the chair she had vacated earlier. Curious that Mrs. McAlester wanted him to sit so close beside her. "I did not realize our parents had become such good friends."

Samantha eyed Emily. "Me, either."

"Shipping is doing a booming business now the British run scared, eh, Captain?" Mr. McAlester handed him a drink.

"It's easier with so many ships in the harbor." Her father sipped as he watched the other man and then swallowed, his face friendly but guarded.

"Good news for your imports then," Mr. McAlester said. "You've built up a surprisingly successful enterprise despite the embargoes and sanctions."

"I do my part for the benefit of South Carolina."

Emily listened to the men's conversation with confusion. What were they talking about? The last time she checked the books at the shop, they suggested a comfortable living but nothing extraordinary. Indeed, fewer shipments had arrived in the past year, leaving them to rely more on the meager resources available in Charles Town. She must have made a sound of disbelief, for her father suddenly shifted his gaze to her.