Love in Three-Quarter Time (26 page)

CHAPTER 36

Franklin dug his heels deep into his horse's flanks. The poor animal huffed, and truth be told, Franklin greatly preferred a sedate pace to this headlong rush. But he had no time to spare. His heart, his meaning, his very existence stood pinioned upon the rocky ledge of annihilation.

He simply must have Miss Cavendish. Must find her and woo her for his own. When she'd left, he'd known for certain that he could never live without her. But then, even once he'd made his firm decision to chase after her, his uncle's poor health had held him in town for days. How each cough had racked his nerves. He just knew some other man would whisk her away from him. Possibly that Lorimer creature—or worse.

And when he'd arrived in Charlottesville to learn that the ball of the season took place this very night at the home where the Cavendishes resided…He whipped the horse with his crop, hoping not to injure the animal, but desperate to arrive before disaster struck.

Ahead he spied a carriage pulling through a stone-and-iron gate. This must be the place, for he'd been told every family of quality would be here tonight. He turned his horse through the entry to White Willow Hall and sped past the carriage upon the grass. Franklin pounded over a rise and past a fish pond. The grand mansion of the planter elite class sat ahead. A class he would always serve but never be a part of.

At the front portico with its soaring columns, a Negro servant dressed in crimson livery met him. “Good evening, sir. Might I take your horse?”

Franklin slid down, staring in disbelief, and pulled his valise with him. This servant's garments were far finer than his own traveling attire, but he could spare no time worrying about such matters.

“Thank you, my good chap.” Franklin handed the man his reins.

He rushed up the steps and to the front door, an excuse about his missing invitation ready on his lips, but an even more elegant servant welcomed him. “Do come in, sir. May I offer you a room to change, sir?” The kind offer held a hint of sternness.

Surveying the elegant entry hall filled with guests in formal attire, Franklin realized that he must at least take a moment to wash and don his frock coat after all. His heart raced as he followed the servant up the stairs.

* * *

Patience managed to slip away from her bevy of admirers at long last, although their praise filled her with a pleasant buzz. The mellow strains of the orchestra washed over her like warm rain. What an evening!

She searched for Constance through the crowd and spotted her heading to Mr. Lorimer. Striving not to run, she rather glided quickly in her direction to cut her off before she reached the man. Grasping the puffy, sheer gauze about her sister's arm, Patience tugged her to the hall. “Constance, you won't believe it.”

Constance pursed her lips. “Won't believe what? That Mrs. Wellington has proposed we return to Richmond and open a school?”

“How did you know?”

“She tried me first, but I demurred to answer. How like the stalwart lady to wage a different plan of attack. We should have used her in the war. No doubt the British would have run off screaming years earlier.”

Patience swatted her sister. “How can you jest at a time like this?”

“Wouldn't you rather stay here in Charlottesville? Mrs. Randolph has made a similar offer you know, and we have true friends in this place.”

Patience blinked in confusion. “But I thought you'd be happy to get far away from Robbie.”

“Perhaps not so happy.” Constance offered a secretive little smile.

“But you said…”

“Never mind what I said. Which would you prefer, and Mother and Felicity?”

“Well,” Patience scanned her thoughts. “I don't know. It's a wonder to be such a success and have so many options. I suppose we all must sit down and discuss it together.”

“Excellent plan. Come. Let's rejoin the dancing. I promised Mr. Lorimer a set.”

“Ah, is that the real reason you desire to stay?” Patience wiggled her brows.

“I'm still discerning my thoughts on the matter. It's been a rather overwhelming evening.”

“So true.” Patience pondered her own evening. How wonderful to be praised for her singing and playing. But what did she truly desire? Love, perhaps. A family of her own, for certain. A husband with whom she could discuss science and mathematics.

Mr. Sugarbaker might be such a man. He'd been educated in the North with Robert Montgomery. Tonight she must test him and see if he had more to him than fashion and society. How nice it would be to own a plantation.

But what of dear Mr. Franklin, awaiting her in Richmond? If he were here tonight, she would rush to his side for the familiar companionship and the promise of stimulating conversation. They could open that school for girls now, and nothing would stand in their path.

“Come, let's go.” Constance moved toward the parlor, and Patience followed as her thoughts spun.

When they passed through the archway to the crowded room, a call came from the top of the stairs. “Wait! Wait! Miss Cavendish, I must speak with you!”

Mr. Franklin came careening down the steps at an alarming rate Patience had not known him capable of. Mr. Franklin! Whatever on earth could he be doing here?

She and Constance froze, side by side in the archway, uncertain of whom he addressed.

He ran, winded, across the hall, knelt before them, and stared down at the floor.

Did the man mean to propose? Good gracious! Patience did not know what she might say and had indeed hoped to have months to decipher her true feelings and explore her many opportunities.

“My dear Miss Cavendish, I've journeyed all this way at breakneck speed, for there is something I must beg of you.”

Patience's heart welled up in her chest. She truly did hold the man in high esteem and great affection. What a lovely life they might have together.

He turned his head up. His soft brown eyes welled up with love. “Miss Cavendish.”

By now a crowd had gathered. They hovered close by, waiting for the scene to unfold. Mr. Franklin reached and took, not her hand, but rather her sister's hand in his. “Miss Constance Cavendish.”

Patience's face went cold. She thought she might faint and leaned against the archway.

“Time has proven that I cannot live without you. I beg of you, please, will you be my wife?”

Constance lifted him to his feet, compassion written across her features. “Dear Mr. Franklin, I think we should continue this conversation privately in the study.”

Patience took a deep, bracing breath. “You may all leave now.” She clapped her hands to rouse the surrounding onlookers. “The show is finished. There's nothing more to see. Be about your business.”

The group dispersed with a few disappointed mutters.

She pressed her nails into her palms in an attempt to gather her nerve. No, she would not be ruled by her emotions, and she would most assuredly not cry. This was the answer she'd needed. Her mind cleared of all cloudy confusion. She would search out Mr. Sugarbaker as soon as this Franklin matter concluded.

Mr. Franklin emerged from the study a few moments later, pathetic as a kicked puppy with his drooping head and weary shuffle. In that instant, she forgot her own pain and disappointment. All else aside, Thaddeus remained her good friend.

As he wandered aimlessly through the hall, she took his elbow in a gentle grasp. “Perhaps, Mr. Franklin, I may lead you to the library and the company of the men. Mr. Beaumont shall no doubt take you under his wing.”

He lifted his head, but his eyes never focused. “Yes, of course. Whatever you suggest.”

She took him in that direction, shooting a glance over her shoulder to Constance, bidding her to wait. Constance knew her signals well and nodded her agreement.

In only a moment, she settled Mr. Franklin with the hospitable gentlemen, none of whom mentioned his unfortunate entrance into Albemarle society, and grabbed up her skirts to hurry back to Constance.

Constance hid on the little cushioned bench in the curve of the stairwell. As Patience approached, her sister banged her head backward with soft thumps against the wainscoted wall. She tucked herself onto the bench beside Constance. “I assume you turned him down.”

“Yes, painful as it was. But I could have sworn I did so months ago. When I saw him on the stairs, I thought for certain he would offer for you.”

Patience bit her lip. “So did I, but it's fine. As I awaited his proposal, I found myself happy and frightened all at once. We have so many choices before us. I wasn't prepared to say yes either, although I might have given him some hope for the future.”

“Well, there's no hope for Mr. Franklin and me.” Constance gave Patience's hand a squeeze. “Perhaps in time he'll come to see that you are the better choice.” She stood and brushed down her gorgeous rose gown. “For now, I need to find Mr. Lorimer.”

Patience giggled. “I do not need your handed-down beaux, big sister. In fact, I was just about to go in search of Mr. Sugarbaker.” Standing as well, she tucked a stray copper wisp behind her sister's ear. “I'll land on my feet as always. The Cavendishes are like cats that way.”

“That we are.” Constance clasped Patience by the forearms and kissed her soundly upon the cheek. “That we are.”

CHAPTER 37

Franklin sat alone on the verandah, staring at the vast, empty sky. Alone, again. Empty, as always. The gentlemen had been gracious and asked the appropriate questions of him, but he grew exhausted from the company of strangers. Perhaps he should go in search of Patience. Despite his shabby treatment of her, he knew she would not abandon him. Or Felicity, who would be sure to greet him with a squeal and a hug. Yes, Felicity would do nicely. The girl never failed to lift his spirits.

A well-dressed woman of middle years wandered through the door and joined him on the porch. She offered him a small smile but seemed not to wish to disturb his silence. At that moment the clouds parted, and she gazed for a while at the single shimmering constellation beyond.

After taking a deep breath, she turned to Franklin. “My favorite, Cassiopeia. I do so adore the study of the stars.”

Franklin looked into the face of the elegant, dark-haired woman. “Are you a lover of science, ma'am?”

“Indeed I am, but not so much of an expert, I'm afraid.” She chuckled and settled upon the rail across from him.

“I hope you don't mind me saying so, but that would be Sagittarius that's caught your fancy tonight. Not Cassiopeia.”

“Excellent.” The lady patted her hands upon her lap. “I confess to testing you.” She paused a moment to examine Franklin. “And I hope you don't mind me asking, but how are you feeling, sir?”

“You caught that ugly display in the hall, did you?” Franklin gripped the armrest of the rocker.

“Unfortunately. And by your expression, I assume the lady turned you down.”

“That she did, indeed.” An urge struck Franklin to run far, far away. But he'd only just arrived.

“We women can be confusing creatures, can we not? At least the men in my life always say as much.” She turned her gaze once again toward the evening sky.

“I'm sorry, ma'am. Have we met?”

“Ah, I'm afraid I have the advantage there. My name is Mrs. Patsy Randolph.”

Patsy…Randolph! The daughter of Thomas Jefferson? The very lady who often served as his hostess during his presidency?

Franklin shook his head. Perhaps he hadn't heard right. Jefferson had been his idol for years. He'd dreamed of meeting him all his life. He was a man of science and philosophy such as himself. Might he be here tonight? “Mrs.…Pat…I mean…Allow me to introduce myself.” But then he sat there at a loss for words. Surely he could manage to recall his own name.

“No need, Mr. Franklin. Mrs. Wellington has been touting your expertise to me for days. The woman's staying with us at Monticello. And she's aware I've been in search of a decent tutor for my sons for months. No one lives up to Father's high standards. All this week, she swore that you alone would suffice, although she doubted your uncle would let you go. Then to see you here tonight, we were both pleasantly surprised.” She leaned toward him and raised her eyebrows. “Perhaps it is the hand of fate at work.”

Something sparked in Franklin's dark heart. “A tutor, you say. For your sons. At…at…Monticello?”

“Yes, we spend the majority of our year there.”

“Might I ask how many students you have?”

“Three boys right now. And three school-aged girls, if you'd consider taking them on. Smart as can be, every one of them. Four grown children as well. We've quite a big family. Might be a bit much to handle at—”

“No, no. Not at all. I adore large families. Are they here tonight?” Franklin scanned the verandah and then caught himself. How silly she must think him. Although easily observed from the sitting room, they were obviously quite alone. But a large family. In the home of President Jefferson. If Franklin had dreamed of his ideal position he would never have reached so high. Fate at work, indeed.

“A handful of the older children attended the ball. And my father, of course. Would you like me to introduce you?”

“Me…meet President Jefferson? Never say so!” He clasped a hand over his mouth. “I mean, of course. I would love to.”

“He's sure to quiz you and give you a lecture about keeping logic and reason at the forefront in all matters.”

“I couldn't agree more. Science must remain first and foremost.” And yet in this wondrous, miraculous moment, Franklin could almost credit providence, for might not God on rare occasion reach down into the lives of man if he so chose?

Never could Franklin have imagined being smashed so low and then brought so high again in one night. Energy pulsed through him, seeking release. He would need to find the delightful young Miss Felicity and ask her for a dance. As soon as possible, before he began to jump up and down like a child.

But first things first. Franklin stood. “Mrs. Randolph, I needn't delay this decision. If your father approves, there is nowhere on earth I would rather work than in the fine halls of Monticello.”

“Perfect. Then let's go meet the family. For soon enough you shall be one of them. I can see it now.” Mrs. Randolph rose and encased Franklin's hand in her own for a brief, motherly clasp.

Franklin took a bracing breath and prepared to step into the future.

“And perhaps you can help Father with the plans for his university. His hobby for his old age, as he likes to call it,” she said as she led him into the house. “He's always seeking input.”

Franklin shook his head again, trying to ease the foolish grin that assuredly stretched across his face. He followed her through the sitting room to the grand hallway beyond.

“Father.” Mrs. Randolph tapped a well-dressed gentleman on the shoulder.

The face that turned to greet them was nothing short of an American legend.

“I'd like you to meet Mr. Franklin. The science teacher Mrs. Wellington has been going on about. He's agreed to stay with us at Monticello and tutor the children.”

Franklin's heart raced.

The former president of the United States of America clapped his hand upon Franklin's shoulder. “You don't say. Come, young man. Let's talk.”

And with that Jefferson steered him toward the study.

Franklin swallowed hard. There must be some sort of God in heaven. Or at the very least a real live Saint Nicholas. Christmas had come early this year.

* * *

Robbie sat in a burgundy upholstered chair across from his stepfather, enjoying the deep rumblings and clinking glasses of male companionship. He needed a few moments to savor what had occurred during the waltz. Although they'd not spoken a word, he believed Constance had chosen to forgive him. He had sensed none of the anger that he witnessed at their last meeting. Might he dare to hope she had laid it at the foot of the cross as he had his pride? And beyond forgiveness, her abandon in the dance suggested that she might somehow grow to trust him once again.

But how would she feel when she learned of his plan? Not his plan precisely, rather the plan God had unveiled to him.

That prayer meeting had changed him, left him no longer the same Robbie. Yes, he'd accepted Christ's forgiveness years ago. But he didn't understand until surrounded by his brown-skinned workers—their voices lifted in passionate praise—that he'd never yielded himself to Christ, never truly made him Lord of his life.

And on that evening, God had spoken through Marcus directly to Robbie. He'd always thought the prophetic bent a peculiar quirk of Lorimer alone. But it seemed in fact that many of God's children knew his voice.

“Mr. Robbie, the Lord, he wants me to say to you that the truth shall set you free. The hidden things must come to light. It's time to let it go. Don't rightly know what that means, but I'm supposin' you do.”

Yes, Robbie knew.

Although he had no idea what the ramifications might be. Nor had he any clue how it might affect the tenuous peace he'd formed tonight with Constance.