Love in Three-Quarter Time (5 page)

Constance's thoughts, so recently recovered from confusion, fell into disarray once again at his nonsensical tirade. “Mary?”

His snicker made way to a sneer and an actual laugh of derision. “Of course, a slave would be too
stupid
and
ignorant
to run a household, let alone pen a blasted chart. Comforting to know that some things never change, your majesty.” He swooped into a mocking bow complete with European hand flourish. If only he had a hat and gloves, the portrait would be complete.

Constance managed a curt, “I'm sure I don't know what you mean.” But in the back of her mind she wondered. She had thought Sissy's remarkable intelligence some sort of rare exception. It seemed here at White Willow that slaves were treated in an entirely different manner. Constance shook off her rambling thoughts. “And all of this is beside the point.”

“Never mind. Rest assured I will remove myself as soon as possible. You obviously recall that I spend little time here.” With that he turned on his heel and disappeared into a nearby bedchamber.

“Oh!” Her Gingersnap temper rose to alarming levels. Her face in that moment no doubt matched the fire of her hair. But she was not Gingersnap, the hotheaded hoyden, any longer. No matter what Robert Montgomery might think. No matter the memories he stirred in her. Memories and emotions best left alone to die once and for all. She was Constance Cavendish, British dance instructor. Stiff upper lip and all that.

Counting to ten with deep inhalations, her temperature cooled. The raging heat on her face dissipated. She could do this. She would. She'd been a respectable working woman for years now. One Mr. Robert Montgomery would not disrupt her goals.

Only then did she pause to further consider his disheveled appearance—the dirt beneath his fingernails, the coarse linen work shirt, and the plain brown breeches worn over an old pair of Hessian boots.

A slave who could read and write and ruled the household. Another who spoke with the elegance of a British butler. A handsome, blue-eyed gentleman farmer grimy from the fields. And such bitterness from that same man who had cast her aside when she needed him most. White Willow Hall brimmed with disparities.

At least this trip would not prove to be the same boring routine of Richmond. But she would remain focused. Teach the Beaumont girls to dance. Earn a reputation throughout the area. And earn her family a new lease on life.

Somehow she must convince Robbie not to poison the others against her. She would speak with him after dinner. Although she had put her flirtatious past far behind her, surely she could dredge up enough charm to manage that.

CHAPTER 6

Constance suppressed a gasp. The Robbie who swept into dinner ten minutes late looked nothing like the rumpled specimen she'd met in the hallway. Dressed in a proper dark blue waistcoat with pressed white trousers, he indeed appeared every inch the dashing gentleman of her childhood dreams. A warm flush rose to her face as he brushed his lips across his mother's rosy cheek.

“So sorry to be late.” With a wink to the table at large, he settled himself into the chair across from his mother and to the left of his stepfather. Thankfully, Constance remained separated from him by his sisters, where she could watch him without being obvious. He flashed his charming grin to the young ladies with a quick, “Evening,” and Constance felt as if the smile dripped over to her as well, tickling her own lips into a grin. He shook out his napkin with a crisp flick of his wrist and settled it across his lap with perfect decorum.

Constance lifted her fan from the table and waved it against the rising heat before it showed upon her cheeks. But then, realizing the possible flirtatious impression, she cast her glance to the rotund, middle-aged overseer across from her.

Past the enormous ham garnished with apples, she watched the man turn as red as she must appear. Mr. Percy cleared his throat and pulled on his collar, but she merely smiled, laid down her fan, and took another taste of her creamy peanut soup. Unable to resist the briefest Gingersnap moment, she topped off the exchange with a quick eyelash flutter before directing her gaze to her host and hostess.

“Nothing new about you being late, Robbie. Working hard as usual, I'm sure.” Mr. Beaumont's tone seemed pleasant enough, although Constance wondered if there was ever tension between him and his stepson.

“Yes, working hard. We should have the southern lot ready by midweek, and then I'll be on my way to Princess Anne County for a while.”

“But—” Mrs. Beaumont seemed as if she might protest until Mr. Beaumont interrupted.

“Since we're all here now, let's say grace, darling.” He linked hands with his wife and stepson, and they all followed suit.

Constance managed to hold back a giggle when Mr. Percy took her hand across the table as if it were a snake that might strike him.

“Dear heavenly Father,” Mr. Beaumont began, “thank you for this bounty and this land in our fresh new country. Thank you for the many opportunities with which you have blessed us and the tobacco plant that grows tall and strong in this rich soil. May we always be mindful of your presence in our lives. May we be good stewards of this gift and the dear servants you've entrusted in our care. Be with us as we go through our evening and guide our conversations this night. In your holy, mighty name we pray, amen.”

The simple prayer—so personal yet so eloquent—shook Constance to her core.
May we always be mindful of your presence in our lives.
Surely she was mindful of God's presence, that hovering shadow always watching over her shoulder, awaiting her next failure, and plotting her imminent demise. Somehow, she thought, that wasn't what Mr. Beaumont meant at all.

She was about to mention the lovely prayer, but then reminded herself to don her accent, which brought to mind the “
guide our conversations this night”
line from the petition. This overwhelmed her with guilt at her deception, so she bit her lip and uttered not a word.

“Back to what you were saying, darling,” Mr. Beaumont prompted his wife.

“Yes, of course.” She batted her lashes over blue eyes a few times, as if to recall her thoughts. “Robbie, you can't simply dash off. I need you to assist Miss Cavendish as she instructs your sisters. They must see the dances performed properly by experts, and you must help them practice the patterns for foursomes. On this I must insist. Joshua, please serve the ham.” She turned to the liveried servant and smiled, closing the subject.

“Mother, we never discussed this. How is it that you've planned my spring without my permission? I'm not a schoolboy anymore. I have my own affairs to attend.” Robbie held up his plate for the proffered ham.

Mrs. Beaumont affixed her face with an unnatural degree of blankness. “I'm certain we did. Where is Martha with those potatoes?”

Robbie shook his head and rolled his eyes. “Mother.”

“Don't you think we need Robert's help, Miss Cavendish?”

Constance nearly dropped her plate as Joshua placed a large slice of ham upon it, but she caught it in time. She looked to Robbie, then to Mrs. Beaumont, and back again. “I dare say it is advantageous to have an expert male about for partnering, but I should hate to keep thee from thy appointments, Mr. Montgomery.”

The sharp upraise of Robbie's eyebrow told her something was amiss. Then she realized. In all the confusion in the hallway, she hadn't used her accent. Even if she had, Robbie would have recalled her typical speech of five years ago.

She beseeched him with her eyes, hoping they still retained a hint of their flirtatious magic.
If ever you loved me
, she silently shouted from their depths,
if ever you held a shred of true affection for me, please do not reveal my secret.

He held his own silence and relaxed his features.

“Nonsense. Robbie's appointments are never ending. Life cannot be put on hold for them. We are preparing for the most important evening of your sisters' lives, Robert James Montgomery. Their skill on the dance floor shall pave the way for their place in society, and you will play your part.” Mrs. Beaumont dug into her ham, no longer acting the empty-headed coquette but shifting to stern matriarch.

Bravo!
Constance thought, until she recalled the pronouncement was not to her liking.

“Please, Robbie, please,” Molly begged from beside him, her brown corkscrew curls bobbing as she tugged on his arm.

“Oh yes, please, Robbie.” Dolly batted her long eyelashes over big doe eyes from across the table, a habit she no doubt learned from her mother. An appalling, manipulative habit Constance must forsake once and for all. Compassion stirred in her chest for Mr. Percy, and she regretted her treatment of him. This plantation house with its space and luxuries had already caused her to slip into her old Gingersnap ways. She must reestablish the new prim and proper Constance Cavendish firmly in place at once.

Robbie held up his hands in surrender. “Fine. Fine, I'll stay. For a week, and that's all. You may have me in the evenings, for I will be working my farm during the days.”

“Plantation!” They all said the word in unison and then fell into laughter at their inside family joke, to which Constance was not privy.

“Fine. In the evenings.” Mrs. Beaumont nodded her head in affirmation. “So, let us discuss next week's dance. We shall invite a few close family friends. Perhaps the Sugarbakers and the Pattersons. Mary, oh, Mary!” The woman bustled in from the kitchen.

“Yes, ma'am. You don't need to be causin' such a ruckus, ma'am. I'm right in the kitchen as always.” Mary must have been twenty years older than the woman Constance met on the front lawn, although she appeared similar in size and mannerisms. Perhaps a relative.

“Mary, remind me to hire musicians for Saturday evening the twelfth.”

“You have a dinner with the Smiths on the twelfth.”

“Oh dear, what about midweek?”

“Mr. Beaumont will be gone.”

“That's correct. Make it the eighteenth. And we'll need to send invitations to the Sugarbakers, the Pattersons, and, and…”

“Mother, that's nearly two—”

She continued as if Robbie had never spoken. “Oh, and Lorimer is due that week. Yes, that would be perfect.” She clapped her hands together prettily.

“Mother.” Robbie growled the word this time. No doubt he dreaded every second he would spend with Constance.

Her heart sank as she thought of two weeks' dancing in his arms. Then it sank even lower as she considered the option of not dancing in his arms. She longed to dash from the room and all the way back to Richmond. This was a mistake.

“Miss Cavendish will have plenty of time to prove her skills as a teacher by then. Isn't that right?”

From somewhere, Constance found the strength, and the accent, to answer. “I shall strive to cover some basics by that time, but…” She wrung her napkin in her lap. Could she bear so many days in the same house with Robert Montgomery? She began to question the entire plan now. Surely the Lord would not ask so much of her. Surely she had not been
that
evil.

“Precisely.” Mrs. Beaumont patted her coiffed hair. “It is perfect. Mr. Beaumont, you will return by the eighteenth, I'm sure.” Her smile tightened as she said it.

“Well, I suppose I can cut the trip short one day. Of course, darling.”

Her smile became genuine, and she offered her husband her hand for a kiss. This woman was a true genius at her art. If Constance hadn't given up on society and all its false ways years ago, she could have learned much from this one.

Then again, Constance was once a master of this game herself.

“Oh, and Miss Cavendish, have I told you my most brilliant plan?”

“Plan, madam?” Other than to turn her daughters into simpering flirts, a plan already mostly accomplished?

“Why, yes. We are to introduce the waltz to Albemarle County!”

“Mother!” Robbie protested.

“Now, dearest,” her husband said.

“I'll hear no more on it.” Mrs. Beaumont waved away their hesitations. “This is not Richmond with its stuffy society. If the Beaumonts say the waltz is proper, so it shall be. If it's good enough for the Prince Regent, it's good enough for Charlottesville. Don't you think so, Miss Cavendish?”

The woman had already developed an alarming habit of putting Constance in tricky situations. But as she observed the inner workings of this household, she realized her agreement would be only a formality. She glanced toward Robbie. Constance could never bear to waltz with him again for as long as she lived. He must share her feeling. Why else would he protest his mother's plan to introduce the waltz? She doubted he would otherwise care. But how could she deny Mrs. Beaumont now? “Of course it is all the fashion in London, but I—”

“You see, I told you I would find the best dance teacher in Virginia. And with Robbie's expertise, having been so recently to the continent—”

“Don't draw me into this, Mother.”

So he
had
been abroad.

“Why not? I've longed to see my son cutting such a dashing figure on the dance floor. But we shan't introduce it yet. No, no. That will be for August's coming out ball.”

For the ball. Hmm…that meant all the attendees must learn the steps as well. An idea began to form in Constance's mind, an idea that would make it worth the trouble of staying. “As I consider it further, Mrs. Beaumont, I think it a brilliant plan. And I am quite familiar with the waltz.”

“I hoped as much with your European background,” said Mrs. Beaumont.

Constance nodded despite her dubious heritage. “I say why should not a new dance be embraced in the burgeoning civilization of Albemarle County?”
A somewhat barbaric countryside with its trappers and Indians and dirt-encrusted gentlemen farmers
, she thought, but Constance would never say so aloud. “They are in want of just such a cultural experience.”

Mrs. Beaumont clasped her hands before her. “Precisely. And I'm certain President Jefferson would approve. We'll see to it that he comes, Mr. Beaumont. He's always been the most fashionable fellow.”

“The former president of the United States of America is busy planning an institution of higher learning.” Robbie tapped his temple. “I highly doubt he worries himself with dance trends.”

“A man of innovation. As I said.” Mrs. Beaumont returned to her dinner, and so it was declared. The girls continued chatting about waltzes and dress fabrics for their coming out.

Constance's thoughts, however, ran toward the many Charlottesville residents who would need to add the waltz to their repertoires. She would wait to broach this issue with Mrs. Beaumont until the plan was well settled in her mind. Once they could no longer turn back, Constance would mention the necessity of her teaching the steps to their wealthy neighbors. And by August, Constance Cavendish would be the established dance instructor of Albemarle County.

With all attention elsewhere, Robbie shot her a questioning look down the table. She would have to deal with him soon enough. He could yet ruin everything. Why on earth had she let Patience convince her to use that ridiculous accent? She continued to wonder as she struggled to eat the extra-large piece of pie she'd been promised when she arrived that morning. Delicious as it was, dread over the impending conversation had stolen her appetite.

* * *

With dinner finished, the women prepared to retire to the drawing room.

Constance pushed away from the table.

Robbie stood as well. “Miss Cavendish, if you please, I'd like to take you for an evening stroll.”

“Oh?” His mother's raised eyebrow indicated she did not approve.

“Yes, Mother. Don't you recall Miss Cavendish and I were acquainted when I stayed with the Rutherfords in Prince George County?”

“Why, no, I did not remember.” Mrs. Beaumont glanced back and forth between Constance and Robbie, at a loss for words for once.

“Just a few moments to catch up on old times.”

Mrs. Beaumont frowned. “You may take a
few moments
to catch up on old times, I suppose.”

Constance glanced out the window. The sun had nearly set and the sky grown dim. “Perhaps a short walk through the gardens, and then we can take some evening refreshment on the verandah,” she suggested out of long-held habit. Immediately, she could have kicked herself. How could her feet be so nimble and her tongue so clumsy? Refreshments would mean yet more time in his company.