Love in Three-Quarter Time (15 page)

CHAPTER 21

As the men chatted after dinner, Robbie excused himself.

He moved to the attached parlor, where he found the twins oohing and aahing over the camera obscura with the Randolph girls. Constance sat with the adult ladies in one of the many window niches, talking about the upcoming dance lessons.

As Robbie approached, his mother reached out a hand toward him. “Robbie, why don't you take Miss Cavendish for a tour? She's seen so little of Monticello.”

“Splendid idea, Mother. My thoughts precisely.”

“I…uh…” Constance glanced to and fro—for Lorimer, no doubt.

“You simply must tour the grounds. Robbie, show her the walkways and dependencies,” said Mrs. Beaumont.

“Oh, and Mulberry Road,” added Mrs. Randolph.

“Of course,” Constance conceded. “That sounds lovely.”

“You needn't bother the servants for your outdoor accoutrements,” he said, for he remembered well how Gingersnap hated them. “The evening is warm, and we won't go far.” Robbie offered his arm, and they exited the house together through the parlor door and into the twilight.

As they made their way across the yard, Robbie pointed out the cellar level walkway, concealed by shrubs. He led her up the steps to the terrace, and they strolled along the wooden planks overtop the walkway and then turned to the right.

“Now we're passing over the kitchen buildings of the South Dependency. And that's the Southern Pavilion just ahead.”

“How clever that is,” Constance said.

“Yes, President Jefferson designed it himself. The man is clever in the extreme, I dare say.”

“And look, it's all mirrored across the lawn.”

“The stables and ice house are contained in the North Dependency.”

He pointed out the fish pond and winding flower walk. They took a quick moment to peek at the open side of the kitchen buildings. On the other side of Mulberry Row lay slave quarters and small factories. Finally, Robbie directed her down the hill toward the vegetable gardens.

“This is where Jefferson does his horticulture experiments,” he said.

“It's all so beautiful.” Constance broke away to spin in a circle with her arms wide.

“Yes, the view is stunning.” But Robbie focused on the dancing female and not the deep valley beyond.

She drew in a breath, raising her hands high. “Gorgeous.”

Robbie couldn't agree more. “And now we're coming upon my favorite spot at Monticello.”

He led her to a small brick structure with windows on three sides and an arched opening to the fourth. The roof featured white lattice work. “This is the Garden Pavilion, designed for no other reason than to sit outdoors and gaze at the countryside.”

“Oh Robbie! It's incredible.” She ran inside and pressed her nose to the window like an excited child. Constance seemed to have forgotten her game from earlier that evening and to have simply lost herself in the wonder of the moment.

Robbie, however, had not. “Now that we're alone and able to chat, would you care to explain what that little performance was all about?”

“Performance?” She stared wistfully over the valley beneath them to the watercolor streaks of violet and pink painting the sky beyond.

“I confess, at first I thought myself a bumbling idiot. Thank you for being so obnoxiously obvious as to clear up the matter.”

She giggled and wrinkled her nose in that adorable manner of hers. “You did set yourself up rather nicely with that river of liquid fire nonsense.”

His stomach clenched. “That was not a joke.”

“Oh come now. You have no intention to woo me. You wished only to distract me from Lorimer. If you wanted to win my heart, you've had weeks to do so, Robert Montgomery. But not until Lorimer arrived did you drag yourself away from that muddy field to show me the slightest attention.”

Caught. Should he concede? Confess defeat? Robbie Montgomery did not quit so easily. And now Lorimer had made it personal by getting involved instead of stepping aside as he claimed he would. No, Robbie would not retreat. His pride was at stake. His dignity.

He turned her to him and cupped her cheek in his palm. The words welled from him without deliberation. “I think about you all of the time.” He twirled a silken curl about his finger. “And I have in truth dreamed of your hair flowing like a rippling river and my hands immersed in it. I've never overcome my feelings for you, Gingersnap. This has been as difficult for me as it has for you.” Leaning his forehead to hers, he drank in her gardenia scent.

She shook her head even as it rested against his. “You said you didn't want to start over. Didn't want to open those old wounds.”

“Some days. And then on others I'm not so certain.” Pulling back to better gaze at her, Robbie traced a finger along the slope of her nose, milky white in the twilight, through the ridge beneath it to press into the plump flesh of her lower lip. Like fruit ripe for the picking.

“Could you truly see a future for us, Robbie?” Her voice went soft and vulnerable. She looked up at him, her eyes pleading.

Of course he didn't see a future. This game had gotten out of hand, only he had ceased playing. Unable to think of a suitable response, he had only one recourse, the recourse every fiber of his being screamed to enact.

He pulled her slender, yielding form into his arms and gently pressed his mouth to her soft, pink, luscious lips. They tasted of berries and of love. One taste, two, then tilting his head to sample another angle, a third. A taste he remembered all too well.

Like that night so long ago, he lost his higher resolve. He lost all conscious thought entirely. Oh how he'd dreamed of this moment. For five years he'd longed to feel her petal soft skin against him, hungered for the wonder of her kiss.

His hands roamed of their own accord to her hair, pulling out the pins and letting it flow just as he'd dreamed…a river of liquid fire yet cool and silken to his touch. How he'd feared this moment might never come. Yet here she was, back in his arms where she'd always belonged. He stroked his hand down the length of her hair. Then he twined his fingers through it as their lips continued their frantic dance.”

A twig snapped to his left. On that night long ago he'd been so terrified her father might walk into the library.

No! Her father. The lies. The secrets. Dear God, what had he done? It was all his fault.

Robbie pushed her away, stumbling backward and drawing in ragged breaths. He collapsed onto a chair, burying his head in his hands.

She rushed to him and knelt beside him, placing a dainty hand on his back, burning him through layers of fabric. He jerked away.

“Robbie, what's wrong?”

“I can't. We can't. A mistake…there's too much to forgive.” He shook his head as tears filled his eyes and he rasped out the words. “Trust…we can never have trust.”

The next thing he knew, she stood. He lifted his head and felt a sharp sting as her slap slammed across his cheek.

“How dare you trifle with me? This game has gone on long enough, Robert Montgomery!”

“Game! You think this a game?” His hands lifted in surrender. “Well, I concede. Lorimer may have you, and may you not give him a moment's peace.” He stood and stormed back toward the house, straightening his cravat and hair as he went. The last thing he wanted now was to cause a scandal with Miss Cavendish. He could only hope his flushed face would not give him away. He stomped back across the garden, past the dependencies and the walkway.

Perhaps he should cool down for a moment on the lawn. He paced back and forth. As the soothing night air began to clear his thoughts, he realized he could not enter the house without her. They'd made spectacle enough of themselves already, and while Monticello should be safe, she had been sent out in his care. He ran back to the garden pavilion and found her stooped over, picking up pins with several hanging from her mouth.

She spit them into her palm to speak. “For the love of all that's holy, Robert Montgomery, did you have to strew them willy-nilly about the ground? I've had a deuce of a time finding them in the dusk.” She brushed at her eyes. “I can't go back like this.”

“I'm sorry. I'm sorry for everything. It's all my fault. I never should have started it. Any of it.”

“Never mind that now. Just help me before someone comes looking.” She sniffled and began winding her hair into a knot at the back of her head.

Robbie removed the pins from her hands. His trembled as he tucked the fasteners into her hair. Fortunately, other than the short strands in the front, she'd worn it in a simple twist, and he managed to recreate the shape reasonably. The curls about her face remained disheveled. He attempted to twirl them back into their neat little corkscrews. His mouth went dry and his heart wrenched in his chest.

This had all been a huge mistake. He would stay away from Constance heretofore. How had he not realized until this very night how entangled his heart remained with hers? He had deceived himself all these years, all these years of dismissing beautiful female after beautiful female while denying it had anything to do with the memory of the elusive Gingersnap Cavendish.

He gave her a quick check and patted down a stray wisp near her ear. “I suppose with the wind whipping so tonight, this shall do. Come.” He offered his arm.

“Thank you, but I shall walk on my own.”

They headed back in strained silence, again past the dependencies and walkway, and back up the stairs to the portico.

“Let's pretend this never happened,” Constance whispered before they entered the parlor.

“Agreed.” He opened the door and ushered her through.

“Mr. Lorimer, there you are.” She bustled past Robbie. This time relief flooded her voice rather than flirtation.

Robbie headed to his mother, who stood and separated herself from the adult ladies in the corner. In the background, the girls had struck up a small band of instruments and played a haunting ballad.

Mother met him near the fireplace. “Robbie. You don't look well. Nor does Miss Cavendish. Did something go amiss?”

“I'd rather not discuss it. But this game is over. Lorimer wins.” Robbie turned away and stared into the crackling flames. He watched them lick the logs in a flickering dance. Though the fire appeared almost merry in its mesmerizing, undulant display, the logs disintegrated into charcoal and soot beneath its touch. Yes, this was the natural result of such inferno. Something must be destroyed, eaten away to feed the flames. He could almost taste the ashes in his mouth.

His mother looked from him to Constance and back again. “I maintain Lorimer is not a suitable match for her, but at the moment you are my primary concern. I haven't seen you this way in years. In at least…at least five years. Oh Robbie! She's the one who broke your heart. I'm so sorry. I should have realized it sooner.”

“It wasn't her fault. It's all mine.” His head pounded and his eyes throbbed.

“Well…I…if she's truly the one…” Mother glanced nervously back and forth now. “I mean, she is a lovely young lady and your status is not what it once was.”

“No. Let this go, Mother. It will never work.”

Mother wrung her hands before her. “Should I send her home? Your dear sisters would be heartbroken.”

“No need. I'll stay with Jimbo at Montgomery Manor until she leaves.”

His mother was stunned and remained silent.

Robbie would need to make a great many changes in his life, but for now he would claim a headache and get out of this place while he retained a shred of his sanity.

CHAPTER 22

Constance leaned heavily against the wall of the carriage, Lorimer beside her now. She longed to reach beneath her skirts and cling to his hand for comfort, but given her behavior with Robbie, she did not think such an action would speak well of her character. Instead, she shot up a quick prayer of thanks for the cover of darkness that hid the tears rolling down her cheeks as Mrs. Beaumont and the twins chattered about the prospect of important guests from Washington at their ball.

Where had matters gone so desperately awry? The joking had all been innocent enough—until they reached the pavilion. For one brief moment she believed Robbie still loved her. Her heart had soared and spun, floating through the heavens in a dance of ecstasy, only to come crashing back down with the force of a cannon ball.

How dare he? Yet Robbie seemed as confused and devastated by the whole situation as she was. If he loved her, why could he not choose to forgive? Why could he not choose to trust? She'd changed. He'd had more than a month to observe so for himself.

Lorimer reached over and gave her arm a squeeze.

God bless the man, he was as solid and dependable as the mountains through which he journeyed and oddly attuned to her emotions. Why couldn't she love him? Perhaps she did. Perhaps the fire that leapt through her veins at Robbie's touch did not bespeak love at all. Perhaps this gentler, calming emotion was the true version. And she could imagine it growing to more with a bit of encouragement.

“Miss Cavendish, please, your opinion.” Mrs. Beaumont cut into her thoughts.

“I'm sorry, madam. I'm afraid I drifted off. What were thou saying?”

“Amidst all the excitement of our illustrious guests, I paused to question if the gowns we'd planned to purchase from Charlottesville would suffice.”

“Oh, now that thou mention it…”

“You see, Mummy, they shall not,” Dolly huffed.

“Is it true, Miss Cavendish?” Molly whined.

“Well, I would never wish to insult thy fashion choices, but it has come to my notice that Charlottesville runs several years behind the trends in Richmond.”

“Heaven forbid!” Mrs. Beaumont squeaked. “I've begged and begged Mrs. Smith to purchase the latest plates from Europe, but no, the stubborn woman will not.”

“I don't understand,” said Molly. “Our gowns seem as fashionable as Miss Cavendish's.”

“Thou can't judge by me, dear. I haven't had a new gown for five years.”

“So, Lorimer, I hear we're expecting a wet summer,” Mr. Beaumont interjected into the dark carriage.

“I never mind a good rain in warm weather,” Lorimer replied.

“Will you two stop that?” Mrs. Beaumont smacked her husband. “You shan't perish from talk of gowns, and this is of the utmost importance. Now, Miss Cavendish, what has changed?”

“The primary adjustment has been a raising of the waist to just below the bustline again. The skirts are now wider and shorter than they've been in years. And silks have grown in popularity. Some of the detail work and adornments have been modernized as well.”

“What shall we do?” Mrs. Beaumont squealed. “Must we travel to Richmond? I hadn't planned the time. August shall be upon us before we know, and it might take weeks for so much clothing to be prepared.”

Constance was thankful for the diversion from her earlier discouraging meanderings. And as Mrs. Beaumont fretted, an idea came to her mind that might well solve everything and allow her to focus on her original purpose for traveling to Charlottesville. Family, reputation, employment. “If I might be so bold as to suggest…”

“Please, Miss Cavendish. We need your expert opinion.”

“My mother and youngest sister Felicity are two of the finest seamstresses in Richmond. They're employed by the renowned Madam Whitby and are entrusted with her most delicate work. Thou had mentioned perhaps bringing them for a visit…”

“I know of Madam Whitby.” Mrs. Beaumont released an exaggerated sigh. “Perfect. Splendid! Constance Cavendish to the rescue again. Whatever would we do without you? We must send word at once. And they simply must stay through the ball and join us.”

Constance had a better plan. More than anything, she needed to get away from Robbie, if only for a few days. “I think perhaps I must go and fetch them myself. I can't say for certain that they'd be up for such a grand adventure without some encouragement.”

“I'd be happy to accompany you,” said Lorimer. “I'm due for a trip to Richmond.”

“Goodness, no.” Mrs. Beaumont observed their shadows in the dim moonlight. “I could never permit that.”

“I think it would be best. My mother hasn't traveled in years, and they would need to bring along luggage and supplies for a good month's stay. Otherwise, thou would have to send a letter, wait for a reply, then send funds…this would be so much quicker and easier.”

“And of course we'd take a chaperone,” said Lorimer.

“Of course.” And Constance knew the perfect one. “Perhaps Martha could come along. I think she would enjoy the trip.”

“Hmm, nothing would please Martha more than a trip to the big city, and she deserves such an outing. But whatever shall we do without you?” Mrs. Beaumont sounded more agreeable to the idea.

“I dare say thou know their ballet exercises as well as me by now.” Constance held in a giggle. She'd been annoyed by Mrs. Beaumont's incessant observation and nitpicking interruption to correct the girls' form, but now it would be used to her benefit.

“True.”

“And they've learned all the basic dances at this point. Hence, the best practice shall come from the cotillion lessons, and we've over a week before they start.”

“I'll have her back in plenty of time for that, Mrs. Beaumont.” Lorimer gave Constance's hand a quick squeeze beneath her skirts, lending comfort and strength.

Mrs. Beaumont sat contemplating for a moment. “I suppose given the circumstances, it might be best for all concerned.”

And so the matter was concluded, although Constance couldn't shake the sense that Mrs. Beaumont spoke of more than clothing.

* * *

Franklin strolled the lovely Miss Patience Cavendish down the lane after dinner. With summer almost upon them, the sun still lit the sky. Mellow springtime blossoms made a profusion of bright colors in the well-kept gardens before the townhomes along their path, lending a romantic perfume to the air.

Before long the heat would be sweltering, so he would enjoy all the more this cool evening stroll with the woman he might someday make his wife. Memories of her sister, Constance, lingered in his mind, though. He would not rush into any decisions. Rather, he would wait for the elder Miss Cavendish to return and gauge his reaction before declaring any intentions to Patience.

He couldn't help, however, but dream of the future that might someday belong to them. They passed by his school building in companionable silence. It was a large wooden structure with a broad yard for sporting activities. To the right sat his uncle's home, and around back he caught a glimpse of the house split to rooms for the single instructors such as himself.

Yet a newer brick house to the left held his attention tonight. The owners would like to sell it the following spring, and he'd spoken to Uncle about the possibility of expanding to a school for young ladies next door. Uncle had harrumphed and guffawed as usual, but never gave an outright no. From a business perspective, the idea held merits, and they had ample time to decide.

He would not speak to Miss Cavendish of the particulars yet, as much remained uncertain. Instead he would broach the general topic to gauge her opinion.

“Patience, I've been giving more thought to this idea of a little school. I find it a most excellent plan.”

“So generous of you, Thaddeus, but we both know the Richmond elite will never permit the Cavendish ladies to educate their children.”

He patted her hand. “I wouldn't assume so—especially if you could link yourself to another reputable institute of learning. Perhaps work under an established head mistress. I think you would all be quite remarkable. I've been hoping to make inquiries on your behalf to see if I might be of some assistance.”

“Oh, I could never trouble you so. Please do not give it another thought.”

Franklin turned to Patience, releasing her and pulling his hands to his heart. “You wound me, my darling. Why, it would be no trouble at all.”

Patience bit her lip in the most charming sort of indecision. “I hate to mention this…”

“Whatever is it?” He scooped her gloved hands into his.

She gently extricated them and took a few steps away to lean against a tree along the cobblestone lane. “It seems there is a chance…that is to say, likelihood…oh.”

He crossed to her and lifted her chin with his finger to better examine her eyes and detect her meaning. “Please say it, darling. Whatever it is, we shall resolve it together.”

“We might move to Charlottesville.” She blurted the words as if she needed to toss away their weighty encumbrance.

“Never say so!” He paced away several steps and rounded back toward her. Shoving his hands in his pockets, he traveled another rotation, then a third while tugging at his hair.

“Please, Mr. Franklin, do calm yourself.” Patience stopped his back and forth progress with a hand to his forearm.

“Mr. Franklin? You call me Mr. Franklin? These past weeks I've been Thaddeus, and of a sudden I am Mr. Franklin again? Should I deduce that you desire to leave me behind? That you regret our newfound rapport? That you might be done with me like a hat gone out of fashion?” He thought he had a family, at long last. But it seemed the Cavendishes would desert him like everyone else in his life. He was expendable, as always.

“I just…it's simply that…” She took a long, lingering breath. “I had hoped not to tell you until I was sure, but I can't have you inconveniencing yourself based upon mistaken presumptions.”

He pressed thumb and forefinger against his tear ducts, lifting his spectacles in the process. “Was I mistaken to presume that we might have a future together? Have we not discussed such possibilities in a rather forthright manner? I realize I am not a master of the female mind, but I thought our conversation plain enough. Did I fail to understand that you spoke in
French
?” He entreated her with open palms.

“Thaddeus, please, I must insist you lower your voice. You will draw undue attention. We did discuss the possibility, and this is not to say that we could never work an arrangement between us, but matters have changed. Constance has proven quite successful in Charlottesville, and we've been outcasts in Richmond long enough. I must think of the welfare of my whole family, not merely my own. And we are months, perhaps years from sorting out our true feelings for one another.”

Indeed, Franklin realized his alarm arose more from the possibility of losing the family than the woman herself. That, in fact, Constance's face had battled to the forefront of his mind even as he ranted. He removed his spectacles and polished them on his waistcoat. “I don't know how I shall manage without all of you.” Replacing the spectacles, he dared to look at her.

“Matters are far from settled.” Patience took his hand now and tugged him behind the tree, looking both ways to make sure no one observed. “If things are meant to be between us, I'm certain we'll survive this.”

Patience's ginger hair glowed in a burnished halo against the late evening sun. She stood upon her tiptoes, leaning her hands against his chest, and touched her lips to his in the briefest, sweetest caress.

A kiss of promise—and of hope.