Love in Three-Quarter Time (25 page)

The answer struck her. To forgive Robbie, who'd done far worse than she had and who was much more culpable for her father's death, she'd have to finally and completely forgive herself.

Could she? She'd forgiven Sissy, and it felt so right. But to let herself go scot free…that seemed too easy, too selfish. She wondered if Robbie might somehow lead her to the healing such a decision would require.

One way or the other, the day of the ball would arrive tomorrow. No more crying, no more wallowing. She pushed herself out of her cushioned cocoon with resolve. She must prepare to face her future with dignity.

Whatever that future might hold.

And she knew precisely where she would begin.

* * *

Constance knocked at the entrance to the study. Both Mr. and Mrs. Beaumont sat inside.

“Come in, dear,” Mrs. Beaumont called. “I do so hope your headache has gone away. We need you in top form tomorrow evening.”

“I'm beginning to feel much better, thank you.”

“Join us, dearest. Do sit.” Mr. Beaumont waved to an armchair.

Constance arranged her skirts and settled herself. “I shall keep this brief. I'm afraid I have a confession to make.” She kept going before she lost her nerve. “I've deceived thee from the beginning. I've never truly lived in England.” Switching to plain English, she said, “The accent is false. I was just so desperate for your acceptance. I thought you might enjoy the remembrance of your home. Surely you understand now that you've met my family. I couldn't let them down.”

They both burst into laughter. Mrs. Beaumont spoke first. “Oh, dear, we've known for months. Charming as it is at times, you've never properly maintained it. One moment it's
aye
,
thee
, and
thou
, and the next it's plain old
yes
and
you
. It's been the source of much amusement among the family.”

“You…but…” Her mind went blank.

“Don't give it another thought, Miss Cavendish.” Mr. Beaumont brushed his hand in dismissal. “You won us over long ago with your kind heart and exceptional skills. I'm but thankful that you've been weaning yourself of it lately.”

So easy? The issue that had plagued her for months, resolved in a moment of laughter and dismissal? The truth had set her free. If only matters could be resolved so simply with Robbie.

CHAPTER 35

Lorimer stood back in the shadowed alcove created by the curving stairway, watching guests enter and mingle in their excessive finery. He perused his own cream-and-buff ensemble he'd borrowed from Robbie yet again. The jacket pulled tight over his shoulders, intensifying the pinched sensation the showy display caused him. The trousers were short, but his worn, old Hessian boots covered them effectively.

“I am made all things to all men…,” he reminded himself. But tonight, for once, winning souls did not take precedence in his thoughts. In fact, for the past two weeks, he'd dwelt on little other than Constance Cavendish.

The girl surrounded him like some sort of specter. Her sweet, freckled face hovered over him throughout the day, and again when he fell asleep. Lorimer had prided himself in being impervious to such emotions. He only needed God, not people, and certainly not human love. Pride. Perhaps therein lay the problem. These days, he felt all too human and weak.

He scouted the entryway as jewel-encrusted women fluttered fans, and pompous men strutted like peacocks with their chests lifted high. Was his sort of pride any less obnoxious?

So far this evening, he hadn't spotted Constance and Robbie together. She flitted about like a rose petal caught in the wind from one prospective client to another. Robbie hung back in his own corner in the parlor.

Lorimer had offered Robbie his last chance. If the man had not yet claimed Constance, Lorimer would put an end to this and win her for himself. God had not specifically told him to step in. He had, in fact, been quiet on the issue other than that initial sense that Constance was meant for Robbie. But if the man couldn't find the strength to forgive, then Lorimer saw no other recourse considering his own state of mind.

He hadn't given much thought to the future. Perhaps Constance would follow him in his work. Or wait for him patiently in a little cabin. Perhaps God might free him to start a church in town. He'd never wanted to before, but if his desires changed…No wonder Paul declared it better to remain single.

All Lorimer knew for certain was that his heart had set itself on that woman, despite his best intentions.

As he strolled through the parlor, sounds of the musicians warming up next door met his ears. Not long now until the dancing began. Maybe he could claim Constance for a set, if only to feel her in his arms and stare deep into her eyes one last time.

“Lorimer! Lorimer!” Constance hurried toward him in a flurry of skirts, and the room lit with sunset fire. His heart glowed along with it. She took his two hands in hers, which were encased in short silk gloves beneath her see-through sleeves.

He hungered for the touch of her skin, but he would bide his time. He still needed proof that the dunderhead Robbie had botched matters again.

“I've something I need to discuss with you.”

He noted she spoke plain English with not a hint of her false accent.

She tucked her hand by his elbow. “May we step onto the verandah for a quick moment before the dancing begins?”

He quirked his brow. “Is that advisable?”

“Forget the wagging tongues. I need you. Please.”

He saw pleading in her sparkling brown eyes, but he saw more as well. He saw pain and fear. “Of course. Come on.” He led her to the verandah.

She sat herself upon the rail and collapsed against the support beam. “I don't know if I can do it,” she moaned.

“Do what, Constance?” He laid his hand on her arm.

“Dance with Robbie. We've fought again. Worse than ever. Oh Lorimer, it was terrible. I fear Robbie was right all along. There's too much between us to overcome. More than I ever suspected.” A first tear rolled down one cheek.

He pulled out his handkerchief and dabbed her face. Was she free of Robbie for good? Perhaps not. She didn't appear recovered from him. Quite the opposite. “Do you want to tell me what happened?”

“The story is too long and upsetting. I'll ruin my face for the big dance. I must lead the waltz with Robbie.” She clutched his hand in hers again. “Please just pray for me. Pray for wisdom and for strength. Pray that I'll know the right thing to do.”

He studied her features. The tight set of her jaw, the pout of her lower lip, the haunted expression in her eyes. Constance still had feelings for Robbie. But she had affection for Lorimer too. He knew she did. She trusted him. Felt safe with him and went to him in her time of need.

Not Robert Montgomery.

For now, he had no choice but to pray as she asked. Lorimer bowed his head.
“Heavenly Father, thank you for my dear sister in Christ. You know the thoughts you have toward her, thoughts of peace, and not of evil, to give her an expected end. Lead her into your plans, Lord. Lead her and Robbie into your healing and forgiveness. Make your paths straight before them. Give her strength and peace tonight as they dance together, and speak to her your truth.”

As Constance sat with eyes closed, basking in the peace of God surrounding their little space, Lorimer added beneath his breath,
“Please give me strength to handle whatever this night brings, and if you see fit, Father, bring her back to me.”

Somehow he suspected he needed the prayer more than Constance.

Her coppery lashes fluttered as her eyes opened. “Lorimer, do you believe that God still speaks in visions and dreams?”

“I believe God speaks however he wishes, although it hasn't happened to me.”

“How do you think one might discern if a vision is from the Lord?”

Where was she going with this line of questioning? Lorimer almost feared to answer. “I suppose you know by the sense of peace and rightness in your heart. That's how I discern when God speaks to me. It must work in a similar manner.”

A smile brightened her face. “Thank you. As I suspected.”

“But what does this have to do with Robbie and the dance?”

She took a deep breath. “Robbie revealed more to me about the night my father died. His own role in it. I shouldn't speak of it here and now, but it's been difficult for me to accept. It's horrible. Just horrible.”

Lorimer knew he should keep his silence—honor the instruction God had given him to the end—but the words burst from him before he could contain them. “You have another option, you know. Marry me! Put all of this far behind you.”

Constance's pretty bow mouth opened to an ‘o' as she gaped at him. “Marry you? I thought you had given me up.”

“I was a fool. Marry me.” His chest clenched.

“I…well…that is to say…”

Dolly came crashing through the verandah door at that very moment. “Miss Cavendish, Miss Cavendish. Oh, thank goodness! Here you are.” Dolly pressed a hand to her heart. “Mother's in a tizzy searching for you. It's nearly
time
.”

“So sorry, Dolly. I was right nearby, as you can see.”

Lorimer struggled with his temper. How dare the girl interrupt them now? “Your mother is always in a tizzy over something. Give us a minute.”

“Absolutely not! We need her
now
.” Dolly stared at him, aghast.

“I'm sorry, Lorimer. I must go.” Constance patted his hand.

The gesture seemed so dismissive. “Save me a dance?”

“For you, an entire set.” She grinned over her shoulder, wrinkling her pert nose, as she followed Dolly into the ballroom.

Lorimer shook his head and walked inside. Dolly had not exaggerated. A crowd had gathered in the ballroom. Dolly hustled Constance to Mrs. Beaumont's side. Robbie stood across from Mrs. Beaumont. Constance and Robbie, however, never looked directly at one another. Instead, both focused upon the gathered spectators.

Mrs. Beaumont held her glass high in the air and tapped it with a spoon. All attention turned to her.

“Greetings, guests. We're so glad to have you all here with us this evening for this auspicious occasion to welcome our daughters Molly and Dolly into the grand society of Albemarle County.”

Everyone cheered.

“Here! Here!” called President Jefferson from where he stood next to his successor, the recently retired President Madison.

“Mr. Beaumont, would you like to say a few words?” Mrs. Beaumont held her hand to him. He crossed the room and kissed it. Sighs and giggles filtered from the crowd.

“You're doing a wonderful job, darling. Please continue.”

Lorimer smiled. The couple never failed to entertain him.

“Then with no further ado,” Mrs. Beaumont continued, “I would like to open tonight's festivities with a rare treat from across the Atlantic Ocean. We've prepared for you a waltz, which will be introduced by my own son, Mr. Robert Montgomery, and our lovely dance mistress, Miss Constance Cavendish. They will be joined by my dear twins and some of our area's finest youngsters. As the second song begins, we shall split the couples so that more of you might learn the steps and join in the merriment.”

She swiveled to the orchestra director. “Whenever you're ready, good sir.”

The crowd applauded once again as Constance laid her hand upon Robbie's, and he led her to the center of the floor.

Lorimer's gut caught. In the next few moments he would know. Constance could never hide her emotions while she danced.

As Robbie and Constance bowed and curtsied, they looked over one another's shoulders. But when he took her in the first hold, their gazes caught hold as well. In Constance's eyes glimmered the last thing Lorimer wished to see.

Hope.

* * *

Constance blinked, as if to wake herself from a dream. And a dream it seemed, indeed. Much like the vision from yesterday, she felt certain it could not be real. Robbie led her about the room so expertly, so skillfully, she'd forgotten to be upset or afraid. She simply lost herself in the swirl of music and spinning, safe within his strong arms.

He tugged her toward him and released her again. She glanced up timidly. Love and admiration shone from his eyes. Warmth filled her, like heated syrup, and flowed from her center to her fingertips and toes. She sighed in spite of herself.

Around her the youngsters spun through their unique variations they had created for this night, as she and Robbie continued with the classic steps.

He smiled down at her. Her lips curved upward of their own accord. His sky blue eyes had never appeared so handsome, so trustworthy, so utterly hers.

Could she allow him to lead her to healing as her vision bid? Perhaps. But what precisely that meant, how it might play out in the light of day, she had no clue. She simply could not imagine accepting him, and in so doing, betraying her own family.

The dance concluded to rousing applause. They bowed and curtseyed one last time with a completely different energy than they had when they began the piece—sparks popping between them, gazes locked and heated.

Robbie led her to the front of the room as the young people found new partners game to try the “scandalous” steps. He pressed his hand, strong and warm, over hers. A light glowed in his eyes. Like a beacon from a lighthouse in the storm, guiding her home.

Mrs. Beaumont stepped to the center of the room once again. “And now our orchestra will be accompanied by the delightful Miss Patience Cavendish as she sings and plays the fortepiano for your listening delight.”

Once the first strains wafted over the crowd, the simpering Mrs. Beaumont strode back to them. “Oh, my dears. Constance! Robbie! It was perfect. You were perfect. I wish you could have heard them rave as you danced.”

Constance craned her neck in search of Lorimer. She must find him and give him her answer as soon as possible. Never would she wish to be left wondering as she'd done to him on the verandah. She wouldn't willingly do so to her worst enemy, let alone her dearest friend, the man she so admired with all her being.

A hefty matron in yards of blue crepe bustled over. “Well, I shall rave now and prove you true, Mrs. Beaumont.”

Constance turned to a strikingly familiar face. “Mrs. Wellington!” The very lady who'd rebuffed her so soundly in Richmond a few short months ago.

Mrs. Wellington extricated Constance's hand from Robbie's and clasped it in her own, patting the top like one might the head of an obedient child. “It was truly an honor to watch you, Miss Cavendish. I am not often wrong, but I like to think in the rare instance that I am, I have the graciousness to admit it. Richmond has misjudged the Cavendish ladies. To think we had such treasure under our noses and missed it the entire time.”

Perhaps if she lowered her nose from…
but Constance cut off the uncharitable thought. She held her Gingersnap temper in check with a different sort of mercy that flowed from within. This woman no longer towered as her superior; she was merely another wounded human in need of God's love.

“You are a wonder, my dear. A dancing genius.” Mrs. Wellington gestured to Patience. “And your sister, so lovely with her music.”

“Don't forget, Mrs. Cavendish and young Felicity created these gowns,” said Mrs. Beaumont.

“How could I? Mrs. Whitby herself did not do such a fine job on my own,” Mrs. Wellington said with a
tsk
.

“Felicity paints as well. And Patience is quite skilled at academics.” Constance felt she should add these accolades in all fairness, although she no longer felt any compulsion to impress the woman.

Wrapping her ample arm about Constance, Mrs. Wellington strolled her away from Mrs. Beaumont and lowered her voice to a whisper. “I know our hostess has plans to keep you here, but you simply must return to Richmond, my dear. We can't have such talents going to waste in the wilderness. I shall be your sponsor, and we shall open a fine school for young ladies. Wouldn't that be splendid?”

Constance patted the lady's hand this time. “That is truly too kind of you. I shall give the matter all due consideration.” She twisted to look over her shoulder at the sincerely kind Mrs. Beaumont and the handsome young man who stood at her side.