Love in Three-Quarter Time (13 page)

CHAPTER 17

Robbie looked into the mirror one more time, adjusting his cuffs and smoothing the waves of his dark hair just so to offset the bright blue of his eyes. Constance had played this game for years. Had played it at the country dance with both him and Lorimer not long ago. Why shouldn't Robbie?

He splashed on an extra dose of his spicy cologne, although he'd worn it to dinner as well. And he'd chosen not to shave his evening shadow, recalling Gingersnap had enjoyed the rough scruff against her smooth cheek. Perhaps it would evoke memories of that night so long ago. He chuckled. As if the waltz would not serve that purpose of its own accord. Had he schemed for weeks, he could not have contrived a better plan to suit his course of action. All he must do was show up and follow his mother's bidding. The dance would work its magic, and Constance would be back under his spell.

Only long enough to remove Lorimer from the equation, he reminded himself. He would do this for Constance's own good. The girl did not know how to look out for her best interests. And yes, he would hate to disappoint her in the end, but better that than a lifetime tied to a penniless, reckless, itinerant preacher. Mrs. Cavendish would certainly thank Robbie, even if Constance herself would not.

“Robbie! Robbie! We're waiting for you.” Speaking of mothers, his beckoned from below.

He rushed along the curving stairway, tempted to take the short cut down the banister just as he had as a child. Robbie smiled. Plotting against the enticing Miss Cavendish had done wonders for his mood.

The family awaited him in the ballroom. Miss Cavendish stood looking out the arched window, fiddling with her curls in a manner that indicated nervousness rather than flirtation.

“There he is. Being as you were on time for dinner, I suppose we should have expected you would find a different occasion to be tardy.” The glimmer in Mother's eye belied her harsh tone.

Robbie kissed her soft, plump cheek. Turning to glance at Constance, he wondered if she recalled the feel of his kiss. He had never forgotten the wonder of hers.

The pink blush rising from the low collar of her muslin dress suggested she did remember the brush of his lips as well. Robbie flashed Constance his most charming grin.

She picked at the ribbons along her neckline. “No rush. Perhaps we should retire to the parlor and chat for a while. I fear my dinner has not yet settled.”

Nor would it ever if she kept fidgeting so. Robbie crossed to her and took her hand in his. He gallantly swooped to a bow before her and pressed his mouth against the delectable skin of her hand, being sure to nuzzle her with the scruff of his upper lip.

Constance jerked—or might one call it a tremor? But Robbie maintained his hold. He rose to his full height and gazed down at her. “Ah, but my dear, I fear I can wait no longer to hold you in my arms.”

Confusion swirled in her smoldering brown eyes. Robbie couldn't help enjoying this charade. Perhaps he enjoyed it too much.

“Robert Montgomery!” Mother scolded. “I should like for us to prove the waltz a respectable dance, and here you go making it scandalous already.”

“I apologize, Mother.” He turned and bowed to the woman as well, all the while maintaining his grip on Constance's hand.

“Oh Mother.” Molly crossed to the fortepiano. “He's not being scandalous. He's being chivalrous. I, for one, hope some handsome young man treats me so at my first ball.”

Mother glared at him. “I suppose he must be chivalrous.”

His mother still thought him the finest catch society had to offer and would not approve of an alliance with Constance. Although, considering the current disarray of his affairs, she had little reason to protest.

“Shall we?” He switched Constance's right hand to his own and stroked his left across the small of her back, watching for her reaction as he led her to the center of the floor.

Constance did not disappoint. A dreamy sort of haze crossed over her eyes before she caught herself and blinked it away.

“Whenever you're ready, Molly,” he said.

After their brief promenade, he turned toward Constance. He winked. She jolted and her eyes popped open wide. Definitely a shiver this time.

* * *

Constance could not fathom Robbie's behavior. For weeks he'd been rude and cold. Then friendly and curious after her apology. Only to turn seething and jealous later that evening.

Now this? The perfect courtier. A charmer extraordinaire. Even when he'd been her beau, she did not recall Robbie executing the role of gallant gentleman with such perfection, with such staggering allure.

Thank goodness her body's memory took over, yielding to his expert lead, for her brain seemed not to function in the least. As they wove their way in and out, and he threaded her under his arm, his gaze never left hers. A gaze lit with a fire she hadn't seen in five years.

At the point when they should switch partners within a foursome, Constance found herself still held tight in his grasp. She should have worn her gloves. Would she never learn? But her old ones needed to be laundered from her last trip to town, and she'd had to place the long silk opera version on special order.

Yes, perhaps she could distract herself with thoughts of fashion. Or jam. She did so adore jam, particularly peach. Or with her mantra—family, reputation, employment. Robbie Montgomery mattered little in the greater scheme of things.

And she might have convinced herself of that fact had he not swept her into his arms at that very moment for the
pirouettes
. He maintained the respectful twelve-inch distance, yet the kneading caress of his thumb against her arm caused her to both warm and tremble once again.

Lorimer. Yes, she would think of Lorimer. That wonderful, godly man full of life and a pure sort of passion—with Holy Spirit fire, not the heat of Robbie's touch. She turned her stare downward upon his cravat.

Unfortunately, Robbie would have none of it. “I've been meaning to apologize for my wretched behavior last week.”

Though she felt his stare boring into her, she held her focus. “Apology accepted.” There. That should suffice. Perhaps he would drop his conciliatory conversation.

“I fear you were correct.”

“About what? That you're a spoiled, heartless, arrogant fop?”

“Not so spoiled these days. But no. I fear I am jealous of Mr. Lorimer. I told myself there was no use going back to all that. I'm in no position to court anyone, leastwise reopen the old wounds between us. But you're right, Constance. You've changed.”

He swept her under his arm again and pulled her into the intimate hip-to-hip hold of the
sauteuse
, perhaps the most shocking segment of the dance.

She turned her glance up to the side, as mandated by the choreography. He caught it with his own gaze and held it as though within an embrace. “Now that we've cleared the air between us, now that we've forgiven one another, I thought we might start fresh.”

“I c-can't.” The words caught on their way out.

“Of course you can. It's simple. Watch.” He cleared his throat. “Hello, allow me to introduce myself. I am Robert James Montgomery of Albemarle County.”

“Constance…Cavendish,” she whispered.

“You see. Not so difficult.”

She shook her head and curls bounced in her eyes. Blowing them away with a puff, she gathered her thoughts. “No, please.”

“Why ever not?”

She could not risk her heart in his possession again, although she feared it was too late. She must speak the truth. “I'm afraid.”

He had swiveled her into a face-to-face embrace, gripping one another's arms again. But he let go with one hand for a brief moment to run his finger along her cheek. “Me too.” He took a deep breath. “But the good news is, neither of us is in any position to court. We shall be friends. Really and truly this time. And get to know one another all over again. Five years have passed. We're not the same people.”

She lifted a timid glance to him this time. Friends. Really and truly. Perhaps she could handle that. The music ended, but only for Dolly to replace Molly at the fortepiano. Constance stepped back for a moment, hoping the cool air between them might clear her thinking.

They started up again. “Friends. Of course.” Of course, she could never tell him no and mean it. To anything. Whom did she intend to fool? “That's all, Robbie. Agreed?”

“Absolutely,” he said.

“Robbie, tell me true. Had you ever danced the waltz before that night at my plantation?” He must have, for he led her with such expertise, almost as perfectly as he did tonight.

“Yes, in France.” His lopsided grin reached out to stroke her to even more devastating effect than his fingers moments earlier. Thank goodness they were not alone in a dim library this time.

Already, this “friendship” did not proceed well. She scanned her mind for any sort of emotional cold water with which to douse the combustible situation. Of course! “I do hope you won't try to interfere in my relationship with Lorimer any longer. I'm sure we can all manage to be friends.”

The expression that flashed over his face told her she had hit her mark.

* * *

Drat! Robbie hadn't anticipated that blow. Just when he thought he had reeled in the girl, she brings up Lorimer. He pressed his fingers deeper into her yielding back as he struggled to recoup.

He had no choice but to verbally concede, although he had every intention to dissuade her with his actions. Looking up to the ceiling, he said. “Of course, friends. All of us. The more the merrier on that count.”

She didn't answer, only danced in silence for a moment. When he dared to glance back down at her, he found neither the haunted expression nor the dreamy haze he had witnessed earlier. No, rather mischief glimmered in her eyes.

Constance grinned. “I'm so glad. I would hate to renew friction between us when we've so recently made amends. But I have every intention of spending time with the man. I'm learning so much from him. His life of faith fascinates me. Don't you find it fascinating, Robbie?”

“Ah, fascinating. Yes, of course.” Blast it all.

“Good. I would hate to think you might try to keep me from growing in my relationship with the Lord.” She batted her eyelashes—intentionally, if he guessed right.

“Ah, but don't discount my ability to distract you from him. I can be quite charismatic myself, you know.” Robbie threw an extra bit of force into his spin, pulling her toward him with the flow of rotation, and with any luck, inflicting an intoxicating dizziness.

She giggled and wrinkled her upturned nose. “Distract me? From the Lord or from Mr. Lorimer?”

He frowned. Somewhere along the way, he had lost the upper hand in this conversation. He tried the trick of rubbing her arm with the pad of his thumb again, which had worked so magically moments before.

“I await your answer with bated breath, good sir.” But the breathiness had abandoned her voice of a sudden.

“Far be it from me to stand between a young lady and her Savior. I speak only of Lorimer, of course. And only with your best interests and those of your dear mother at heart.”

“Of course. And as I've assured you, I have no plan of marrying, now or ever. To anyone.”

That statement should comfort him on many levels, yet it left him empty inside. He turned to watch his sister at the fortepiano in hopes that Constance would not catch the bereft expression on his face.

Would this wretched dance never end?

CHAPTER 18

He managed to catch Dolly's eye, and she seemed to decipher the faint
finish up
swirl of his head. Skipping the final refrain and much of the
jetté
portion of the dance, the girl mercifully moved into the concluding strains of the song.

Robbie swept low into a bow once again. This time avoiding eye contact and watching the checkered marble floor beneath him, which could use a polish, he noted.

“Bravo! Bravo!” his parents shouted, interrupting any need for further speech.

Robbie led Constance to their chairs near the fireplace.

“I didn't find it scandalous at all. Did you, darling?” Mother posed the question to his stepfather.

“Not in the forms themselves.” He quirked an eyebrow. “Although I must say, it offered ample opportunity for, shall we say…conversation.”

Mother whisked away his implication with a brush of her hand. “I shall schedule the lessons at the Mayfairs' at once. I see no reason to delay further. Thank you, Robbie. Miss Cavendish.”

“Mother.” Molly tugged at the woman's lacy sleeve. “Might we play cards now? I've set up the game in the parlor.”

“Oh, yes, please, Mama.” Dolly approached the group.

“Cards? Is that all you girls think of? I've brought you the finest dance master west of New York City, and you speak of cards. Will cards win you a beau? I think not. But dancing with the finesse, and dare I say vulnerability, which Miss Cavendish has demonstrated, most certainly shall.”

Vulnerability indeed, until something in her demeanor shifted without warning.

“Yes, Mama.” Dolly turned her eyes toward her toes.

“Of course,” Molly agreed, although her gaze traveled to the parlor.

Robbie smiled. Poor girls. Dancing day in and day out when they held not a bit of natural proclivity toward the skill. “Mother, they've done little else but dance in weeks. I say playing cards sounds fun.”

“Yes, I'm feeling rather competitive tonight.” Mr. Beaumont rubbed his hands together. “Come, girls.”

“Oh, all right. I concede,” said Mother.

Constance still stood at Robbie's side, and he angled her toward the parlor.

“Go ahead, Miss Cavendish. I'd like a word with my son.” Mother lifted her chin and snapped her closed fan against her palm.

Oh no. He was in trouble.

Mother waited until the others cleared the room before speaking. “Robert James Montgomery, you know I adore Miss Cavendish, and I'm so glad to have found her.

Therefore, I hope I shan't be called upon to clarify that she is no fitting prospect for you.”

Robbie chuckled. “At this point in my not-so-illustrious career, I would say a milkmaid is a fitting prospect for me.”

“That might all be well and true at the moment. But this is Charlottesville, not Richmond. We can't afford to hold grudges out here. The women will be lining up for you again soon enough once the plantation is running securely.”

“You needn't worry, Mother. I have no intentions toward Constance.”

Mother sighed. “I'm glad to hear you haven't set your heart upon her.”

“Not at all.” He hadn't. Truly. He must convince himself as well as Mother. “I'm simply glad we're no longer at odds.”

“At odds? I hadn't realized. Why didn't you speak up? Have I made an error in judgment?” Her hands fluttered about her.

He should not have spoken that aloud. “Not at all. That is why I held my peace about our past acquaintance. It's merely that…well, we were much more than acquaintances, and our parting was rather untidy. All my fault, of course. I've been trying to make it up to her since she arrived.”

“Hmm…I maintain that your behavior tonight did not match that of a man pursuing friendship.”

“Well.” He pulled his mother farther from the parlor and lowered his voice, checking to make certain no one listened. “May I confide in you, Mother?

“You know you can, darling.”

He gripped her arms, knowing how drama impressed her. “It seems Lorimer might have caught Miss Cavendish's fancy. And I'm concerned for her. I feel responsible. I owe it to her mother to put a stop to this if I can. The poor woman has been through far too much already.”

“Good gracious!” Mother stepped back and flurried her fan. “No, Lorimer would not suit at all. I thought her interested in his theology, which, of course, would do her no harm. Unless…she gave up cards. The girls would not be pleased.” Snapping the fan shut, she cut off her own rambling. “But Lorimer himself? I agree, for the sake of her mother, we must protect the girl while she's here. If a bit of charm is what it takes, you have my support—although it does seem a bit extreme.”

“Lorimer has indicated that he will not back down for any other reason.”

Mother nodded, focusing out the window as if the man might ride in at any moment. “I see. Then charm away, my boy, for you do it so well.”

Splendid. Robbie could use an ally. He would keep Constance away from Lorimer, and perhaps with Mother's help, even manage to keep his heart from being devastated in the process.

* * *

Constance arranged the cards in her hand, debating her strategy and changing the position of the red ace of diamonds. Yes, strategy was of the utmost importance—especially in this game she played with Robbie.

So he thought to entice her away from Lorimer. Was the man so desperate to keep her from the preacher that he would stoop to such levels? But he had unmasked his charade as they danced, with the twitch of his lip and turning away his gaze. She had heard the tightness in his voice and then the false buoyancy as he spoke of Lorimer. Not to mention the way he deftly dodged any actual declaration of affection and steered toward only friendship. If he'd wanted to win her for himself, he would have stated as much. Robbie never had been one to mince words.

When her turn arrived, she traded in her chosen card for a new one without a sound. She veiled her expression before looking at it. Perfect, the fates were in her favor tonight. “Oh dear.” She pouted at her cards to mislead her opponents. Then Constance took a moment to observe the features of those around her. One could tell much from examining a face.

Thank goodness, because for a moment she had feared Robbie might be falling in love with her again. And she would be defenseless against such an attack. But this, a game of twists and turns, she could handle. Oh yes, two could play at this.

She fancied herself a double agent at some sort of espionage. Robbie would feign interest in her to keep her from Lorimer. And she would feign extra interest in Lorimer for the sheer fun of watching Robbie squirm as a worm on a hook, all the while never revealing that she had unraveled his ploy. Where would be the pleasure in that?

She switched out cards again, keeping her playing face void of telltale emotion.

But she could not misuse the good Mr. Lorimer. Never would she do such a thing.

Rather, she would draw him into the fun as well.

She focused as the round continued. Upon her turn, she picked up another card. Fortune smiled on Constance Cavendish for once. With a flourish, she fanned her winning hand upon the table for all to see, defeating the others with one neat motion.

* * *

Patience glanced into the parlor and dining room to make sure Mr. Franklin wasn't about. As much as she enjoyed his company, she did not wish him to be present when she shared the content of Constance's letter, which had arrived that day. Her sister had sent this one directly to the mercantile to make sure Patience saw it first.

No Mr. Franklin met her, only the wondrous, rich scent of Grammy's shepherd's pie. She followed it into the kitchen where she found Mother and Felicity stitching at the table as they kept Grammy company. Constance's absence had encouraged Grammy to get off her chair. Hopefully, Constance would continue working full-time, keeping Grammy spry on her feet.

In light of Constance's letter, that would be the most probable scenario, although she wasn't sure they would take the news well. Patience must use every ounce of diplomatic skill she possessed, which as the middle sister was quite extensive. And she dared not imagine Mr. Franklin's response. He was about to lose not only Constance but now the entire family as well.

Still Patience would never consider passing up this opportunity, the chance for a fresh start. They could outrun their past once and for all.

“Ladies, I received a letter from Constance today.” Patience held it up.

“But I checked the post thrice. How did you get it first?” Felicity pouted over her delicate embroidery of roses and lilies.

“This one came to me, dearest.”

“Now then, out wi' it.” Grammy wiped her hands on a tea towel. “What does it say?”

“She has a proposition for us.”

“What do you mean, Patience?” Mother set her stitching on the table. She blinked her eyes as she attempted to direct her gaze at Patience. Before long the woman would need spectacles if she kept up all this infernal sewing. But if Constance's plan worked, everything would change.

“You recall she mentioned that the Beaumonts treat her like family,” Patience said.

“Aye, that is so good of them. I shall have to send Mrs. Beaumont a letter of my sincerest thanks.” Mother rubbed her hands, no doubt stiff and aching once again from her needlework.

“It seems that Constance is to introduce the waltz to the entire area.”

“The waltz.” Felicity's eyes sparkled. “Why I hear it's all the rage in London but still considered to be quite scandalous here.” Despite her shy nature, Felicity danced nearly as well as Constance. All of the sisters were accomplished at a variety of feminine arts, although each held her own specialty. How perfect they would be, in truth, to run a school for young ladies.

“Mrs. Beaumont intends to change that,” Patience said. “And Constance has now been called upon to teach cotillion lessons in Charlottesville in addition to training the twins. It seems she's made friends with several members of Albemarle society already. And she's been accepted without reservation.”

Mother clasped her hands under her chin as if in prayer. “It's just as we dreamed,” she whispered. “Think of the references she shall have when she returns.”

Patience knelt before Mother and took her clasped hands in her own. “Yes, but, Mother, think how much better it would be if we all moved to Charlottesville to enjoy such friends and society. It's been so long. Too long. Don't you miss it?”

Tears gathered in Mother's eyes. “I do, but…”

“Leave Richmond!” Felicity squeaked. “I've only begun to feel at home.”

Patience turned to her. “That's because we've not been welcomed here. Let's go to a new place where you can court and teach and giggle with girls your own age.”

Felicity sniffed, but then turned her eyes upward as if to consider.

Patience pressed on. “And I haven't even mentioned the best part.” The portion she'd saved to battle any protests. “They have no school for fine young ladies in the area. And the countryside is full of rich plantation owners. It's the ideal opportunity.”

Grammy huffed. “I am too old to trek to the frontier.”

Patience sighed.

“But,” Grammy continued, “Patience is right. We need a fresh start. Thou girls deserve to be treated like ladies, to find husbands and make families. Thou can't all marry Mr. Franklin.”

“Grammy!” Patience and Felicity shouted at once.

“I don't know.” Mother troubled the fabric of her apron. “It's so far from home.”

“Mother.” Patience patted her knee. “Prince George is not our home anymore. Home is where one is loved and accepted. We can make a new home together.”

“Perhaps.” Mother looked into Patience's eyes, as if seeking strength to face this new challenge.

“We needn't decide right away. Constance suggested she find a home there after her duties at White Willow Hall are finished, and that we might join her in the fall.”

“I suppose I could adjust to the idea by fall.” Felicity still gazed at somewhere far away. Then she sniffled once again. “But I shall miss Mr. Franklin.”

“Oh dear,” Mother said. “The poor man will be heartbroken.”

“No one has more respect and affection for Mr. Franklin than I do.” Patience stood. “But we can't afford to pass on this opportunity if matters proceed as Constance hopes.”

The Cavendish women sat silently. Patience slipped from the room. She would leave them to their thoughts. At least they hadn't rejected the idea outright. Next to deal with Mr. Franklin. Maybe she shouldn't tell him straight away. Perhaps she would wait until they were certain.